Ponyland - 1

by Sir Thomas

- provided for use on SirJeff's Ponygirls by the author.
- inspired by the art of PeterPD
- do not use without the author's and the artist's permission.


The following story was inspired by the film "Closet Land" written and directed by Radha Bharadwai and starring Madeline Stowe and Alan Rickman. The original story was sponsored by Amnesty International. Its intention was to spotlight the horrors hidden from view that often occur in a police state. My intention is to capture some of that frightening atmosphere while incorporating the ponygirl theme.

The following is a real story that never happened!

Chapter 1

“Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded.

“Ugh!” the woman grunted as the goon slapped her on the back of her head. His breath smelled of garlic and onions.

She was dressed in a long white cotton robe. She was naked underneath, having been “prepared” for interrogation earlier. With her arms exposed by the short sleeves, her bound hands were obvious. They were cuffed behind her back with tight steel manacles. In addition a canvas bag had been loosely thrown over her head.

“Quiet!” the goon demanded in a gravelly voice, “or I’ll give you more of the same.”

The woman walked on, prodded by the goon’s hand in the small of her back. One of her slippers fell off. “Leave it!” he said. She couldn’t see where she was going but she could feel the wall on her right. She left the shoe as the man yelled “Move!”

The woman trembled. “What did I do to deserve this?” she wondered as she stumbled blindly forward. “I’m innocent.”

It didn’t take long before they entered a large room. She was forced into a wooden chair. “Stay where you are. Someone will come get you. Don’t get up or you’ll be sorry!”

The woman sat still and quietly whimpered. She was blind. The hood was made of canvas and it itched horribly. She tried to think. “Why did they arrest her?” she thought. “I didn’t do anything,” she kept repeating in her mind.

It took a long time for someone to arrive. The gentleman spoke with an English accent. “Are you well, my dear?” he asked politely.

“Why am I here?” she replied with a trembling voice.

“You are here because you failed to comply with the mandates of the State.”

“How? I haven’t broken any laws. I know I haven’t. I’ve been a good citizen!”

“We’re well aware of your behavior patterns. We’ve had you under surveillance for the last two years.”

“What?” she said fearfully. “But why? I haven’t done anything!”

“We felt your behavior warranted investigation.”

“What sort of behavior?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

The phrase had the sound of finality so the woman stopped arguing. She knew that the decision had been made to interrogate her. She figured the best thing to do at this point was cooperate.

“So what happens now?”

Chapter 2

“Stand,” the Englishman ordered, taking her arm.

“Can you remove the bag from my head? Please?” she pleaded.

“Soon,” he offered. “Kick off your other slipper. You’ll be given footwear shortly.”

They walked on, the Englishman treating the woman with kindness and respect. It was in sharp contrast to her earlier treatment. The people that had bound her, stripped her, and hooded her were not gentle at all. They were either cold or sadistic. And that goon that walked her down that long hallway was nothing short of pure evil.

When they arrived at their destination the woman heard heels, lots of them. There must have been a lot of women in high heels near her. She was led into a small room. The sounds of the heels faded as the door closed behind her.

“I’m going to release your hands. Keep them at your side until I tell you to move them. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” She said.


The man removed her cuffs and pressed her wrists to her hips. “Don’t move your hands,” he ordered politely. “The English were always so polite,” she thought to herself.

A female helper handed him a leather cuff as another held the victim’s opposite hand. “Don’t resist,” he ordered as he placed the cuff on her wrist. He secured it with a padlock then repeated the process with the other wrist as the first helper held the woman’s bound wrist.

“I want you to lift your hands above your head, dear. Don’t be afraid. Everything will be fine.”

Slowly the woman lifted her arms high above her head. She felt something attached to her wrists. They felt like chains.

The helpers had been through the process many times. One of the girls stepped forward as she had done so many times before. The snaps on the woman’s shoulder separated and the robe fell to the floor. The other girl pulled it away and tossed it in a bin.

Now naked the woman began to tremble once more. “Please don’t rape me!” she cried.

“Is that what you fear? Do you fear rape?”


“Why?” he curiously demanded in his best impersonation of Malcolm McDowell.

“I don’t want to be hurt. I don’t want to get pregnant!”

“You had your tubes tied three years ago. Pregnancy isn’t in your future. Tell me. Why does a woman not want to have children at such a young age?” he asked, exaggerating the English lilt in his voice.

She remained silent for some time.

