"Leila, bring me a pony, will you? I'm off to class."

"Yassuh, but she a fresh 'un. Not broke in yet." The brown stabler laid aside her broom and came to the edge of the barn's yard-high platform, carressing her broad rump with her pink palms. "Tendah, you know. She in for surprises heah."

"Well, it'll be the worse for her then, won't it? Bring her on anyway.

This heat forbids walking. What gives her over to your good care so soon, Leila? Our students don't usually visit the disciplinarian on their first day."

"Slapped a handler, sah, right off the train from town yestiddy. Sumpun 'bout imput 'nance." She big menial spat out the word in a chirpy falsetto and narrowed her nostrils, affecting disdain.

"Oh, wonderful. Rebellious, eh? I really haven't time to do your work for you, Leila, but if she's all you have, she'll have to do. I'll need a seat belt, I suppose, and let's use the punishment reins on this little filly, but don't produce them until she's comfy. She might pee all over your immaculate porch at the sight of them. And I think a two-foot whalebone."

"Yassuh. What size saddle?"

"Has she been, ah, evacuated?"

"Yassuh. She clear as a bell. And," she added slyly, "she woman-sahzed for her age."

"Then I'll leave it to your discretion, Leila, depending on how much correction you think she needs. And spice it up. We'll give the brat a vivid memory of her first day at Spurwood."

"An' how," smiled Leila. She disappeared in her bright print dress through the black aperture of the rambling structure after her freshman charge, barely creaking the dry boards of the old platform. For her not inconsiderable size Leila moved deftly. As disciplinarian of last resort in a girls' school housing only the worst of miscreants, clumsiness or indecision would have ill become her.

Going to the tangled nest of bikes clustered at platform's end, I kicked one free from the others, rolling it to the dock so our pony could mount easily, though probably not modestly. A tricycle really, of lightweight construction and ingeniously geared to allow a scared and strong young girl to tow all but the heaviest of riders, the device was a common form of transport on Spurwood's flat and secluded grounds. Definitely not a popular conveyance among those students chosen - rather arbitrarily, I might add - to serve in the pony pool.

I stepped round one of the large rear wheels and brushed dust from the low-slung wicker seat astride the rear axle, settling comfortably into position behind the elevated driver's seat tubing, unadorned for now and at eye level. Releasing the sprocket and pedals - metal shoes, really - I swung them out to the horizontal, where self-locking hinges held them rigid until we - or rather I - was ready to depart. For midmorning it was already hot; my girl had a rather steamy journey ahead of her, though not as steamy as mine promised to be.

And reluctant she was to begin it. She emerged slowly from the stable's deep recesses, her face straight ahead, large terror-suffused eyes blinking madly against our Southern sun. Leila's standard hobbler was no great impediment. I had seen veteran troublemakers run in it, though awkwardly. The youngster now restrained - perhaps 19, but as Leila had hinted, well into womanhood - appeared impeded less by the device than a natural fear of the unknown, and by the prospect of splinters in what seemed to be, at a distance of some yards, well-turned and graceful bare feet. She would soon learn to ignore such minor forms of pain.

The ends of the heavy steel bar nestled behind the naked girl's bent knees were tightly fastened above and below the joints with adjustable loops of riveted leather, holding her legs open in a lewd squat. Further encouraging her servile posture was a simple figure-eight cinch strap, knotted around her distended and bulbous breasts at the chest wall and strung from between them to the bar's middle. It looked tight enough to play a Bach cello suite on. If I knew Leila, and I did, the cinch was thin and cutting, watered daily by her reprobates' urine, and baked to acidic rawhide in the sun. A sweating and struggling girl who cut herself on such a strap only struggled the more, in vain. The Spurwood girl who learned nothing else in four years learned composure.

Each of her small wrists were secured by loops to the bar, behind it and palms in, some inches inside her spread knees. Leila was gentle with the new girls; she hovered behind the pony inching its way across the platform, whistling absently and encouraging the youngster's progress.

This she did with rhythmic arcs of a springy yard-long wooden paddle, whose last foot was stitched with very grainy sandpaper. She uppercutted the girl's generous and jiggling buttocks with powerful and solid-sounding thwockkss, dragging the pebbly paddletip up and off the quivering nates after each smarting spank.

