I was having a deliciously erotic dream of servicing an adorable young man with my mouth--he was so incredibly thick and stiff!--when I was sud­denly awakened.  It was a struggle at first to remember where I was, but the firm hand squeezing me between my legs brought it all back in a hurry.  I was in Queen Kargh's private prison, of course--and then I realized that I had been sucking eagerly on my own dildo-gag.  To my regret, the dream faded fast.

     I was in my usual nighttime bondage, nude and spreadeagled face-up on the cot in my cell.  To make things worse, I was wearing the heavy, tight-laced discipline helmet that had been put on me last night just before a group of guards put me through a lengthy, exhausting session of "Punish the Princess" in the slave-quarters’ showroom.  Being blinded and then run through an obstacle course in weighted shackles did not make an evening I would want to remember.  I think their whips reached every square inch of my nude body!  Nevertheless, I gave a sensuous wriggle in response to the intimate manual announcement that morning had arrived.  Now, blinded and thoroughly gagged by my helmet, I could only hope that this was Dyna rather than another guard.  Then I felt strong fingers cup my mons and pat it suggestively, and was sure it had to be my favorite tormentress.  As if to confirm my conjecture, I felt her other hand at my breasts, stroking and tweaking them possessively.  I wriggled some more.

     I would have liked more stimulation, of course, but Dyna had other plans for me.  First, she freed my wrists from the stock at the head of the cot where they had been imprisoned, and then helped me up to a sitting position.  Still blind and totally helpless, I knew better than to do anything with my hands or arms.  I laid my hands on my thighs and waited quietly.

     Right away, while my legs were still chained wide apart, she pulled my arms behind me.  I felt the cool iron of a pair of hinge-cuffs clamp over my wrists, securing them so that my hands were positioned rigidly palm to palm at my back.  Only then did she open the ear-vents in my helmet.

     "The Queen wants you in harness this morning, Princess," Dyna told me.  I moaned through my nose, not at all happy about her announcement but wishing mainly that she would remove the monstrous gag that was still fastened inside the helmet and filled my mouth entirely. 

     She had to fix my hobble first, though, so it was another few minutes while my legs were freed from their uncomfortable spread and heavy iron cuffs were locked about my ankles.  I could tell that the chain between them was a 12-incher, meaning that I would be under close guard this morn­ing.

     Then she worked the long, thick wooden gag out of my mouth before unbuckling the collar straps that held my helmet in place.  After she had pulled it up off my head, I could see and speak once more.

     "Th-thank you, Mistress Dyna," I breathed.  Dyna is tall, dark, and muscular, a brutally demanding guardian, but she can be gentle when the situation allows it.  We have spent some heavenly evenings together while she took her pleasure on my defenseless body.  The other guards can be nearly as cruel, but none of them knows how to arouse me the way she can. 

     "Your hands felt good, Mistress.  I am grateful."

     "I'm afraid you won't be grateful for what's in store for you today, girl," she answered brusquely.  "You're going to pony for the Queen today, and I expect that will involve some serious labor."

     She reached down to cup my breasts and tweak my nipples with both hands.  "After you've had your toilette, I'll take you to mess and then to the stable.  Let's get started!"

     With her help, I got to my feet and shuffled down the hall to the toilet facilities.  Even in bondage, I can pretty well see to my own needs.  The slave attendant wiped me, held a much-appreciated cup of water for me to drink from, and then ran a comb through my hair.  Toilet-duty may be unpleasant, being chained there beside the john, but at least it isn't difficult--and the guards rarely bother you. 

     In another five minutes, Dyna was leading me on a neck leash to the mess hall.  The short quick steps my hobble required soon had me panting.  We got there quickly, and at her command I dropped to my knees at my assigned station and leaned down to start slurping up my morning oatmeal from a bowl on the floor.  I had to eat it dog-fashion, naturally, since my hands were so sternly cuffed behind me.  This is the way all the Queen's slavegirls must eat.

     Two other girls were also having breakfast on their knees, but we had learned long ago that it is better not to exchange greetings.  Glancing briefly at the pair, I noticed that Amber, a voluptuous blonde who had once served as my chief handmaiden, had already been fitted with a pair of silver breast-rings, so I knew she was in for some special treatment today.  And red-haired Minette's waist was cruelly cinched in by a dark leather corselet, to which an ornate bodystrap had been attached.  A prisoner from another of Queen Kargh's conquests, Minette did not usually wear such a punitive article until later in the day.