“Cat got your tongue, Dear?” he asked cruelly.

“I don’t know. I just didn’t want kids.”

“You didn’t want the responsibility.”


“You didn’t want the risk.”


“You wanted to be a whore. You just wanted sex without the risk, without the responsibility,” he said sharply.

“No! Stop it! Stop it!” she cried.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said in a much subdued voice.

“What?” she returned quietly.

“I won’t rape you if you do exactly as I say. Deal?”

In the subdued light of the canvas bag she thought carefully for only a moment. From the confines of the canvas bag only one word was heard, “Deal!”

Chapter 3

It had been nearly two hours since the bag had been thrown over her head. She was tired, scared, and humiliated by her nudity. Her arms hung loosely above her head, manacled to chains she could not see. The people in the room were invisible to her. All she knew was that there were several people in the room. But for some reason, only the Englishman spoke.

The women took the victim’s legs and pulled them to either side. Leather cuffs were attached by loose chains mounted to the floor. With her legs now bound the chains on her wrists tightened. Slowly the rose, pulling her hands upward.

“No! Stop!” she cried.

But the chains continued to tighten until they took her full weight.

“Please, stop!” she cried again as the chains continued to move.

Soon she was on tiptoes. Seconds later her feet were six inches off the floor. Her body was stretched tight as a drum. “Please let me down! I can’t stand it!”

Suddenly the hood was removed. Standing there were three people, one man and two women. “What in God’s name?” the woman asked.

The man wore jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black leather vest. On his head he wore a black Stetson. That seemed ordinary compared to the women.

The women were dressed from head to toe in black latex. With the exception of a pony tail sitting high on each girl’s head, the only things exposed were their lips and their eyes. Their lips seemed to be wrapped around a red rubber ball. The hoods they wore were stretched so tight that she could clearly see the series of straps that held the gags in place.

“This is Coco,” he said pointing to the girl with the red ponytail. “And this is Dina,” he said, pointing to the girl with the blonde hair.

“I don’t understand. Why are they in those outfits?”

“They earned the right to wear them.”

“Earned the right? I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. It will all be explained in time. Now, these lovely ladies are going to take some measurements. The process will be relatively unpleasant unfortunately but there’s little that can be done about that. Just do as you’re told and I won’t have to rape you.”

As the girls began taking measurements the Englishman walked over to a computer terminal. With his back to the suspended girl he began asking questions.

“State your full name for verification,” he ordered.

“Christine Laura Mason,” she replied.


“Lawyer,” she said as the girls started measuring her legs’ circumferences at several places.

“Yearly salary is quoted at $230,000. Correct?”

“Yes!” she said as the girls slowly continued to measure her legs.

“Last time you dyed your hair?” he asked.

“Never. I had it styled two weeks ago,” she offered as one of the girls pulled her right toe downward and took a measurement with a strange tool.

“Have you ever played any bondage games in the bedroom?”

“No!” she stated firmly.

“Are you gay?”

“No!” she repeated with equal emphasis.

The Englishman continued to drone on with his questions as he typed. “Your last recorded penetration was on July 19, 2014. That’s eight months ago. Have you had any other sessions we’re not aware of?”

“Penetration?” she asked before suddenly realizing what was being asked. Go to hell!” she yelled.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he calmly commented. He heard the girl squeal in a humiliating fashion. Her orifices were being measured. The humiliating question was always asked about the time that the probes were inserted. The reason was obvious.

“The girls will be done with you shortly. Don’t resist. They won’t hurt you,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

After he had left the girls took measurements that made absolutely no sense to Christine. First they measured the width of her breasts with evil looking calipers. They took eight different measurements including the bulge from her breastbone and distances from throat to nipples. It was weird!

Common measurements were taken too such as hips, waist, chest and neck. When they started measuring Christine’s head she had to ask, “What are you two doing?”

But the girls just continued to take measurements. They measured her eyes, her ears, and the distance between the corners of her lips. They even measured the length and width of her nose.

The final measurements were really strange and required Christine’s cooperation. One girl picked up a camera and the other took a rectangular block of maple. The wood was roughly four inches by six inches. It was a half inch thick. The girl placed it against Christine’s lips and pressed gently. Christine didn’t want it in her mouth but feared punishment if she refused. So she opened her mouth and let the girl insert it. The girl then gently pushed her chin up as an indication for her to bite down on it. As Christine tasted the maple the latex clad girl continued to lift her chin until her head was tilted far back. A series of flashes commenced. In short order the graph on the bottom of the board had been photographed. Christine’s head was tilted forward and another set of pictures were taken. The purpose eluded her. What she didn’t realize was that her teeth had just been measured for a gag.

