"Okay, girls."

The two ponygirls leaned against the padded yoke around their necks, a heavy wood and leather contraption that held them together as a team. Their knee-high pony boots dug into the moist soil as their nearly-naked bodies strained to pull the heavy plow, their breaths billowing out in misty clouds in the pre-dawn spring morning. Had they been able to use their arms, the job might've been easier, but these upper limbs were rendered useless, encased in thick leather armbinders behind their backs.

Apart from their pony gear, the only nod to modesty, if not comfort, were the pink circular-stitched bullet bras of cotton broadcloth the two C-cup women wore. The dark-haired 43-year-old Candace and the light-haired 19-year-old Caitlin were used to shivering before sunrise, knowing that their intense work and the rising sun would warm them soon enough. Both were still half-asleep from long days of labor and shortened hours of sleep.

The elderly farmer behind them guided the plow, huffing as he pushed the heavy blade forward. The ponygirls weren't worried about being overworked, as they knew the farmer would take frequent breaks to rest himself during the day, as long as it was. Their main concerns were the hot sun baking their bare skin to a dark hue and the constant irritation of gnats and flies that were attracted to their sweaty bodies.

Candace, a former lead singer in a rock band, had become a ponygirl shortly after they became legal. A divorce and the break-up of her band had left her jobless, homeless, and broke, and she had no choice but to toil under a harness and bridle. Caitlin, a promising soccer star, had planned on going to college on an athletic scholarship, but her father had sold her on her 18th birthday to pay off his gambling debts. Isolated from all human contact except for the farmer and the occasional visitor, the two had become friends, despite their age differences and inability to communicate with each other. Both knew that there was a slim chance of them ever seeing freedom again.

They heard a small thud behind them, but thought nothing of it until the plow popped free of the ground and fell sideways, the two nearly falling forward as a result.

They stood there for a few seconds, not sure of what had happened or what they should do, just waiting for instructions and hearing nothing but the heavy silence beneath the chirping of birds in the nearby trees. Instinctively, they attempted to turn around, but because of the yoke and the wide blinders on each side of their bridles, they were unable to see anything beyond what was immediately in front of them. Finally, Candace took the lead and began to walk in a wide circle around the younger ponygirl, who took the cue and turned in response.

Because the yoke was hitched to the plow directly behind each of them, it was extremely awkward performing even this simple maneuver. They both had to crouch down to pass beneath the leather straps, but eventually they managed to face the other direction.

What they saw was disturbing. The farmer lay face-down in the dirt, unmoving. He was evidently dead, having suffered a heart attack. Caitlin let out a small whimper as the implications of what had happened became apparent to her. Candace sighed; she had been in tough situations before, and she knew that they shouldn't give up hope just yet.

The older woman painstakingly frog-walked back to her previous position as Caitlin made an attempt to free herself from her armbinder. They both knew that her struggle was futile-- they had each made such efforts numerous times-- but Caitlin had to do something to fight off the rising panic. Candace grunted to get the other's attention, then leaned her body toward the farmhouse.

The young girl understood. Despite the fact that they couldn't speak because of their thick bits, and couldn't even see each other because of their blinders, they were able to communicate surprisingly well. And because of the yoke, they were too far apart to free themselves, which they would have done unhesitatingly, even knowing that it was illegal and punishable by whipping no matter what the circumstances.

They made their way toward the house, laboriously dragging the plow behind them. The older woman wasn't sure what to do. They were unable to use a phone or drive a car and, even if they had the freedom to do so, they were forbidden by law because they were ponygirls. Candace was just grateful he hadn't expired while they were tethered to a tree during one of their rest periods.

The athletic women reached the house in only a few minutes. They slowly circled around it, looking for something, anything, that could help them. This was the first time since each of their arrivals that they had been within fifty feet of the house. The place was dark, silent. There was no way they could enter while they still had the plow with them. They had to find an alternate means of getting help.

At the end of the driveway lay a country road, two hundred feet away. It was their only hope. Yet neither knew which way to go; they had both arrived in enclosed horse trailers with their eyes covered and their ears plugged, and had no idea where they were. They had to try, anyway.

It took them fifteen minutes to reach the road. The pair stood for a moment, listening. A jet thundered overhead, and they waited until it passed, hoping for a sound, a car, anything. For the first time since the months following each of their arrivals, they were acutely aware of their vulnerability-- their bound and gagged bodies, their exposed crotches, their large breasts thrust outward by their pointy bras. Out here in the middle of nowhere, they were sitting ducks.