     Then I saw that the guards were in dress uniform.  Surely something fancy was scheduled.  And as a royal prisoner, I was certain to be one of the chief displays for the occasion.  No wonder my captor wanted me in pony bondage!

     Finished with the tasteless but nourishing meal, I scrambled to my feet at Dyna's urging, allowed her to wipe the oatmeal from my chin, and followed her along the stone-paved hallway to the stable.  Her pace forced me to test my hobble's limit with each hurried step, making my ankles ache.  I wondered gloomily how long the ceremony would last.  Most of the day, likely.

     At our destination, Dyna gave my leash to the oriental chain-master, Abdul--not exactly my favorite person!--and gave my fanny a friendly swat.  "Be a good little Princess today," she told me gaily.  "I'll get you later, after you've done your ponygirl stint.  I know you'll make me proud of you!"

     Huh!  That meant I had better be especially attentive to the Queen's commands and obey them instantly.  If I failed, the punishments that Dyna would have to inflict on me would be lengthy, intricate, andaltogether horrid.  I gritted my teeth and nodded.

     Abdul led me to the chaining room and removed my hinge-cuffs.  I knew better than to resist, and so held out my arms while he locked a great iron cuff over each wrist and then used chains from two ceiling pulleys to stretch them out above me in a strenuous vee.  After my hobble had been removed, he used more chains to spread my legs wide apart.  Thus spreadeagled, my nude body was totally open to his devilish ministrations.

     Abdul doesn't like noisy slavegirls, so his first move was to force my bit into place.  I hate the thing, but dutifully opened my mouth when he held it up before me and allowed him to jam it deep between my jaws, trying to make sure that my tongue was fitted properly into its special sleeve.  Then, with its protruding sidepieces pulling my lips back in a grotesque grin, he buckled the retaining straps about my head and beneath my chin to make sure that the awful device was secured in place. 

     I worked my jaw back and forth, trying to seat the bit more comfort­ably, but with no success whatsoever.  Sticking out from each corner of my mouth, the sidepieces curved upward beside my cheeks, ready for the reins.  When my driver pulls back on them, the sleeve inside my mouth twists and squeezes painfully on my tongue.  I despise it, but the nasty gadget cer­tainly guarantees my prompt obedience to every command.  It also, of course, prevents me from complaining.

     Next came my stiff leather corselet, really not much more than a wide cinch-belt with V-shaped sections hanging down at the front and rear. Abdul, naturally, laced it to uncomfort­ably stylish constriction, leaving my waist cinched in to less than 20 inches.  I knew that my crotch would be left open, exposed to the drawbar by which I would be hitched to the cart.  Only later, perhaps, would the corselet be used to anchor an erotically tantalizing bodystrap tight bet­ween my legs.

     With my corselet in place, Abdul next brought a squeeze-bra and fitted my generously full, firm breasts into its cleverly designed cups.  The cups are constructed of thin, wide-spaced leather thongs which can be tightened one by one to shape each of my bosoms into a provocative cone.  While the bra's main purpose is to keep my breasts from bouncing, it also exaggerates their forward thrust and thus holds them in scandalous exhibition. 

     By the time he was satisfied, my nipples were forced out through the cups' open tips, ready for a pair of D-rings to be forced through the holes that had been pierced behind and below my nips the day after my capture.  The constrictive pressure was already making my bosoms eager for more stimulation.  I glanced down at them and sighed, know­ing that they would cruelly used before the day was over.

     Next, after freeing my ankles, Abdul fitted my feet into knee-high running boots.  Each has a reinforced instep that holds my foot in tiptoe stretch and thus needs no heel at all.  The boots strain my legs fearfully because they force me to stand entirely on the balls of my feet, actually on tiny horseshoes which make up their soles, and they also keep my balance always at risk.  They are equipped with D-rings set at the inside of each ankle,  to be used with a hobble whenever my labors as a pony are not needed. 

     Then he locked a 15-inch chain between my ankles.  As if I might have a chance to run away!

     Finally, my arms were freed one at a time and forced into hand-tooled leather shortgloves that would hold each of them sharply doubled.  Abdul worked at the laces and straps until my arms ached under the pressure and each hand was secured firmly up against its shoulder.  The gloves allow me to swing my arms for the sake of balance while running, but otherwise leave them quite useless.  Worse, they have rings set at the elbows which can be used to secure my arms at my sides or behind me whenever necessary.  I wiggled my fingers helplessly.

     When Abdul was satisfied that the shortgloves were tight enough, he ran a strap through the elbow-rings and drew them together in the center of my back.  I moaned around my bit, for this arrangement places a terrific strain on my shoulders and forces my breasts outward so that the thongs of my bra-cups cut into their tender flesh even more deeply.  My muffled protest brought a thin smile to his lips.