There was one final measurement and it was as unpleasant as they come. One of the girls, Coco, approached Christine with a “Vee” shaped device that seemed to be bent in half. There was a metal ring mounted to the apex. The ends were two inches long. Christine felt something hit her head. She looked up and saw a thin chain hanging in front of her nose. “What’s that for?” she asked, knowing that the girls had no capability of speech.

She soon found out as Coco inserted the ends of the wires into her nostrils. “Ugh, it hurts! Take it out!”

Instead she attached the device to the chain and held it taut until Dina lifted the chain with the special control. “Please take it out!” she cried as she practically hung from her nose.

The process was far from over. Coco knelt down and retrieved another chain that disappeared into the floor. Dina handed her another little torturous device. “No, please don’t!” Christine pleaded. But her words were ignored as twin hooks were inserted along her lower lip and pulled downward. The design of the device spread the gadget as it pulled her mouth open. When the chain was tight small knurled screws were tightened and a thin metal band between the two hooks kept them from slipping out. Christine now hung with mouth agape with no chance of resistance.

With her mouth fully open Christine could only groan. The girls continued to take measurements. Now they measured the distance between the corners of her lips while her mouth was wide open as well as the distance between her teeth. Finally they gripped her tongue with a pair of forceps and measured that as well.

The worst was over, for now!

While Christine groaned Paul Wentworth wolfed down another liverwurst and onion sandwich. “How can you eat that stuff,” his partner, Jane Alderman, asked.

They both watched the victim’s suffering via a remote monitor. “I’ve actually grown quite accustomed to the taste actually. Liverwurst is such an arousing flavor. The garlic and onions seem to meld together yet seem to contrast each other at the same time. I make my own you know!” he said in his phony thick English accent.

“Will you stop that? I know you’re from New Jersey.”

“Yes,” he continued, using his suave tone. “But does she?”

Joan laughed as he made his exit to continue the victim’s treatment.

Paul stopped by the supply room to retrieve a few items he’d need. Phil Harris, a distant relative to the movie star of the fifties, was gathering the gear that Christine would need, a task he had performed countless times. Each item was manufactured by a special tailoring machine that created clothing, harnesses, and footwear out of various materials. As he was gathering the items and arranging them on a cart a warning message popped up on his terminal just as Paul entered the room.

“Damn it!” he said in disgust as he read the screen.

“What’s wrong?” Paul asked.

“The fabricator ran out of leather belt material. Damn factory was sabotaged again by rebels.”

“You got the stuff out for the new girl though, right?”

“213709? Yes, well, almost. The machine stopped with only a foot of material left. It produced two harnesses and all the corsets and footwear. But we ran out of belt material for the head harnesses.”

“You mean you don’t have a spoon for her? How am I supposed to train her? She’s hanging right now mouth agape. Don’t you have any spares?”

“We’ve been waiting for three days now. I had to use up the stock on that pair that came in last week. You know how much leather those body harnesses use. Look,” Phil said, trying to control his excitement, “we have five thousand feet coming in day after tomorrow. I’ll put you at the top of the list.”

“What do I do for now though, just let her hang there?”

“I’ve got a foot left. I have a single strap design that should work. It’s old and not as effective but I’m sure it will fill your needs.”

“How long?”

“How does twenty seconds grab you?” Phil pressed a few keys on his keyboard and selected the archived design. It was one of his designs, created over twenty years ago when he was just starting out. A short time later the device was placed on the awaiting cart with the remaining gear.

Pushing the cart out the door Paul glanced at Phil and beamed a huge smile. “Thanks! I thought I was out in the cold.”

“Would I do that to a friend?” Phil replied sardonically.

Paul stopped at the door to the prep room and thought to himself, “I’m an Englishman. Pip, pip, cheerio and all that rot!” He chuckled then opened the door.

“My dear,” Paul said to the hanging woman. “Are you still here? Heavens! We should get you prepared for your training session. I’m certain you don’t like hanging around like this. Do you?”

Christine shook her head and tried to say “Ugh, ugh!” The words were not nearly as intelligible as she had hoped.