Still, they had no choice. They turned right, both moving in the same direction at the same time, as if they were twin sisters who could read each other's minds.

Yoked together, the ponygirls trudged down the side of the road, the heavy plow thumping and twisting over the ground behind them. Their bodies were bent forward, a position that was second nature after months of sixteen-hour days working the fields.

After a mile, they rounded a turn. The road stretched as far as they could see into the woods. They passed a fence, with some horses grazing in a field, but no sign of any people or any entrance to the property.

The road began to rise. Pulling the plow became harder as they realized they were climbing a hill. The yoke dug into their collarbones and their metal-shoed pony boots slipped frequently on the hard dirt-and-gravel road. Had they chosen the wrong way? It was too late to turn back now, yet an injury to either one of them now could be fatal for both.

They continued on. Progress was laboriously slow. Sweat began to collect in their stiff, itchy bras, and they had to stop occasionally to rest. Through the trees, they could see the sun was rising higher in the sky. They were getting thirsty. And hungry. With their arms pinned behind them and their mouths filled with thick rubber bits, there was no way they could eat or drink even if they did find food or water.

With a deep sigh of relief, they reached the top. Caitlin crouched down, and Candace crouched, too, and together they relieved themselves, sending little rivers of pee between their legs and back down from where they had come.

Going back down should have been easy, but they had to sprint now and then as the steep incline caused the plow to slide forward, threatening to knock them off their feet. Through a break in the trees they saw-- another hill.

They reached the bottom, disheartened. Both of them saw it at the same time. A mailbox! With muffled squeals of delight, they jogged toward it. At the sight of a gravel driveway behind it, their spirits rose. Could this be their salvation at last?

They turned and ran so fast that they were nearly yanked backwards off their feet as the plow snagged on the mailbox post. After regaining their balance, they burst out laughing at their eagerness and stupidity. The giddy ponygirls had to walk all the way to the other side of the road to free the plow before they could enter the driveway again.

Beyond was a beautiful sight. A farmhouse with an older woman out front, watering her garden. She heard the scraping of the plow on gravel and turned.

She did a double-take. Before either of the two ponygirls could plead for help, she turned the hose on them.

"HARLOTS! WHORES OF BABYLON! BURN IN HELL, YOU FILTHY SINNERS!"

The ponygirls squealed and stumbled as jets of freezing water hit them in their faces. It took them fully half a minute to twist around and retreat as water soaked their heavy bras and pounded their shaven heads, alternating from one to another, then flushed out their bare asses as they scurried away.

They didn't stop until they were a good way down the road. Candace coughed, as she had gotten a mouthful of water, and Caitlin sobbed at their rotten luck. Still, the water was refreshing, and had revived them.

It took them until mid-afternoon to tackle the next hill. They found wild raspberries, and managed to grab a few of them between their teeth and bits, squirting the soft pulpy sweetness into their mouths. They were unable to chew, and so could not quiet their growling stomachs.

Not long after, they saw a sign: FRESH PRODUCE AHEAD. Their optimism was a little more guarded this time, even as their hearts did skip a beat.

There was another sign, FRESH PRODUCE, with an arrow pointing up a dirt path. In a clearing was a small stand filled with bins and baskets of fruits and vegetables. Sitting inside the crude shelter was a young woman in a bikini top and cut-off shorts flipping through a fashion magazine, her head bobbing to the music on her earphones. She caught sight of them out of the corner of her eye and jumped up.

"Oh! My! Gawd!"

The ponygirls ran toward her, their garbled voices pleading for help. The woman dropped her magazine and pulled out her earphones.

"You laydies in trouble?"

They both nodded vigorously. Finally, somebody who could help. They grunted and struggled to indicate their helplessness.

"Hold on a minute." The woman approached and reached toward Candace's bridle. She fumbled with the straps, trying to free the bit.

"How the hay-yell . . ."

The captive women tried to hold back their impatience. "Arms! Arms! Free our arms!" they tried to tell her, but their words were too muffled to be understood.

"Wayt a second, wayt a second--" The woman managed to undo one of the buckles and pry the soggy rubber cylinder from the older woman's mouth. The words spilled out in a rush.

"We're ponygirls down the road. Our-- owner died and we're trying to get help!" she gasped. "We've been traveling all day and we're thirsty and hungry and tired!"