     Then he cupped my bosoms in his delicate hands and bounced them gent­ly.  I could only bite down on the evil mechanism in my mouth, helpless to avoid his casual teasing.  I had to shuffle back and forth to maintain my balance while he rubbed his thumbs coarsely over my nipples. 

     Despite my aversion to his touch, they stiffened under this erotic torment.  I should note that since I was captured two years ago, a good deal of my imprisonment has been devoted to carnal stimulation--training my body to respond avidly to such casual titillation whether I wish it to or not.  Abdul is a true expert in this type of training.  Why, at one point in my training, I actually thought I loved him!

     In the beginning, being spreadeagled naked between two posts and licked everywhere by a blind African dwarf for an hour each morning brought me to realize that my body's needs can be overwhelming.  Later, with the help of other obscene exercises, my breasts became fuller and incredibly sensitive, and my loins learned that pressure means pleasure.  The regular application of special aphrodisiac salves and powders further heightened my responsiveness. 

    Finally, I became intimately familiar with a wide range of dildoes that brought me to climax time after time.  Impaled on a dildo and being forced to run, or crawl, or pull a stone-filled wagon by a strap passed back between my legs finally persuaded me that a dildo is not such a terrible thing after all.  And since this carnal stimulation was clearly the only pleasure available to me in captivity, I slowly surrendered to that fact.

     Now, after all this training, I am not only unable to resist physi­cal arousal, I actually welcome it.  No wonder that I moaned when he took his hands away from my breasts.

     He called to a guard.  "She is ready now.  Bring the chariot."

     The guard saluted and left, only to return a moment later pulling the two-wheeled racing sulky that Queen Kargh prefers.  To ride in it while a female prisoner is fastened astride its drawbar pleases her greatly, for it displays her regal power and at the same time shamefully debases the girl who must serve as the "pony."  The fact that the pony suffers monstrously simply enhances her satisfaction.

     Hitching me to the sulky was simple.  Abdul guided me to stand ahead of it, facing forward, and then he worked the slender oak drawbar up between my thighs from behind me.  He secured it there with straps pulled up tight from the drawbar to both the front and rear of my corselet, making sure that they held it up in my crotch between my lovelips as tightly as possible.  Except for my reins, and of course her whip, this would now be the only connection between me and my captor.

     Being unhappily no stranger to this type of bondage, I was well aware that the drawbar would slide back and forth slightly as I moved, no matter how tight the retaining straps, and that my natural moisture would lu­bricate its movements.  Then, before long, its pressures on my clit would begin to excite me. 

     So while I dreaded the strenuous labor involved in pulling the rig, I couldn't help but look forward to the erotic stimulation that the drawbar would provide, knowing that it would help me to ignore the fiery bite of the Queen's lash as well as the bitter humiliation that accompanies this degrading form of servitude.

     Abdul jerked the drawbar back and forth, testing its security, and I had to fight against it to maintain my footing.  Then he tightened each of the anchoring straps one more notch, squeezing the drawbar even harder up between my legs and forcing a shuddering moan from me, before declaring that I was ready to be taken to the Queen.

     The other guard fastened reins to my bit and jerked experimentally on one and then the other, forcing me to twist my head back and forth.  I grunted at the pain.  Satisfied that they were secure, he handed them to Abdul.  But the sadistic oriental was not finished with me yet. 

     As I had feared, he procured a pair of small bells for my breast-rings and held them up before me with a sly grin.  "Princess be sure to enjoy these, eh?"

     A moment later, there was a small silver bell was hanging beneath each nipple.  Like it or not, I would now produce "music" with my every movement.

     Then he removed the hobble from between my ankles but left my arms drawn back behind me.  I would have no need yet for their use in running.  With a forked leash snapped to my breast-rings, I was ready to be led to the front of the palace where Queen Kargh would mount the rig to which I was so cruelly harnessed.

     The journey was unpleasant, of course, but at least I did not have a passenger to pull.  Only the Queen can ride in the royal sulky, so the guard walked ahead of me, using my leash to guide me.  The little bells at my breasts jingled merrily.  Every once in a while he would jerk the leash, just to remind me of my vulnerability.  My grunts of pain assured him that I was well aware of this!  But I could also feel the drawbar rubbing between my legs and knew that it would have me aroused before very long.