“Good,” Paul said in that exaggerated tone. I have a few items I’d like you to wear. “You don’t have any objections, do you?”

“Ugh, ugh,” she grunted again.

“Excellent! The first item I have is a little device that I’m going to put in your mouth. It’s a bit uncomfortable but I’m sure you’ll understand its purpose shortly. Now hold still.”

The spoon, as it was commonly called, was essentially a gag. It looked something like a brass bow tie with a thick brass rod going through a hole in the knot. Each bow was made of eighth inch machined brass. Along the edge a quarter inch wide lining gave the top and bottom a cuplike appearance. All the edges were rounded for comfort. Finally a machined black nylon mouth guard was incorporated into the design to prevent the brass from actually coming in contact with the girl’s teeth.

Paul held it up to Christine’s face and let her get a good look at it. It was going into her mouth and she didn’t know what it would do to her. She was so scared! Paul pressed it to her upper teeth and pushed firmly. The groove seated perfectly. (This was expected because the state kept a copy of all dental records.) He went behind her and loosely buckled the straps. Paul nodded his head and Coco released the chain holding Christine’s lower lip. Paul released the knurled screws and pushed the girl’s mouth closed.

“Bite down. It will be more comfortable,” he said as he pushed her chin upwards. “Harder,” he ordered.

Christine’s cheeks were wet with tears as she pressed her teeth into the fine groove in the nylon mouthpiece. “Good girl,” Paul said as he tightened the strap, pulling the device deeper into her mouth. “You’ll be much more comfortable that way.”

The front brass spoon hung at a slight downward angle, its counterpart pushing against the roof of Christine’s mouth. It was annoying to have her mouth stuffed with this brass intruder but it wasn’t painful in any way. The biggest problem was that the device was hard and unforgiving. She had to constantly push it around in her mouth, even sucking on it, tasting the metallic tang.

She couldn’t for the life of her understand its purpose. If they wanted to gag her why have something sticking out of her mouth? She’d seen people gagged in magazines and on the internet before. They never looked like this. And the rod running across her mouth confused her even more. What was its purpose? She was almost curious. But fear was her main concern right now.

Paul examined her mouth carefully. “You look magnificent,” he continued. “Let’s get your footwear on so we can get you off these chains, shall we?”

Christine stared straight ahead and nodded.

The footwear was made of black patent leather. The heels were seven inches long and the toes had three inch platforms on them. The edge of each sole was recessed and the center was hollow. Again Christine was confused by what was happening to her. She watched in fascination as first one leg then the other was released and sheathed in the shiny black leather boots. The boots were laced along their front with elastic cord until the entire string of grommets nearly touched. The cord was clamped together with a special clasp that was crimped. Then a bow was tied and held permanently in place with gold band that covered the previously installed clasp. The boots were full length reaching from her toe to within a couple inches of her crotch. They sheathed her legs like a thick second skin. They felt stiff, especially around the knees and ankles. With her feet still a few inches off the ground she didn’t know if she could walk in them. She knew they would insist though.

With a signal from Paul Coco lowered Christine onto her feet. For the first time in nearly forty minutes her arms were not being pulled out of their sockets. But her feet now had to deal with skyscraper heels like she had never worn before. She stood uneasily, using the chains for support as she wobbled on the new footwear. She towered over Paul. The girls, Christine noticed for the first time, all seemed to be wearing similar boots. That’s why, she realized, they didn’t have any trouble reaching her head.

“Take a few steps in place, Dear. Allow your feet to settle into them.”

Paul heard the hollow sounds produced by the platform soles. He knew she was still confused, not realizing that the boots were actually designed to sound like hooves on hard pavement. Once she visited the blacksmith and was set in front of a cart she’d understand. But why give her more to worry about? All she knew at this point was that she was gagged and had to wear strange high heel boots. She had enough to worry about.


“Fear is a wonderful tool. Did you know that, Christine?” he asked me as the girls began putting a shiny leather outfit on my torso. I nodded fearfully. I didn’t know what he was getting at but I was so scared that I had difficulty concentrating. All I knew was that these people were going to torture me. And I didn’t know why!

“You don’t mind if I frighten you then?”

I nodded.

“You do mind! But you think it’s a good tool. Isn’t that strange!”

I nodded again, replying to his sadistic question.

“Are you frightened now? Of course you are,” he continued, turning his back on me as he scratched his nose.