The girl fisted her hands and squeezed tears from her eyes at each swat, clumsily swinging her pale and obviously pampered body forward in the humiliating crabwalk. The hobbler in itself wasn't a painful getup but inconvenient, serving to remind the wearer, usually confined here for willful impulse, that hasty impulse had brought her here.

I had time to inspect my trussed pony, who took perhaps two dozen swats - more, probably, then she'd accepted in her life - as she and Leila inched towards me. Reclined in the carriage, my view was ankle-height; she would have been arresting from any angle, but was the more so for the expansive display of her charms afforded me. Tall, full-figured and a little plump for her age, bullet-breasted and heavy-hipped, she would have been statuesque drawn to full height, as she had no doubt carried herself in the world.

Leila broght her to a halt at the platform's verge, the girl's toes bunching at the air beneath them. Her leonine, ringleted brunette mane had been roughly twirled and yanked into a topknot to expose a tender, freckled nape and a broad jawline which had probbaly been pointed to the horizon most of her life.

So it was now, but by mechanical, not attitudinal, means: her full lips moved fishlike along the flared base of a large butt plug that forced her mouth open in an astonished and silent oval, below equally incredulous green eyes. Buckled by straps to the rear of a leather collar, the plug drew her head back in an attentive stare. The girl squatted quivering, breathing stertorously through her snubby nose, leaking tears and sweat onto the platform.

"She tastin' the lass dinnah she et in de free worl'," said Leila. "From the sahz o' de stool she slid out dis mawnin', it uz a good 'n, too. It neah broke de saddle strap holdin' dat plug in all night."

Leila dropped a chunky burlap bag on the platform by the girl's feet and knelt over it, rummaging through its clanking contents. The girl's flattened ears twitched at the ominous atonal chorus at her feet, and her head strained to swivel around and assess the awful surprises being readied for her.

Leila saw this, raised her paddle high, and brought it down almost vertically with a sssssSWAPP on the blubbery shelf of the pony's outthrust buttocks. "Ahs front, peeg," she drawled. The girl jerked at the blow, stomping and yanking her tightly bound wrists at the heavy transverse bar between her legs.

Out came a broad leather belt, which Leila quickly spun around the uncomprehending girl's soft waist and hauled closed from the back, leveraging a coffee-colored knee into her spine as she forced wet gasps from the pony's stoppered lips. From the belt's sides depended single sturdy straps that swung free, their buckles tinkling against the weathered wood.

Leila next reached between the girl's spread knees and thumbed open a catch stringing the girl's teats to the bar. The cinch leapt skyward with a THRUNNGG, snaking and hopping. Its victim showed what small measure of relief she could, shaking her heavy tits from side to side. Still throttled at their base by the excruciating figure-eight strap, they only joggled tightly, white globes full to bursting with tender musculature and springy fat, skin drawn back and stretched smooth and thin as a soap bubble. The aureoles were large and smooth, pinkish for a brunette's, delicately veined; the nipples smoothly sculpted and erect, vulcanized now by outrage rather than eros. They looked a powdered, pampered pair that had been secretly and solitarily admired, cupped by the best lace New Orleans sold. A single crop-stroke across these beauties now, I thought, would welt this girl to her very soul.

Leila's big hands blurred at the girl's wrists and tossed their fetters aside. The slave's arms hung, still deadened, as her mistress braced and gripped her armpits, hefting her. "Slahd yer toes inna pedals. monkey," she commanded, "and hol' the hannelbars. You goin' fo' the ride of yo' life."

Leila didn't even grunt as she swung the girl over my head and eased her slowly down, levitating her in front of my perch. The girl's protruding ass - big, firm, violently pinkened by Leila's preparatory paddle-swats - rolled and dimpled no more than 18 inches from my nose as she seesawed her still-pinioned knees, searching for purchase with her feet and slowly-awakening hands.

She found both, sliding her hands into the curiously-gloved sculpted handlegrips and arching her pretty toes downward into the shoelike bike pedals. When Leila saw the girl was about to take her own weight on her feet and hands, she nodded at me and let go.

