The Cavallo and the Trainer VIII

by Kanashii
- do not use without the author's permission.



Chapter 11: Allegria's Journey

It was hard to sleep fully through the night, that first evening there at the Moradelli’s. Every so often I would be awakened by someone shifting in their stall, the slurping of a bucket or the sound of pee hitting the trough that ran the length of the stalls at the back.

Ribelle had been taken out after dinner and obviously given a harsh punishment at Daniels hands, because she was led back in later, and while she did not show any tears, her back was streaked with welts and bruises and she often moaned in pain throughout the night.

Finally around 6 am according to the large clock near the door, the overhead lights flickered on. Both Daniel and the other smaller Latin man came down the aisle dumping more food into the troughs. “I’ll finish feeding Carlos; you go ahead and start out cleaning the girls, and the stalls. I’ll handle Torello myself as Lena wants to put him through his paces first thing this morning, herself.” Daniel instructed.

After we had eaten again, the bland diet of grains, nuts and fruits with supplements, Carlos began opening each of the mares’ stalls and slipping lead ropes around our necks led us one by one to where that shower stall was I had been in yesterday. As Carlos lead me down the cold cement aisle floor, I noticed he was indeed only slightly taller than me, around 5’5, slender but with well defined muscles. He had close cropped hair he kept slightly slicked back, and intense black eyes. “So mi caballo gordito,” he patted me a few times on the shoulder and then glanced appreciatively at my large breasts. “You are the new one, eh? I hear you are a riding horse.” He led me into the shower room and ordered me down on all fours. Briefly he straddled my back and dropped his weight roughly atop me all at once, his thighs tight against my ribs as he lewdly ground his ass atop the natural curve of my back.

From the hook she was tied to, Ribelle squealed almost angrily and jealously, at watching Carlos test my back for his comfort. “Easy, Ribelle,” he crooned to the blonde, “You are still my favorite, your back is healing now from your punishment. I am just testing out this draft mare.” He chuckled and then ground atop me some more. I could already feel his cock rapidly hardening inside his jeans. “Nice and padded, built for comfort like a Cadillac.” He laughed and bounced lightly on my back, making it bend a bit beneath him, “Carlos will play with you again later, in private.” He finally got off me, pulled me to my feet with amazing strength and then tied me up opposite from Lucciola.

Lucciola glanced at me kindly and with understanding as we waited for Falla to be bought in. Once all of us mares were in here and tied up, Carlos came back in with brushes, some sponges and liquid soap and other hygiene items. We were then allowed to use our hands as ‘humans’ for the next 20 minutes to clean ourselves, brush our teeth and shampoo our hair. After we had dried ourselves off, Carlos came down and checked us out one by one to ensure we had indeed cleaned ourselves thoroughly.

Daniel came in dragging the naked and well hung Torello who Carlos helped restrain fully to the wall. Daniel just hosed and soaped him down, and even the cold water did not seem to chill Torello’s ardor at seeing us naked mares near him. I could tell Daniel, the tall blonde man, seemed to have a very rough touch and a sadistic streak indeed. He seemed to take a lot of pleasure in being as rough and cruel as he could to the muscular stallion, often using a harsh rubber riding crop on him or verbally chastising him. While I knew ALL of the Moradelli’s and their help could be quite harsh, I truly did not want to get on Daniel’s bad side, especially after I had seen the punishment Ribelle had received for her bad behavior the other day. Carlos was not gently rubbing some ointment on her welts and bruises and crooning to her softly in Spanish, as she nickered quietly and nuzzled against him.

One by one we were led back to our stalls, I was the last one to be led back, and before I was taken out of the shower room, Carlos quickly but nimbly took my thick medium length red hair and braided it into neat cornrows. Almost like the tight braids on a draft horse.

Less than a few minutes later Torello was being cross tied in the aisles as Daniel and Carlos slipped on a heavy carting harness over his well muscled and now oiled body. Nearly about the time they were finishing up Lena Moradelli came sauntering inside dressed in elegant riding attire. She briefly patted the stallion and slipped him some sort of treat from her gloved hand and then glancing at his semi-aroused and large member ordered Daniel to have the cock harness placed on him as well. “After his morning exercise I will have him breed again to Lucciola. Mistress Chana wants Lucciola impregnated by him, so I want him and Lucci bred at least twice a day.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Both Carlos and Daniel spoke nearly in unison.

Lena now sauntered over to my stall where I pulled back and tried to press myself against the far wall. She seemed to smirk at my trying to avoid her. “Oh, I will ride you later my drafter.” She smiled wickedly, with a dark look. “I want the drafter to get an additional 20 minutes on the exerciser.” She spoke to the two grooms and then imperiously strode out of the stable.

Once he was completely tacked up, the two grooms led Torello outside then came back in for us. The exerciser was a ‘hot walker’ the same device used to cool down, warm up or exercise race horses; a mechanical device that was hooked onto a halter or bridle and led horses around in a circle at various speeds.

I was amazed as I was quickly bridled by Carlos and then led outside to a small ring with a hot walker in the center. Already Ribelle was hooked up to it. Our bridles were threaded through the strong eyebolt near the top, and then a small but strong belt was put around our waists. Restraints were placed around our wrists and chained to the belt. There was no way the hands could be used to take off the bridle, to free ourselves from the hot walker, or to break our fall if one stumbled.