The girls had pulled the leather corset under my arms, buckling it in the back. It was made of shiny patent leather too. I noticed that the outfit didn’t completely cover my breasts. They did lift them though. Suddenly I felt a machine being used to tightened straps behind me. My waist constricted until I could barely breathe. I groaned. The Englishman paid no attention to my torment and simply continued to talk to me in that evil tone.

“We must keep you frightened. As you yourself know, it is a good training tool. Trust me. You will be much happier when your training is over. I would advise you not to lose that fear. Understand?”

I nodded. As long as they were going to dress me in these outfits and treat me this way I knew I’d fulfill that goal. I was so afraid and I didn’t have any hope of release at all.

A thick posture collar was placed around my neck and laced in front with a soft wire. Once it had been sewn together the ends were sealed together in a manner exactly like the laces on the boots. When they were done I had to look straight ahead.

They finally lowered my arms and took the leather manacles off my wrists. My arms were so weak I couldn’t even fight them. I was so helpless that I had no choice but to let them put them into a triangular leather bag that they slung across my shoulders. At least I wasn’t hanging from them. But the lacing pulled my elbows together and that hurt! I groaned.

“You’ll get used to it, Dear,” he said. But I seriously doubted it.

Chapter 4

Loops on my shoulders were attached to the chains and again they tightened them. At least I wasn’t pulled off my feet this time though. Instead they chained my boots to the floor, although to rings that were set closer together. Once my legs were secure they tightened the chains until I stood perfectly erect. I still was on my heels but I was quite secure. I knew I was in for more torment.

The blonde girl came over and looked at my nipples. She examined them for a long time before going over to a table. The other girl brought a high table in front of me and raised its adjustable top until it was pressed to the underside of my breasts. Then she wrapped a strap around me, securing the table to my chest.

I couldn’t look down very well but I noticed several gold rings. I didn’t know what was going on. Suddenly I saw her take a couple items from the tray and kneel underneath the table. “What was she doing?” I wondered. I felt her feeling my clit. The Englishman saw my eyes open wide. “Do you approve?” the torturer asked.

I shook my head and groaned.

“Unfortunate. Dina is excellent at arousing the women here. You would enjoy her company. Perhaps some other sort of entertainment would interest you. Pain perhaps?” he said as I felt a sudden stab between my legs.

I screamed into the gag as loud as I could. What had she done? It felt like she had cut it off! But I still felt her playing with it. “What was she doing?” I next felt a metal tube being slipped over my clit. Then I felt something entering the wound. “What had they done?”

As if in answer to my question the man explained, “ We’ve added a little decoration to your cute little bud. All our girls get a shiny gold bell to cover their love nodule. That way we know where you are. We’ve added a nice big ring to attach a leash if you get unruly. I’m sure you won’t get unruly though. Will you?”

I shook my head. I just didn’t want them to hurt me anymore.

The girl rose from under the table. I watched and felt her play with my nipples again. This time I knew what was going to happen. Two screams later and my breasts were ringed.

“I’m going to leave for a few minutes while these girls handle the unpleasant task of your internal washing. We’ve developed a quick and painless way to do so. Don’t be too afraid of the process. It won’t hurt much although it will be somewhat humiliating.”

Again he left. When he left bad things happened. This was certain to be no exception. I watched as one girl took a two inch wide hose and connected it to a socket on a large wheeled box. It looked like one of these machines they filter antifreeze with. “Oh my God! They’re going to flush me out with it! Please don’t do that!” I pleaded in my mind as I groaned and screamed behind my gag.

They started with my ass. I felt it slip between my cheeks, the greasy, Teflon coated probe spreading my orifice as it slid upward. Suddenly I felt a slow pumping, in and out. Water would be injected for a few seconds then immediately sucked out. The cycle was slow and rhythmic, becoming longer as time progressed. I cried as the cycle continued but the girls paid no notice to me. Eventually the time between cycles lengthened giving me time to soak no doubt. As a final humiliating act the pumped my bowels with warm air until my intestines were swollen like bagpipes. When they removed the probe the gas escaped making a disgusting racket!

My sex was similarly treated but the water came much slower but for longer periods of time right from the start. Again the cycle involved pumping water into my abdomen and sucking it out. This water was perfumed though. I could clearly smell the flowery fragrance.

The girls finished my preparation by first wrapping a belt around my waist and plugging my ass and sex with metal probes. A leather crotch strap held them in place. That was followed by a short leather skirt that covered all exposed skin from my waist to the tops of my boots.