We had done this before, of course, and were ready. The girl couldn't have known. Her whole body tautened and strained upward, and I heard a flatulent spluttering whine thorugh her butt-plug gag. I kicked closed the hinged heel-restraints on the bike pedals and heard them ratchet home over the naked coolie's insteps, while Leila yanked tight her wrist-restraints, fettering the girl's hands in the closed grips. Our little miscreant wanted to jump into the next county, but she had nowhere to go.

The miniscule needles carpeting the grips and pedals would have been minor irritations to a washerwoman or country girl, but they were shocking insults to leisured young city girls given to hand cream and pedicures.

While too short to cause deep punctures or severe bleeding, they were sharp enough to stab and harry at tender skin, like a burr chestnut rolled between the palms. They were barely tolerable if the sufferer constantly shifted her weight between all four stinging fulcrums, as our pony was now doing, but several minutes of this defensive squirming was normally the limit before an escape was necessary.

But escape to where? I knew from many previous trips on Spurwood's devilish rickshaws that sooner or later, depending on the driver's pain threshhold, she simply had to distribute her weight elsewhere. This girl was already circling and squatting her magnificently rotund heart-shaped ass, frantically searching for a seat that should be, must be, somewhere under her. Still collared to her shitty muzzle, she couldn't see below or behind her, and she strained down against the bar still pinioning her knees, creaking the leather straps.

What a difference, I thought appreciatively, 24 hours and a little legal leverage can make. Only yesterday at this time the little bitch before me would have disdained my admiring so much as her earrings, and she was now begging me to inspect every velvety millimeter of her exposed underside.

Leila had shaved bare her soft pink pussy-cleft and convex baby-fat mons, both of which were raised up and forced rearwards, doggiestyle, by her desperate attempts to arch off her needly perches. Her labia were fat and close-set, pillows of dewy denuded flesh that audibly snicked open and closed now as she struggled. The redder vaginal cusp flared reluctantly between the lips' moist aperture, narrow and velveteen, topped by a puffy hooded clitoris.

Leila dropped the phallus, fixed to a sturdy pipe, into its seat tubing with her gloved hand. I tightened it down, bringing my nose within inches of our driver's still-gyrating bottom. Fully fleshed as her buttocks were, they appeared smaller once the huge dildo was affixed, stern and implacable, under them. It stood waiting, inexhaustible, its knob perhaps a foot from my jaw as I sat forward, the girl's abundant globes eddying and kissing at eyebrow level.

Leila undid the bar at the pony's right knee while I unbuckled the left, and the black overseer slid the girl's fetter away, allowing her to squat even more lewdly. This she immediately did, scissoring her cramped thighs wide and splaying her asscheeks and delectable cunt down, toward the unknown.

Off-center a bit, she poked the giant cock into her right buttock at first, and I watched it sink into the unresisting globe before she jerked back up, startled by the unexpected object. She experimented again, this time more slowly, and this time the cockhead bumped the perineum and slid slickly forward, nosing apart the shaven cuntlips. Again she shot up and hovered, trembling, thinking, fearing the worst. She knew suddenly what it was under her.

"Phobos and Deimos," I said to Leila languidly, drinking in the impudent fatness of the 19-year-old's hesitant buttocks. "The two moons of Mars. Fear and panic. The Greeks were anything but clinical in their heavenly nomenclature."

"De Greeks," Leila chortled, "'bout to learn sumpin from dis gel."

The girl heard, and though inexperienced sexually she must have known some sexual allusions at least. For she began to heave and snort, furiously pulling at her bonds in a tantrumic last-ditch bid to escape her assigned task. The bicycle shivered and squealed, and its front tire skipped and hopped in the dusty courtyard as the buck-naked girl wrestled it, trying to pedal away, to jump off, to run back into Leila's dark stable and be hanged upside down again from her knees, anything, anything but this.

"Duck, perfesser," Leila said casually, hefting her paddle in both hands and measuring the girl's ass. I wriggled backwards in the seat and did as she said. A brown blur painted itself with a cccrrrrrAAKK into the girl's bouncing sulcus-flesh, where buttocks cupped thighs. The impact reverberated through the bike's skeleton, and I saw the girl's ass flatten under the paddle and rebound. Leila quickly gave her another double-armed backhanded srrraaaaackkkk , higher up where she couldn't fully clench her jutting, deeply-set buttock crowns. The rear wheels, with my weight on them, nearly jumped off the ground. Ripples from the stroke ran round the girl's full hips, bloated as they were by the tight waist-belt, and violently jiggled her thighs. Wide bands of red pebbles leaped up and glowed where the paddle had struck.