I shivered in the icy cold late October air, my nipples almost painfully erect. Ribelle was nearly pacing in place with barely restrained energy and anger, saliva dribbling from the bit clenched between her teeth almost like a real life high strung horse. In the stables I had been able to catch quick glimpses of the other human ponies stall cards. Lucciola (Real name ‘Firefly’) was listed as an Andalusian, belonging to House Chana, Torello (Real name ‘Lucky Break’), who also belonged to House Chana was listed as a Lusitano breed, and Ribelle, (aka Rebel”) was listed as a Thoroughbred, belonging to someone named Master Amir Hazeem of the United Emirates of Saudi Arabia. It struck me as odd how all the other ponygirls and the stallion did indeed resemble the breeds they had been marked as. Whoever had picked the “breeds” for them had chosen well, somehow I had a sense it had been probably Luciano Moradelli.

The machine began moving and so did we, all walking in place and trudging around at a medium walk to warm up. Thankfully Carlos was sitting outside with us as well, all bundled up, with his CD Boom box playing some kind of Latin music he seemed to like, I was almost thankful for the driving beat of the Latin music as it was at least something perky that made one feel like moving.

For the first 20 minutes we were allowed to walk however we wanted, although I noticed that Lucci, Falla and Ribelle all moved with grace even at a walk, their legs picked up high, knees level with the belt around their waist, and toes pointed down gracefully. I tried to copy that graceful walk, but after a few steps my legs would ache painfully from it. Carlos would just chuckle from time to time at me but say nothing.

After the ‘warm up’ the hot walker was set onto trotting mode and Carlos now reached over for the long driving/lunge whip. “Ok, caballos!” he barked, “Time to make it pretty, eh? Trote! Vamose! Trot!”

I groaned in my mind for a moment…Italian was bad enough, now I was going to have to learn commands in Carlos’ Spanish as well? Before I could ponder things further I felt the sharp sting of the lunge whip crack across my bare ass cheek. This was not the way Furio used the whip, Furio used the whip on me like someone would use on a real horse, for direction and more for pointing or sound. Carlos used it to punish, to hurt to definitely get my attention. It worked! I squealed in pain and almost hesitated, but the hot walker was dragging me forward, and Carlos laid that whip on me twice more before I could even comprehend anything. “Pick up those legs, mare!” his Spanish accent barked darkly at me, “Are you blind to what the other women are doing? Up! Up! I want those knees UP!” he cracked the whip again and awkward or not, I began picking those legs up.

I could not even comprehend how these other women had now walked and trotted for nearly half an hour in this exaggerated gait, with knees drawn up high, and not even be sore or tired. There was a light sheen of sweat on them, but already I was dripping in sweat, my calf and thigh muscles aching in quiet agony at trying to keep this high stepping gait up. Thankfully Carlos was under instruction that I was learning this new way of walking, the ponygirl way of walking, so I was allowed to rest in-between sets of learning this new style of walking and trotting.

“Get used to it, mi caballo gordito.” Carlos spoke to me, “That high stepping walk-trot is how you are expected to move when pulling a master in a cart. So learn it, eh?” he cracked the whip again on the ground with a cruel harsh sound. I was the only one who flinched slightly at its noise.

A few times I could see Mistress Lena, about two fence lines away on a hard rubber track in a racing sulky as Torello pulled her at a groundbreaking run-trot. He ran like a racer, and she often liked putting the whip against his powerful back or muscular ass. It seemed like a good 45 minutes they raced around that track at breakneck speed and he barely took a deep breathe. Finally she was pulling him up to allow him to walk and cool down and then they drove back to the stables. I was really missing Furio now.

For the next hour, us ponygirls walked, trotted and even cantered on the exerciser. Finally we were allowed to cool down, no longer did Ribelle, Lucci and Falla do the high stepping walk, they simply walked elegantly and proudly cooling down, their heads still held high. I still felt like the ugly duckling as I trudged along, sweat running down my flanks, down my back, my breathing coming in wheezing gasps.

Carlo’s stopped the machine and began to take Falla, Ribelle and Lucci off the machine. “You still have some additional time on here, my draft mare.” He patted my sweaty cheek, “The Moradelli’s want you toned up nice and pretty, eh.” He led the other mares away as he reset the machine to keep me going at a fast walk. Thankfully I did not have to do that ‘fancy walk’ but I could feel my muscles burning already. Usually Furio would trot me, walk me, trot me and give me a quick break from time to time on our 3 mile outings, I was not used to keeping up such a fast pace with no slowing or breaks. For once, I was actually thankful I was naked, so my body could try and cool down.

After awhile I could see someone walking out over to retrieve me, it was Valerio Moradelli, and like his sister he was dressed in elegant riding attire; high shiny English boots, dark grey breeches, a dark beige turtleneck with a black vest, and a hard look in his handsome face. I knew I was going to get no peace, and my day was going to be a long one. I stifled the soft sigh as he shut down the exercise machine and walked over to uncouple me from it. “Ah yes, time to play and train you and I.” his rough Brooklyn accent tightened around me. He snapped a lead rope onto me and began leading me off to yet another outdoor ring.