That must have been the last of the gear because they attached a leather leash to my collar and held me in place while they detached all the chains. A moment later, as if on cue, the Englishman returned and took the leash. We left the room. My eyes flitted from one side of the hall to another. Many iron doors lined the hallways like the one I had just exited. The State was doing this to many people I realized. I still didn’t understand why. I wondered if I’d ever know why this was done to me. At this point it didn’t matter. All that mattered was obedience to the one holding the leash. I’d do anything to keep from being hurt again.

The heels were awkward, especially since I didn’t have the use of my hands for balance. In addition I had to walk with my back arched because my shoulders were wrenched backwards by the cruel arm binder. At least he walked slowly. I needed time to adjust to the boots.

We eventually emerged outside. I immediately saw many other girls dressed as me. All were walking along paved serpentine paths which had a strange coppery look to it. But it was their gate that caught my eye.

They were all attached to an overhead track system. As it pulled them forward each girl lifted her knee until their thigh was horizontal Then she lowered it firmly, stomping the ground. “Was I going to be forced to do that too?”

Her next stop was the blacksmith. Christine needed shoes. Arnie Knudson had noted Christine’s needs and prepared a set. They were made of forged steel. His own fabrication machine was capable of producing six pair per hour using, steel, aluminum, bronze, leather, or rubber. The latter two were for indoor use. “Put her on the bench, would you please?” Arnie asked of Paul.

There was a short table mounted to an adjustable pier located in the center of the room. A simple tug on the leash guided the girl to it where she bent over and was secured with a pair of leather straps. “Tempting target, wouldn’t you say?” Paul noted, indicating Christine’s ass.

“Business before pleasure, my friend,” Arnie reminded him as he approached with the first shoe. Just as if Christine were a real horse Arnie put his back to her and lifted her leg until he had access to the sole of the boot. The shoes always fit but the holes sometimes needed to be enlarged to accommodate some inconsistency in the leather. This one was no exception. He released her boot and walked over to his workbench. A few strokes of the file and he was satisfied. Socket head screws were run into the sole and her first horseshoe was in place.

“Where’s she headed,” Arnie asked Paul as he made adjustments to the other shoe.

“Not sure. Probably Durba or Elmor in the south.”

“Good area for her. Nice warm climate. I think she’ll like it. Hey, didn’t I hear that you were retiring soon?”

“Yes. End of next month.”

“She’d make a lovely gold watch,” Arnie noted, referring to the common retirement gift given to pony trainers.

“True. And my wife’s wanted another pony since we domesticated Coco. Yea, thanks. And her training should be finished a week or two before my final day. Thanks!” Paul said.

All this time Christine stayed bent over the table. She hated being talked about without taking part in the conversation. In this case it was a thousand times worse because they were discussing her like some sort of retirement award. She didn’t want to become someone’s property. She certainly didn’t want to march around town like someone’s mare. She was an educated woman. “Six years of college and two years of law school,” she thought. “Now look at me. And I still don’t understand why!”

Arnie had one more task. It was one which he enjoyed immensely. Consulting the computer screen he entered a few parameters into the form and submitted it. In short order the fabrication machine began making a far different noise than when it has manufactured the horseshoes. What emerged was a beautiful brunette horsetail. This horsetail was matched to Christine’s dna and sported a mating pad that would adhere to Christine’s tailbone. Arnie abraded the area with a sterile bone paper then applied a topical biological catalyst. The accelerated healing process took ninety seconds. At the end of that period Christine had a permanent tail that swept upward for nearly a foot before draping her ass. It looked stunning as the individual hairs spread apart in an organized plume of hair that matched her own beautifully.

The last step was to install the wireless receiver into her pussy. For this task Arnie released the rear strap and allowed both plugs to be exposed. “Don’t let them pop out,” he ordered. The device was nothing more than a thin black tube which screwed into an opening in the bottom end of the device. The batteries were already in place on both units. Without a warning Arnie buckled the crotch strap to her waist and grabbed her training box.

The straps were released. “Stand up straight,” Paul said, finally losing his phony accent. He pressed a button. He faintly heard a thump, thump, thump from between Christine’s legs.

“Did you feel that?” he asked.

Christine’s bondage only allowed her minimal head movement but she signaled that she had.

“Good, now how about this,” Paul said as he pressed another button. Christine’s eyes opened wide as she screamed into the gag.