     We finally reached the palace courtyard.  The guard locked a short chain between the D-rings built into my boots, ensuring that I would not move far, and then we waited in the hot sunlight for the Queen.  A crowd soon gathered, surely as much to observe my suffering as to honor their ruler. 

     While we waited, I had a chance to glance around.  This would be, I finally figured out, a celebration of the Queen's victory two years ago over my own kingdom -- no wonder I was to be the center of attention!  Biting down on the horrid bit in my mouth, I thought ruefully of all the humilia­tion and torments to which I had been subjected since my defeat in battle.  It seemed much, much more than just two years ago.

     Then a guard appeared, leading Amber on a forked leash that was fas­tened to her breast-rings.  She has shared much of my misery since we were captured. 

     Her arms were twisted behind her, each hand drawn sternly up toward the opposite shoulder by straps so that her forearms made an X in the center of her back.  This type of arm bondage forced her lush, thong-cupped bosoms outward in scandalous display.  Heavy chains hobbled her at both ankles and knees so that she had a particularly difficult time keeping up with her guard, and the stiletto-heeled pumps she wore did not make the job any easier! 

     Worse, I could see from the kind of bodystrap she was wearing that she had probably been fitted with a U-plug that invaded both her two lower orifices, for her unnaturally stiff movements indicated both anxiety and arousal.

     I couldn't decide whether I would like to trade places with her or not.  From my own experience I knew that the U-plug is a hideous thing to wear, yet it certainly is no worse than being hitched astride a racing rig's drawbar.  But after I noticed the heavy iron brank in her mouth, the kind of gag that squeezes the wearer's tongue brutally, I decided that I was better off as the Queen's pony.

     Then, to my surprise, I saw another two-wheeled rig being brought out.  Sure enough, Amber was to be hitched to it just as I was hitched to the Queen's sulky.  But if she was also wearing a U-plug, her torment would be much greater than what I would have to undergo!   I could only guess that she had somehow offended Abdul and that this was to be her punishment.  The tongue-clamp gag in her mouth would prevent her from complaining.

     I watched with real sympathy while the drawbar was strapped up between her thighs, for her wincing movements indicated quite clearly how uncomfortable she found the arrangement.  The guards removed the chain between her knees.  Then they fastened reins to her breast-rings and ran each one back to the racing cart through a ring at one side of her collar.  Her eyes were wide with horror, for it was obvious that these reins would be really effective.   

     Once Amber was properly hitched, the guards gave a signal and then came to attention.  After a moment there was a blare of trumpets.  The Queen was approaching.  I dared not turn to watch, but soon she came to where I could see her.  My heart sank.

     Queen Kargh is coldly beautiful, and this morning she was garbed in glossy black leather that proclaimed her status as a warrior.  Beside her, shorter but similarly outfitted, walked Princess Kargit, the Queen's 19-year old daughter.  Apparently she would drive the rig to which Amber was hitched.

     Sure enough, both women mounted at the same time.  I could feel the Queen's weight.  Then, to my horror, I heard the chief guard announce to the crowd that there would be a race along the broad avenue leading to the victory arch, several long blocks away, which commemorated my defeat.  The loser, he said with a grin, could expect bitter punishment.

     And thus it was that Amber and I were readied to compete with each other.  Our ankles were loosed and my arms were freed of the tie that held my elbows together behind me.  Amber's arms would stay as they were, appar­ently, even though their position would be a severe handicap.  A moment later, I was deprived of my unfair advantage.

     "Moth-errr," the Princess complained, "It won't be fair if my pony's arms are fixed differently than your pony's are."  The Queen must have agreed, for I could see the guards approach Amber.  In a few moments, she was wearing shortgloves like mine.  Except for her being fitted with that awful U-plug and reined by her breast-rings, we were roughly equal in terms of restraint.

     We two ponygirls were led to be positioned side by side in the center of the avenue, each with her driver mounted in the chariot behind her.  The chief guard stepped before us to make sure we understood our roles.  "You miserable sluts are honored today to serve your royal captors.  In celebration of your pathetic and well-deserved defeat two years ago, you will race to the monument.  The pony who reaches it second will then serve as the centerpiece of the victory ceremonies, which you may be sure will be agonizing, while the winner of the race will be returned to her cell."  He stared hard at each of us.  "You will begin when the cymbal sounds."

     I glanced briefly at Amber, and she at me.  Neither of us wished the other to suffer, but I'm sure she felt as I did that it would be much better to win this race!  I took in a deep breath and bent my knees slight­ly. 