The woman held up her hands in a stopping motion. "Okay! Okay! Just stay here!" As if they were going anywhere. She ran back into the stand and came out with two small bottles of water, unscrewing the tops as she hurried back.

"Free our arms!"

The woman tossed the caps and tilted the water bottles into their mouths. "Drink."

The women drank, not stopping until they had finished the twenty-ounce bottles.

"Please get us out of this," begged Candace.

"Uhhh, Ah'm afraid Ah cain't do thayat. Y'see, there's a law against that or som'thin'."

"But--!"

The woman clamped a hand over Candace's mouth. "Sssh! Y'all could get in big-ass trouble jus' fer talkin', okay? Ah'll jus' pretend ya didn't say nothin'."

The two ponygirls stood there in shock. They were hoping she would sympathize with their plight.

"Now, if y'all don' say nothin', I c'n get you girls somethin' to eat. Deal?"

They nodded glumly. Hunger trumped freedom.

She had a box of doughnuts. There were nine left, and she hand-fed them to the two after removing Caitlin's bit. It took ten minutes for them to finish off the box.

The woman laughed. "Easy, girls, or y'all gonna be too fat to farm." She looked down at their large breasts and bare crotches. "You two ain't fuckponies, are ya?"

They shook their heads.

She laughed again. "Aw, too bad. Coulda made a little money off ya before I returned ya."

If they weren't so dependent on her, Candace would have kicked her. Hard. They reluctantly held their mouths open so their bits could be put back in.

The woman opened the double snaps of the straps connecting the pair to the plow, then removed their yoke. She clipped the straps to the ponygirls' bit rings.

"C'mon. Ah'm 'bout to close up, anyway. You girls need to pee?"

They nodded meekly. The woman took them out back where rusted-out cars and discarded household junk littered the field. "Go 'head."

She turned away as the ponygirls crouched and emptied their bladders, then led them into the stand, back toward the corner, and had them lie on the floor.

"Y'all get comfy now while Ah find out yer situation." She tied the straps to some of the sturdy legs of the produce bins, then took some twine and tied two of the girls' legs together. She stood up and wagged a finger at them. "Don't go nowhere," she joked.

The ponygirls watched in stunned silence as she stepped outside and released the overhead canopy, letting it drop in place. In the sudden darkness, they heard the hard metallic sound of a padlock being closed.

Candace and Caitlin lay on the hard wood floor, unable to see each other, even though they were so close they could feel each other's breath, and the tips of their bras brushed now and then. At least they were still safe and together.

__________

They were awakened by voices. Male voices. Uneasiness turned to alarm when they realized they were young voices, laughing, joking loudly. Light flooded the stand. Perhaps if they kept quiet, they wouldn't be--

"Ho-ly shit! Look at this!"

The ponygirls opened their eyes to see three grinning young men standing above them. It was their worst nightmare.

"Cool!"

"Bring 'em out!"

The two were untied and pulled to their feet. They struggled as they were brought outside.

"Nice tits!"

"Nice pussies!"

"They're ponygirls! They must've escaped. BAD ponies!" The one holding Candace spanked her hard in the ass, causing her to jump. Her teeth ground into her bit, hurting her jaw. Caitlin just stared at the dirt, shivering with fear.

"What'll we do with them, Donnie? Fuck 'em?"

"Naw, we could get arrested for bestiality. We'll make 'em work for us. Kenny, get the tools from the truck."

At Donnie's instruction, the frightened women were pulled toward the road and positioned side-by-side near the sign. Their legs were spread, stakes were pounded into the ground, and their ankles tied to the stakes with twine. They could see far down the road and, presumably, could be seen from far away in return.

The helpless ponygirls whined and fidgeted in protest as rough fingers fumbled with the back clasps of their bras. The garments popped open, and the humiliated pair could only fume as their bras were pulled up, exposing their full breasts.

The young men crowded around them, mocking their hurt and fondling their tits.

"Wait! Wait! I got an idea!"

Kenny left, and the other two left a few seconds later to see what he had in mind. As soon as they were gone, Candace and Caitlin began struggling, frantically kicking out one leg, then the other, hoping to free themselves. They could only move each foot two or three inches in any one direction, and knew immediately that their efforts were useless-- the twine was too strong and the stakes too deep--, but fear drove them on. They stopped only when they heard the men returning.