“That’s punishment level four,” Paul said. “That’s the common setting. You get the idea?” he asked.

Again she nodded.

“Good. Then follow me.”

They walked out the door around some trees. There they came upon a series of long narrow single story structures. Each was primarily made of brick with tinted windows along their length. The windows were floor to ceiling with brick decorated pillars between them. It reminded Christine of a train station she had seen once when she was a child.

They entered building T6B. “This is a training hall,” Paul informed her. “All you will have to do is walk from here to the far end and back. Simple, right? Well there’s a catch,” he warned. “We’re going to control your pace. You see the white rectangular tiles all along the floor? They’re pacing tiles. You have to step on each tile as you walk without touching the wide metal strip between them. Not too hard, right?”

Christine shook her head.

“Now pay attention! You can’t have more than one foot on the ground at a time unless the signal comes to rest. In addition you’re going to be monitoring the weight distribution in your soles. That will allow us to see if you’re keeping your body in the proper posture while you march. We want your thigh to be level when you step forward. Then we want you to stop your foot as you lift your other one. Understand?”

She did.

“OK, if you screw up you’ll be warned through the device in your crotch. If you don’t take the warning you’ll get that zap you felt earlier. Let me put some numbers into the controller and we’ll go through a dry run.”

Paul went over to the large black box on the wall. He entered her code number and set the unit for a single round trip. The unit would start in about twenty seconds.

Paul disconnected Christine’s leash and put her on a green colored tile at the start of the run. “Look down your nose so you can watch where to step. Don’t step on the black metal plate between the tiles. You’ll get nailed if you do. If you do get nailed the system will make the next tile solid and wait till you are ready to continue.

“I know this is a lot but just bear with me. When the tile in front of you turns green you have 2 seconds to step onto it and take your foot off the one behind. When you do, lift the knee. Then slowly bring it forward so you touch down on the tile in front of you. Don’t go too fast. Don’t touch any tile that’s red!

“Now, when you get to the larger end squares you must march in place. A bell will ring. You must turn around and stand with both feet on the ground together. Take two deep breaths then lift your right heel. The process will repeat. Let’s get started.”

Paul checked all her straps and wires to make sure she could march fifty feet without having anything come loose. She was ready. “Lift your right toe and keep it off the floor,” he ordered. “Watch for the square in front of you to turn green then lift your knee. Step forward into the square and stomp it. Just walk at a nice even pace.”

Paul held her right arm and watched carefully. The system detected Christine’s toe go off the tile and initiated the march. On cue she lifted her knee and stepped forward. As she did the next tile lit up. She slowly lifted her left knee and stepped forward again. Paul steadied her as she walked the first few steps. She was doing fine so he backed away and walked slightly behind her.

“You’re doing fine. Keep that pace,” he said.

She continued to march. Paul noticed that her left leg wasn’t coming up as high. “That thumping you’re feeling in you crotch is a warning that you’ll get shocked if you don’t get your knees up. Your left leg isn’t coming up high enough,” he warned.

As if to punctuate the warning Christine screamed and almost fell as the shock hit her in the anus. The green light on her current square went out and the one in front of her came on solid. “Get on the next square. Get your head straight then lift your right toe.”

She was only two tiles from the end so she never had to develop her rhythm again before coming to the end of the march. A bell sounded suddenly. “Turn around and get into the starting position,” he repeated once more. “Take two deep breaths then lift your toe.”

The trip back was no easier. She was tired and sore. Her feet hurt and she was scared. But she was becoming quickly acquainted with the routine and the pace. The timing was the toughest part, not because the pace was fast, but rather because it was slow and deliberate.

Her trip back featured two warnings via the thumper in her vagina. The warnings were taken to heart. She quickly lifted her knees and stomped the ground better. Twice though she touched the black separators and for this Paul was rewarded with the sound of Christine’s loud scream. “Don’t touch the separators,” he reminded her needlessly.

“When you reach the end, stand still with both feet on the ground. Wait for the bell. If it rings three times instead of once, move to the padded horse against the wall and back up onto it. You can rest there until the bell rings three times again.

Christine made it to the last square and stood until the bell rung thrice. “Sit on the horse,” he said. Christine walked over to the window and backed up against the padded seat. It featured a vertical padded back that she was able to rest against. It wasn’t a perfect solution to her exhaustion but it was better than nothing. At least she could get the weight off her feet.