     The Queen and her daughter must have taken out their whips, for a split second after the cymbal sounded I felt the blazing sting of the Queen's lash across my shoulders.  I arched my torso in pain, but also lurched forward frantically.  Amber of course did the same thing. 

     I concentrated on reaching full speed as quickly as possible, stretch­ing my legs out in the long strides that I knew were expected of me and feeling the rhythmic bites of my tiptoe boots on the smooth stone flagging of the avenue.  There was another cut of the whip down the center of my back and I increased my efforts.  The drawbar between my thighs was beginning to stimulate my clit, just as I knew it would.

     Despite the whip, the thing between my legs soon became the center of my attention.  With every pounding step, it squeezed and rubbed against my clit deliciously.  Then we reached the first corner.  The Queen's sharp tug at my reins brought agony to my poor tongue as my head was twisted in the direction I had to go.  I stumbled briefly and the drawbar cut up cruelly beneath me, but I managed to keep running.  On the straightaway again, the steady pounding of my thighs assured me that I was making good time.

    Then I was shocked to see from the corner of my eye that Amber was getting ahead of me.  That she was able to move so fast while wearing a U-plug amazed me.  Surely, its punishing double-penetration should slow her con­siderably!  But Princess Kargit was apparently using her whip constantly, and my former handmaiden was responding to it.  I redoubled my efforts, only to find myself the target of the Queen's lash again.

     The race seemed to go on forever.  My breasts heaved against their thong cups, the nasty little bells at their tips jangling wildly, and I could feel the drawbar slide and grind with tantalizing pressure across my clit with every frantic stride.  The Queen's whip sliced across my back regularly, breaking the rhythm of my stride but keeping me focused on the need for speed.  My arms swung back and forth steadily in their cruelly constrictive shortgloves.

     But no matter how much effort I put forth, Amber remained a few steps ahead of me.  I leaned forward against the drawbar, making it press even more insistently against my throbbing love-button as I struggled to draw even with my rival.  More turns in the roadway meant more punishment for my tongue, and the Queen's whip continued to cut with wicked accuracy across my shoulders and my buns.

     I could see the gigantic victory monument ahead of us, and also that Amber was no longer gaining ground on me.  Biting down on my bit, I put my last bit of energy into moving my legs more rapidly.  Trying to ignore the awakening pleasure between my legs, I knew I had to reach the monument before Amber.

     The last few blocks streaked by.  My mind was a whirlpool of pain, erotic excitement, and frantic fear of losing the race.  I could hardly feel my legs anymore, and even my close-thonged bosoms seemed numb.  But the Queen’s whip continued to encourage me, curling over one shoulder or the other to sting my breasts, and I had to keep running.  Amber, no doubt, was equally tormented.

     Straining even harder, I drew even with her just before we reached the monument.   Immediately, I felt my head being pulled back harshly by my reins and heard the sharp command to Halt!  I stopped running as quickly as I could, leaning back against the drawbar and feeling it cut up between my asscheeks.  And beside me was Amber, just as exhausted and pain-wracked, but certainly not behind me.

    Suddenly, a flood of heat exploded between my trembling legs.  The drawbar’s erotic stimulation, which I had tried so hard to ignore while concentrating on the race, had caught up with me.  I squeezed my thighs together and gasped as my body sought its own escape from all the torment I had undergone. 

    It wasn’t exactly that I welcomed the orgasm here in public, but I had to let it run its course.  Trembling and rolling my hips against the rod that still pressed so harshly up into my crotch, I shut my eyes and moaned my surrender to the demanding power of coarse carnal pleasure.  It was only when a guard reached me and forced my elbows together behind me that I could shake off the dark rapture. 

     “Looks like you enjoy being a pony, little princess,” he sneered.  “And your blonde friend must like it too!”  I glanced at Amber and saw that she was arching her back in an obscene display of extended physical lust.  That horrid double plug she was wearing made her experience much more titanic than mine had been and the poor girl seemed out of her mind from its excruciating effects.

     After my elbows were strapped firmly together in the center of my back and a 12-inch hobble had been locked between my boots’ ankle-rings, the guard unfastened the reins from my bit.  To ensure my remaining under close control, he then snapped the ends of a forked leash to my breast-rings.  A nasty jerk at the leash reminded me once more of my enslavement.

    Amber and I stood still while we were unhitched from the chariots.  We were made to stand side by side to hear the Queen’s verdict.

     As we stood, still quivering with exhaustion, with our heads drooping and panting desperately, we heard the Queen shout for the assembled crowd to hear, "A tie!  A tie!  Both prisoners have lost, and so both will suffer more punishment during the ceremony!"

The end