Handmade cardboard signs were placed beneath the women's breasts and tied with string. The two were unable to read them. They didn't need to. One of the men pointed to Caitlin. "Fresh melons." He pointed to Candace. "Old melons." They all roared at this bad joke.

The older ponygirl was beginning to wonder if they should have just stayed on the farm and died with dignity.

They didn't think things could get worse, but they did. Customers came by, gawked at the women, laughed at the signs, made comments, took pictures. Donnie stood by to make sure they weren't molested or kidnapped.

An hour later, the other two returned, their laughter having an especially insidious quality to it as they came at the ponygirls from behind.

"We thought you girls might get bored."

The ponygirls felt something being shoved into their cunts. Alarmed, they looked down.

Their tormentors had taken thin tomato stakes and stuck a cucumber on one end and a bowling ball on the other. The cucumbers were now inside them. Wide V-shaped slits had been made lengthwise along the vegetables so that a large wedge-like flap stayed outside on each, pressing against the ponygirl's clit; smaller v-shaped cuts had been made over the rest of the skins to create spiky protrusions to stimulate the vaginal walls. Scrap sheets of plywood were then slid underneath their feet. Any movement by either of the women rocked the plywood back and forth on the uneven ground, causing the bowling ball to roll around on the smooth, flat wood, which twisted and pulled the stake around in the finger hole and made the cucumber slide in and out of her moist slit in a random fucking motion. The numerous protrusions scraping inside them and the wedge-shaped flaps sawing across their labias only added to the torment. It was a vicious cycle, and within minutes the two were spasming from their first of many orgasms, all the while desperately trying to keep their balance as their pony boots skidded back and forth on the slippery surface and their bodies were thrown this way and that.

Candace and Caitlin were too weak to resist, and the makeshift sex toys had been constructed at just the right length that the cucumbers could not fall out or be ejected. Customers gathered as the ponygirls panted, moaned, and squealed through one sexual explosion after another, tears of shame spilling from their eyes and mixing with the sweat pouring down their bodies. Each screaming climax was greeted with cheers and applause.

"What the hay-yell--?"

The woman who had rescued them the day before pushed her way through the crowd. She took one look at the pelvic-thrusting ponygirls and ran over. She dropped to her knees and worked the cucumbers out as the crowd booed and groaned in disappointment, then pulled the handmade signs off their chests.

"DONNIE, YOU BASTARD!"

She untied the pair from the stakes and led the exhausted and sore women back to the stand, yelling at her boyfriend and his friends as she gave the ponygirls more water and food and tried to calm them down. She apologized to them for not returning sooner, though she didn't give a reason.

The sheriff came shortly afterwards and took the ponygirls away in horse trailers. They were boarded temporarily at a ponygirl farm, where they were cleaned up and fed well by loving caretakers. They later learned that somebody had stopped by the farm two hours after they had left, and found the farmer.

__________

The funeral was held a week later. Under their pony tack, Candace and Caitlin were dressed in black all-in-one open-bottomed body briefers and black stockings. They wore adult diapers under their body briefers, apparently to prevent any embarrassing accidents, and they were also injected with a sedative, presumably to curtail any outbursts.

They were tethered to nearby trees, and stood silently as the service was read. Secretly, they each wondered what was to become of them. Would they be freed? Would they be sold? Would they be separated, never to see each other again?

The service ended, and the casket was picked up and carried into a mausoleum, where it was placed next to his wife's casket. One by one, the mourners went inside to pay their last respects, placing a wreath or flower on the coffin. When everyone had left, the ponygirls were unhitched by two of the cemetery staff and led into the mausoleum.

Neither one knew what to do, but figured they would just stand there in a moment of silence before being led away. Inside, the small stone enclosure stank of death and mildew and disinfectant.

Each was led to a side wall, and turned so she faced the other. Their ankles were hobbled, then chained to rings on the wall behind them. Their reins were looped through two rings on the wall on either sides of their necks and pulled tight before being tied, so that the ponygirls stood straight with their heads slightly lowered. Even in their drugged state, they knew that what was happening to them was the farmer's final wish, and let out small whimpers.

The priest stepped in. "All set, guys?"

The employees double-checked the restraints, nodded, and followed the priest out. The ponygirls' last vision was of the two coffins between them before the heavy mausoleum doors closed with a final boom that echoed briefly in the pitch-black tomb.

THE END