Mimiel could have slept longer—the day’s difficult test had wearied her—but all too soon Ushi and Jatono were pinching her nipples and slapping her face lightly to wake her. As soon as she focused her eyes, they unlatched the sleeping stocks she had been secured in for her nap and got her to her feet; easier said than done, when Mimiel discovered that her harshly-stretched muscles and well-whipped ass and thighs had stiffened while she slept. She suppressed a whimper as the girls led her off by nipple leash to make water and drink thirstily at a slave-trough.

In no time she was hustled back into the bath chamber and strung up in grooming position upon one of the benches. With expert hands, Ushi and Jatono brushed and styled her glorious red hair into high-set pigtails. Mimiel froze in place as they touched up her shaving, knowing that they wielded terribly sharp razors and worked quickly to remove any hint of body hair below her neck. Then she was powdered, scented, and made up, including rouge that brightened her nipples and labia.

The sun was angling toward evening by the time Mimiel was presented to Dalaia on a shady portico overlooking the garden. Hazi and Raiel supported the talakin in her favorite “chair” while house slaves plied fans. Near at hand was a large cedar chest, mysteriously closed. Mimiel was familiar with her mistress’s penchant for drama, but the suspense still affected her. Uneasy, she fidgeted while Jatono snapped her leash loosely to a ceiling tether.

“Well, my dear, now that we have stoked your fires, I am keen to move on to your next test,” said Dalaia. “I will enjoy burning off some of that energy.” She gestured to Ushi and Jatono, and they moved with swift obedience to the cedar chest.

Mimiel craned her neck to see what was afoot but the matched slave girls shielded the chest from her view. After a moment Jatono turned to Mimiel with a leather blindfold and affixed it carefully, checking under the edges for lines of sight and adjusting the blindfold to block them. Mimiel was quickly deprived of her sight, but she knew that the Mistress continued to look on, so she held her head high and kept her comportment even as she listened to the girls rustling and bumping around with the contents of the chest.

Soon she felt the girls’ deft hands fastening a bridle around her head, drawing her pigtails through the straps so that her hair remained free-flowing. Mimiel wondered why they bothered with the blindfold now—clearly they were tacking her up for pony exercises, which must be the means of her next test for Dalaia. While they fastened a harness around her torso, including a heavy posture collar, she preoccupied herself by trying to imagine what extremes Dalaia could take her to in this manner. Unfortunately, she could imagine many...

The bit pushing insistently at her lips snapped her out of her reverie. Obediently, she opened and accepted the leather shank, working her tongue to settle it comfortably. She felt the tension in the bit shift as it was buckled firmly into place, and then the buffeting of reins being passed through each cheek ring. She stiffened as she felt the ends of the reins clipped into place on her nipple rings; she was well-accustomed to being nipple-reined, but her nipples still throbbed from their earlier vigorous manipulation. Whichever slave girl held her reins gave them an experimental tug, checking the action of the straps and buckles. Mimiel gasped and arched her neck, dropping her chin to lessen the upward pull on her tender nipples.

Next, the dutiful slave girls bound her arms together behind her back, lacing them closely together wrist to elbow. Naturally this rolled her shoulders well back and thrust her breasts forward, occasioning more fussing with the harness straps in front. The wide straps circling her breasts were tightened, cinching in their fullness at the base. Although she could not see them, Mimiel knew from experience that they would soon bloom lavendar, even crimson in the areas where they had been spanked earlier.

“High step and hold,” came the soft-spoken command; Mimiel obeyed, balancing on her other leg, though her sore thighs ached from the effort. One of the girls fitted a pony shoe to her raised foot, taking particular care to strap in her foot and ankle, lacing leather stays past her knee. Mimiel performed the awkward hop from bare to shod foot and presented her other leg. The pony shoes felt familiar and comfortable; they must be her own from the training stables, broken in over the past few months. They held her feet in graceful points, supporting the arch and heel of each foot with a sole of flexible steel that curved down into a wide, stable hoof encasing her toes. It had taken months of training and practice to move gracefully in the pony shoes, but Mimiel now considered herself proficient. The spring to the curved metal under her foot contributed a tiny boost to every step, allowing her to prance with a fluid bounce, stride farther in her faster paces, and bear up longer under a burden.