I saw the instrument fly into Leila's right hand and point at the sky just as the girl preened forward away from the bottom-punishment, her chest outthrust, her face ratcheted up in a burbling butt-blugged whine of pain.

God, Leila had timing. Lips set, the black menial swatted the pony's breasts with a WHECCKKK that spattered an echo like a damp firecracker's across the open courtyard. From behind her, I saw for an inexpressible second tit-flesh balloon under her armpits, then disappear as they bounced back.

The girl spasmed. A nervous mist of urine suddenly sprayed wildly from between her legs, twirling hot droplets of pee across my pantlegs and raining down her own thighs. A helpless SPRADDAPAP of a fart broke from her rectum and slowly keened away to a hiss with the giddy shower of pee, bathing my face with sour fruit and buttermilk odors, not entirely unpleasant. I could but imagine the effect the stroke had had on the girl's heavy and tenderized tits, ballooned and haltered as they still were by the tourniquet-like straps.

"Duhty little monkey," Leila scolded, clattering the paddle onto the barn's stoop. "If you wuzn't already fixed, you'd lick Mastuh off." She slid her brown hand between the girl's piss-glistened legs, mopping the acrid dew from the insides of her thighs and scooping more from her wettened sex lips. I saw her gleaming hand go gently to the girl's face, where she slowly massaged the warm urine into it, finally wiping the damp detritus on the girl's heaving and no doubt bruised breasts. We waited, saying nothing, listening to the girl's desperate nasal panting and watching her tire. She was a plucky one, I thought: no Spurwood pony in recent memory had resisted the needles quite so long. To draw her down onto the waiting phallus would have been a simple enough exercise, but coercion would make it less humiliating for the girl. Much naughtier, and I needn't add more entertaining, was to let the little bitch initiate her own anal punishment.

This she did, but only after a diverting attempt, common among first-time drivers, to silently plead for softer duty. Bucking her hips back and slowly descending on the organ, she first eased the cockhead between her cuntlips and swirled the fleshy rose around its stolid eye, opening and lubricating her fat labia. Getting no immediate reprisal for this unpermitted act, she quickened her eager humps, snickering the tight glove of her young quim over slick cock's knob.

Leila laid into my outstretched right palm the familiar handle of the prescribed riding crop. A favorite of mine, it was a licky and wobbly length of cylindrical whalebone that tapered to infinity, shrunken over with drum-taut calfskin and tipped with an indestructible tassel of knotted sinew that snapped and bit like a rabid animal. I had used it often with wonderful corrective effect.

I remembered a biggish new girl belted over one of our older blocks had once broken her knee restraint at this vicious crop's welcoming kisses, frantically kicking out at me with her near leg and squealing for respite, spooling out a yard-long hose of pale yellow behind her. The remaining cuts and more had searched the intimate folds her strapped legs had hidden, bucking her through the ordeal like a hornet-stung mare.

I had explained to the brash young juvenile, between metronomic licks of the crop's knotted tongue, that we had reasons for restraint here at Spurwood, that our laws, like those of physics, made sense and were broken only at the rebel's misery. This lesson had been driven home by her wearing of the foreshortened knee strap as a continence belt the rest of term, the half-inch rawhide hiking her cervix to her stomach but for chaperoned latrine visits, carving her broad, flabby belly into mock buttocks for the amusement of all onlookers. Leila had also pierced the girl's big nipples and wired her thumbs to them, hands reverently crossed, to frustrate fidgeting and encourage contemplation of her dire plight. She had broken no more school equipment the remainder of her stay.

The squatting young miss now in front of me was also testing our laws, and would soon find them as iron as gravity's.

I let her force the cockhead, not without difficulty, into her slickened and reddening pussy-purse. She bounced gently up and down on the broad mast, carefully purchasing millimeters of the head, over which her bare twatlips were gradually closing. This was the largest prong that had ever been up her - and probably ever would be - but it wasn't to last as long as she thought.