She sat for three minutes before the bell rang again. “Stand up and look at the pillar next to you. Push the spoon into the socket,” he ordered. When she did so she discovered that the spoon was stuck in the unit. “Push inward to get a drink of water. Twist the spoon clockwise to get solid food, finely ground of course. Push inward while turning the spoon counterclockwise to release yourself. You can eat and drink as much as you please today. Later your intake will be more carefully monitored to prevent you from taking advantage of the rest period.”

Pressing inward she appreciated the cool water that flowed onto her tongue. She drank her fill before trying the ground food. It tasted like cheesecake. She seemed confused. “Cheesecake?” she thought. She went for another hit of the food product and again tasted the luscious dessert. She rolled her eyes. “That’s the most amazing stuff I’ve ever tasted,” she thought.

“Don’t overdo it on the food or water. That’s only to hold you until your session is done. You have a lot more marching to do,” he warned. “If you eat too much you’ll get sick. That’s dangerous when you’re gagged.”

“I have to march some more? Jesus! I better just get some more water,” she thought to herself.

While she ate Paul had reset the system to an automated marching sequence. Her rest periods would be dictated by her heart rate. The more exhausted she was the more rests she’d have. This way she could march for several hours unattended.

With a push and a counterclockwise turn she released herself. A single bell rang. “You have twenty seconds to get onto the starting square and start the march with your toe.”

Christine walked over to the lighted green square and signaled with her foot. The march began again.

Paul watched her move to the far end then walked out, locking the door behind him. As he was about to close the door he heard her scream. “Gotta keep those knees up,” he mumbled with a smile on his face.


I didn’t hear him leave. So I was surprised when I turned around to find the hallway empty. It stunned me so much that I nearly forgot to trigger the next march down the path. I quickly lifted my right toe and waited for the tile to turn green.

The march quickly became repetitive and boring. My entire body hurt in one way or another. Even my mouth was sore from being bound closed for so long. I couldn’t even release my jaw because the springs in the mouthpiece kept a solid grip on them. I didn’t have time to worry about those things anyway. All I could do was march.

When I reached the starting square I stopped and waited for three bells. The bell rang once. I was about to walk to the bench when the device between my legs began thumping. “A warning?” I thought. Then it suddenly dawned on me. I wasn’t being given a rest on this trip. I had to turn around and prepare for another stroll down the path. I lifted my toe and waited for the sequence to be triggered.

Thankfully when I reached the far end I was given a rest. The bell rang three times. I backed onto the wide padded horse and sat back against my bound arms. At least I could get the weight off of these boots. My toes were almost numb from all the pressure put on them. Even my tail hurt. I hadn’t even bothered to consider that! I could actually feel my tail. It wasn’t an adornment. It wasn’t taped on. It was actually part of me. I had a real tail! “No!” I screamed into my gag to no one in particular.

The bell rang three times to signal the end of the rest period. I needed water. Not a problem. I really wanted to taste that mashed cheesecake again. When I gave the unit a turn it wasn’t cheesecake. It was crushed strawberries. I was surprised but not necessarily disappointed. They were very sweet.

Punishments and warnings continued to plague me as I marched. As I tired I failed to lift my knees. A couple thumps and I strove to accommodate. But sometimes I was just too tired and suffered for it. So I screamed into the gag, pulled myself together and stood on the next tile waiting for the signal to restart my march was given. Sometimes I just dragged my toe over the black strip rather than lifting my entire leg. Again I screamed from the jolt in my ass. I figured by the time I was done my butt would be French Fried!

The rest periods always seemed to come at the times when I was at the end of my rope. If I was marching with ease they simply didn’t come. Instead the bell rang only once and I had to make another run down the path. It was only when I was winded that I was given the opportunity to rest. I always took advantage of the water and the food. The taste of the mash varied all across the board from fruits to desserts to delicious vegetable and sauces. I found that I needed to rinse the taste out of my mouth or it became annoying. So I always finished with a sip of water.

Each time I pulled myself free of the feeding post the single bell would ring a few seconds later. My marching would continue for some time, enforcing the new role I was destined for and breaking my spirit in the process. Since there were no clocks and I was so absorbed in the marching routine I had hardly noticed that the sky had darkened. My marching had gone on for three hours. Not long after the sky had darkened Paul returned. As I was signaled to rest one last time. I was almost glad to see him. “Almost!”

To be continued...