The final touch was the tail. Mimiel was commanded to spread her legs and present her ass. Every movement now required special care as she shifted her weight in the springy pony shoes, unable to throw her arms out for balance should she stumble. Her action wasn’t as smooth as normal today, but no one commented. Doubtless they knew full well how sore and stiff she was from the day’s earlier discipline, but she could not count on leniency. Dawdling a bit to mask the stiffness in her legs, she managed to stay fluid and poised while assuming the correct position, spreading her legs and arching her back to thrust her ass out. Soon enough she felt the blunt nose of the tail plug massaging her clit and pussy lips, working up a little moisture that had her breathing fast in no time.

Although it felt good, making her wiggle a little in her springy shoes, she knew that if they were lubricating the anal plug against her pussy they intended to insert it without any other lubricant; not so unusual, for pony exercises. She herself had seen tails pop out of hard-working asses, no matter how tightly cruppered, when they got too slippery to stay seated. Knowing the rationale did not help it go in any easier. One of the slave girls stepped up and held her tightly by the bridle when she finally felt the blunt end of the anal plug nudging at her rectum. She took a deep breath and tried to exhale completely, willing her muscles to relax and accept it, all too aware of the tingling pain coming back to life in her well-used ass at this new intrusion.

She was unsurprised to find that this plug was another large one, albeit made of stuffed leather in silkskin sheathing. The extra flexibility was another feature of working tail plugs that were designed to stay seated even when a pony slave was vigorously exercised. Leather was no more gentle on her ass, though; she panted as she was stretched around its girth, eyes rolling and nostrils flaring as the oddly bulbous plug dilated her anus more and more, and then still more?Goddess, how big was it?? She groaned audibly when at long last it popped into place, feeling more globular than phallic once seated. The slave girl behind her quickly tightened the crupper, wedging it tight into her crotch and ass cleft and clamping the tail plug firmly into place. The wire tailhead issuing from the plug was adjusted in an S-shape so that the tail hung from a natural position near the top of Mimiel’s buttocks.

“Well done,” said Dalaia. “Unleash her.”

Leash-clips fell away and Mimiel stood ready in tail, hooves and harness, although she was still blindfolded. She caught the heady scent of her mistress as Dalaia approached and sighed with longing when she felt the talakin gather up the reins and step forward to drive her. The merest flick of the reins tweaked her nipples and the cheek straps at the sides of her head. In response to the unspoken command, she moved forward at a stately walk, curling her legs through the elaborate high step expected at this pace. It was not hard work but oh, how the plug in her ass shifted and rolled with each movement! Gentle pressure on the reins, and through them, her nipples, guided Mimiel in front of her mistress despite being blindfolded.

Mimiel felt anxious at first, especially on the steps from the portico to the garden, afraid that she was going to misstep and turn her ankle. However, the farther she went with no mishap the more confident she became, gradually yielding to trust in her mistress. She was struck yet again by Dalaia’s exquisite slave-sense, the matchless intuition and control that made her such a famous talakin.

“So, my little firecracker, you must be anxious to get some exercise after your humdrum day just laying around.” Laughing softly at her little joke, the mistress gave her reins a playful fillip, and they stepped out a bit faster across the garden.

Just as Mimiel was settling into a good rhythm, a firm whoa on the reins brought her to a prancing halt, gasping around the bit as her nipples were tugged upward. She could sense a lessening of the bright sunlight at the edges of her blindfold. Sunset already, or were they under some sort of shade? She felt the reins shift around to the front and sensed that Dalaia was engaged in some activity before her. Minute tugs communicated through the reins and the slap of leather straps... reins being tied to something? They were still in the garden somewhere, but where?