She spraddled wider and eased another several inches of the engine up her, engulfing the cockhead completely and beginning her distended slide down the bulbous prick. The muted whimpering in her throat was, I suppose, a mixture of pain, dread, and perhaps surprised relief that we were allowing her this compromise.

We weren't. I let her stuff maybe half the greasy cock into her vagina, enough to unwittingly coat it with the still-dormant lubricant, before I hit her. I backhanded the loose-limbed crop into her left buttock, watching it lap a valley into the unsuspecting flesh, bite with a crisp WHICCKKK and spring back, shivering. It was little more than a reminder stroke given the awkward positioning and lack of roomn, but I knew it was agony for the untrained girl and that the searing pain would build and stab to a peak after a slow four count.

I waited exactly that long and carved the spiny shaft harder diagonally and down across the right buttock, which was forced out against the bluish weal stitching itself over the left, now cringing doglike. The whalebone wheezed into the bouncy right rump with a raspy whine, puckering the globe and squeezing a last dry hiss of cmplaint from the frightened girl's bowel, vised as it was by her clenched cheeks and prodded inside by the monstrous cock.

The girl didn't wait for the third stroke. She struggled off the member with an audible SSNOOOPP, squirting the black tube from her as if it were on fire. She would soon think it was. I gave the crop a practice WHEESH in the air next to her hip, signaling what further delay would bring.

She lunged her anus to the cockhead and buried it immediately, the big white inverted heart of her ass spread wide open and pushing as it had never pushed, a mournful groan rising from her plugged throat. The anus widened, yielded, and clamped closed over the massive head, and Leila ordered, "Hol', girl." She was screaming now into the gag.

She obeyed, while I drew the tongue of her leather garter belt through the bike's clamps and buckled them taut. She was now impaled for the remainder of the ride, try as she may, and would, to extrude the burning serpent from her. Her only "choice," could it be called that, was how many inches of the punishing seat-dildo she wanted plumbing her young belly as she pedaled. She could drive the highly-geared bike either sitting or standing, as it were, but could hold neither posture for long. She was to be a slave of Spurwood's terrain, a frequent target for the whip, a victim of the acidic venom soon to catch fire in her pussy and bowels - in short, a very busy young lady.

Spurwood's rickshaw was actually ideal training for servicing the male member. I had seen it work many times. Shy and hesitant movement on the seat-cock only slowed the driver's progress; they found within moments of departure that only rhythmic and enthusiastic pistoning on the phallus, with brief rests between, got them anywhere. We only taught our students what life would later teach them.

The needles were driving her down. She had been too long on them, and must sit. She shoved half the slippery cock up her at a single ardent stroke and took the rest by fractions, bouncing and whimpering, the small of her back canyoned and her entire weight pitched into the task. I could see her bowed belly curving up beyond the oiled crotch and impossibly distended anus, and it was slowly inflating, cock-pregnant, yielding its innermost depths to the phallic burden.

Have I neglected to describe the resting-place awaiting our driver?

Forgive me. Imagine a broad panty-crotch extending forward from the anus and cupping the mons like a glove, a countoured pussy-nest that would bear weight long enough to relieve feet and hands. A panty-crotch whose tines fanned up and out in a concave rictus of gleaming Sheffield steel, dotted with waiting needles exactly like those the girl was escaping.

Such was the unholy base of the phallus onto which she finally settled, penis-glutted, whinnying. She sat, stone-still, her knees and elbows veed up off their tormentors, her spongy crotch helplessly gripping the needled seat buried in her bare labia. I think she was truly beyond surprises by now.

I stood behind her and reached down, cupping a bottom-cheek in each hand, touching her for the first time. She jerked. They were hot, a little downy, smooth but for the single welt scarring each. I yanked them apart and she grunted, settling deeper still on the rude prong up her arse. They can always take more.

I put my lips to her left ear. "Get used to that plug up you, Miss," I said gently, receiving a mournful and glassy sideways stare. Her face gave off a feral odor of piss and sweat, tear-diluted. Brownish drool ran over her chin from the gag's base. "We have study desks similarly equipped," I added, "for fidgeters and slackers. I think you'll qualify for one of them." As I spoke Leila poured into my right hand a pool of light chain with two heavy rings sewn along its length.