The chuckling of nearby running water suddenly gained more significance as Mimiel heard a thunk, and then heard the water changing course. A sluice of some kind... creaking, very close by, and then the reins shifted and suddenly she floundered forward, taken by surprise as the reins tightened and pulled her into hasty steps, tweaking her nipples cruelly. She had to trot to keep up, but was too surprised to pay attention to her form. Her swollen breasts ached as the reins dragged on them—even modulated by the cheek rings—and she had several moments of terror, teetering on the verge of losing her balance, before she got her feet properly under her.

Sssssthhhhhhwack! She heard the distinctive hiss of the whip an instant before it struck her bare ass, making her squeal desperately around her bit.

“Knees up! Get those calves flashing! Hup, hup, hup!” Dalaia’s voice was more strident than earlier, picking up the energy level after her unhurried walk from the portico. With each “hup” her whip licked at Mimiel’s ass and legs, until she was lifting her knees properly and trotting with a modicum of grace around the water-driven capstan to which she had, apparently, been tethered. Keeping the pace so that the reins didn’t yank painfully on her nipples would have made her frantic on its own. Keeping the pace while being whipped for every tiny break in form while blindfolded was terrifying, maddening.

She trotted around and around the capstan, tugged along by her nipple reins, sweating profusely. Once, after a long silence, she thought Dalaia had gone; she learned differently when she allowed her high-step to slacken. The whip sang out a sharp reprimand and she wept in hopeless exhaustion even as her feet somehow kept pistoning forward. Again she heard nothing for a long while, but she had learned her lesson; she labored on, panting, sweating, terrified that her legs would give out, even more fearful of the whip. Her large, cinched breasts jostled painfully with every bouncing step.

After what felt like ages, her breath came in ragged gasps and she felt as if she was choking on her bit. Her legs were leaden. She could barely move quickly enough to keep the reins from yanking at her mercilessly, let alone raise her knees past her waist in proper trotting form. If she had been barefoot she would no doubt already have fallen; the springs of the pony shoes gave her that last little bit of strength to keep moving.

And then, finally, blessed relief. She heard the sluices thumping and water moving and the capstan ground slowly to a halt. She wanted to collapse but of course the nipple-reins were powerful incentive to stay on her feet.

She heard footsteps and suddenly cool, beautiful water was being poured gently over her. She was allowed to drink when she turned her face up into it. She was brought three buckets in all, then untied from the capstan. She was slowly walked, her pony hooves clopping on stones of some kind; probably the path that wound around the edges of the garden. Although no word was spoken by her handler, the mistress’s scent and skillful guidance revealed her.

Gradually Mimiel caught her breath and soon her knees and chin were no longer drooping with fatigue. Dalaia’s stern fingers urged her legs higher as she walked until soon she was high-stepping again. Then suddenly she was stopped, turned, and fingers in her harness tugged her backward a couple of steps. She grunted as Dalaia tightened her crupper and backstrap another notch, which had the effect of arching her back more deeply and causing her to roll her hips in an effort to relieve the pressure of the crupper strap biting into her pussy lips and ass cleft. She had no way of knowing, but these adjustments made her stand and move that much more fetchingly, breasts thrust forward, ass tilted back, hips a-sway.

Mimiel felt movement at her flanks and startled briefly as traces were lined up to either side of her. Buckles and latches jingled as her harness was secured to them. Her harness took the weight of whatever vehicle she was being hitched to, particularly the posture collar which served as a yoke. She bounced nervously in her pony shoes, still rolling her hips distractedly, until she heard the unmistakable sound of small bells.

More bells.

Sure enough, their muffled chiming approached and she whimpered as Dalaia latched them onto her nipple rings. They felt heavier even than the bells she had worn in Dalaia’s training chamber, but their jingles were higher pitched, so the tenderness in her well-used nipples must have been misleading her as to their size. Even so, she gasped as they swung on her nipple rings, making her cinched, distended breasts bob with their weight. She hardly noticed her reins being drawn back over her shoulders until light pressure tautened them. She heard Dalaia step up into the driver’s seat. She was instantly alert, every fiber of her waiting for her mistress’s next command, even as she wished miserably to be freed of her harness and allowed to rest her aching legs and breasts. And back, and ass, and arms, she added glumly in her head.