I reached around the girl's waist and palmed the metal objects, shaking out their attaching reins. Called "tit bits" for want of a better description, they were handcuff-like ovals of flat steel, hinged at their junctures and springloaded beyond rattrap strength. Squeezed open and pushed over the breasts until they could gather no more flesh, thin serrated jaws clamped and held upon release. The unfortunate wearer felt her teats bitten and weighed down by a pair of demonic infants starving her very chest of tender skin, voracious imps dislodged by no amount of pleading or shaking.

The girl gargled on her gag and suddenly began humping the full length of the penis up her. The slumbering poison sap had awoken, goading her to desperately buck against its heat, escape it, appease it. No mercy could be found in the dumb mixture, of course, and even less in me. Ass cheeks flowered wide open, braced again on hands and feet, the squatting teen avidly rode the buttcock as if trying to exhaust it, limpen it, expel it from her burning entrails. Slucking up to its tip only to be jerked short by her gartered belt, she shook the implacable knob with her sphincter, then with a groan forced herself down its full length, bumping off the spiky base and squirting back up. The searing lotion demanded movement, the big penis punished the same; the maddened girl might as well have been tied over a block and buttfucked by our biggest field-hands, for all the choice she had in the matter - and when she was given such duty, as she would be, she would beg for more penises and grip them gratefully lest she be returned to the pony pool. This is fact, dear reader, not conjecture.

"You move that big bottom nicely, young miss," I whispered in her ear, cupping her swaying breasts with the bits, yawning now in my hands. I'm fairly strong but I always had trouble holding the things open for long.

Her arse-cheeks helplessly stroked my stomach as I walked the open clamps up her tits, letting her feel the cool metal and small, sharp teeth. Her nipples were rubies poking into my palms, her aureoles hard rubber balls, her lovely breasts big honey-laden silken sacs. I put my right cheek to her left and watched her eyes, bulging and pleading, swivel down to her chest.

"You'll feel a pinching, not intolerable," I told her quietly, "and when I release the pedals of this conveyance, you will take us to class. We will encounter various forks in the path en route, and I shall direct you with a tug to your right or left breast. You will stop, for as long as I desire, when I pull on both. The scenery along the way, for myself at least, is quite entrancing and deserves leisurely study. Try to ignore they whipstrokes to your bare bottom. They mean nothing, other than that I enjoy whipping you. A vial of ammonium spirits in my possession will ensure that we reach our destination, should you think fainting will relieve you of duty. Oh, and your first act in class," I concluded, "will be to relieve me with your mouth, on your knees in front of your fellow students. And if you miss so much as a drop while swallowing, you'll get today's duty for the next week. Am I understood?"

She shook her head "Yes" violently, whimpering assent loudly though the cock-gag, her eyes pleading into mine.

"Good," I answered, and released the bits. They jumped from my hands and instantly the girl's two breasts were four, each cleft in half and bubbled into two smaller globes, punctuated by the steel teeth. I heard the faint metallic creak of springs as the jaws settled into their soft pillows, and the girl's outer globes began to pout and slowly turn upward, distorted pink fruit seeking the sun. I knew, if she didn't, that the outer halves would be as purple as King Henry's robe by journey's end. She kinked her elbows in as far as her fetters allowed and hunched her shoulders down, trying to mitigate the bits' fresh steel bite compunding the dull ache of her chest strap. Her lips were drawn back now in a concentrated trembling frown, a hint of pearly teeth showing where they clenched the butt plug's base.

I eased back into the rickshaw, looping the girl's reins loosely in my hands, holding the crop in my right. I gave an investigatory tug on each and felt a springy rebound, hearing her grunt gutturally. She was sitting again, the spikes spearing her pussy, the wooden meatus up her ass to its last millimteter. A steady river of sweat runnelled down her back and bathed her bare buttocks, dribbling off her into the dust.

"It's been... interesting, Leila," I told the overseer, who was standing and smiling at the girl, arms crossed and paddle held high like a standard. "We'll see you this evening, after the young vixen here has been soundly lectured in Spurwood comportment."

"Ah think she done already been," Leila laughed, picking up her bag and turning for the stable.