Dalaia’s command came soon enough, the same one that had started her off on the portico—one quick slap of the reins: walk. Mimiel raised her leg high and leaned forward, throwing her weight against the shoulder yoke of her posture collar to get the vehicle moving. It was heavy and she struggled for several steps, biting down fiercely on her bit and bracing her pony hooves against the paving stones for traction. She could tell by the draw that she was hitched to a large cart or wagon... but what was in the thing to make it so heavy? Her nipple bells jangled fitfully, tugging her swollen breasts this way and that as she struggled in harness.

Dalaia got impatient with her slow start and the whip sang out, making her squeal into her bit gag with each blow. She finally got the weight moving, however. It was easier after that, though still heavy work. The drive seemed interminable, especially with the blindfold preventing her from seeing where they were going.

At one point, Dalaia pulled back sharply on the reins, drawing her to a trembling halt, although she had to prance forward another step or two because the heavy wagon behind her did not stop so promptly. She listened, ears straining for clues, as Dalaia exchanged pleasantries with someone. And then: “Yes, open the gate.”

Hinges creaked, heavy wood scraped across paving-stones, and moments later Dalaia was chucking the reins to get Mimiel moving again. This proved as difficult as the first time, and the whip cracked out several strokes as she struggled.

Another long haul. Mimiel anxiously responded to the slightest cue from her reins, afraid that she might miss something and stumble, unable to help herself in the blindfold and arm-bindings. After what seemed like an eternity, they stopped at another gate, and she nearly wept to think that she had to get that cursed wagon moving again. But she did, in spite of her weariness, under the encouragement of her mistress’s whip.

At long last, a firm whoa ended the tortuous journey. Mimiel could hear a bustle of movement around her, snatches of conversation, jingling harnesses and brusque slave-commands. It sounded like... like the training stables? She turned her head this way and that in confusion. Was this where she was to end her day, rather than with Dalaia in the mistress’s private apartments?

She caught a whiff of Dalaia’s perfume an instant before her mistress laid hands on her headstall and slipped aside the blindfold. Mimiel blinked at the sudden return of her sight, then twisted to peer behind her to see the wagon to which she was still hitched.

Its great weight was clearly explained when she realized that it was a transport. The four fresh-caught Jazii girls; the disgraced sister; two Salanic males and a blonde Karstish boy. All eight slaves were bent backward over a central beam, arms lashed tightly in place, legs spread across their neighbors’ in graceful X’s, ankles bound to cleats anchored in the bed of the wagon. A groom lounged on the driver’s bench where Dalaia had also sat, grinning at Mimiel. She had been pulling the large wagon and the weight of ten people.

As if the realization sapped what remained of her strength, Mimiel suddenly sagged in her traces, slumping helplessly to her knees.

Dalaia chuckled. “Really, girl, spare me the melodrama. You made it all this way and think to collapse now just because you can see what I challenged you with? Get up.” She enforced her command by drawing upward sternly on the nipple reins and snapping her folded whip against Mimiel’s flank.

Propelled more by the fresh assault on her poor nipples than by any fear of the whip at this point, Mimiel scrambled clumsily to her feet and was rewarded by being unhitched. Dalaia handed her reins to a passing groom: “Bed her down for the night with extra feed and water. Give her a good stint in the soak-pool both tonight and tomorrow morning. Then have her delivered to my chambers again before noon.”

And she strode off, followed by Mimiel’s eyes. With typical focus for the task at hand, all of the talakin’s attention had been transferred to the new slaves, who were being readied for piercing right there on the bed of the transport wagon.

The groom coaxed Mimiel off in the other direction, handling her with unusual tenderness. It would seem she had performed well, then... small comfort for her trembling legs and breasts a-fire.