Cassie stripped down to her underwear as the photographer set up his equipment. It was a hot summer day, and they were in an unused stable at an abandoned farm.

"Where's Ted?" she asked. "He's the one who usually does these shoots."

The photographer adjusted one of the lights. "He called in sick at the last moment. Luckily, I was available, because these have to get to the publisher by Tuesday."

The shapely 23-year-old with long silky blonde hair was a frequent model for the covers of true crime magazines such as Shocking Sex Crimes, Scandalous Police Blotter, and Sadistic Psycho Monthly, all put out by the same publisher. She had always wanted to be a model, but had found she wasn't quite pretty enough to break through to super-stardom. Instead, she earned a modest living posing in full-figure bras and shapewear for lingerie ads and catalogs. Her biggest paychecks, though, came from posing for the lurid covers of these tabloid magazines, invariably dressed in torn clothing that revealed sexy underthings, her body roughly bound and gagged, a hulking masked man usually threatening her with a gun or knife. She was accustomed to being tied up in various positions for hours at a time, and had perfected the terrified, pleading looks of a sex crime victim who knows she is at the complete mercy of a drooling psychopath.

The model stood there in a white bullet bra, white gartered panty girdle, white hose, and black open-toed heels. White was the preferred color for most of the shoots, as it suggested an innocent, virginal victim; it also stood out against the darker background, emphasizing the victim's look of vulnerability. She glanced around the stable with a puzzled look as she ran a brush through her hair. "So, what crime are we doing today?"

"Ponygirl slave farm. You familiar?"

"Oh, my God!" The memory came flooding back. Two men had kidnapped several women and forced them to become human ponies. Some of the women had gone missing for as long as ten years before they were rescued. Cassie couldn't imagine what it was like to be in bondage for that long. Even ten hours was enough for her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. It's just--"

"I know. Some things are just beyond comprehension, aren't they?"

The photographer bent down and opened a cardboard box on the floor. Cassie watched in morbid fascination as he pulled out the heavy leather and metal harness; she was more used to rope-and-cloth bondage for these sessions.

"Okay, just stand still-- that's it-- and hold it in place while I buckle it up in back here. Good. Now give me your arms so I can cuff them."

The girl felt the harness grip her body like a flexible, form-fitting cage. Being helpless was nothing new to her. She sighed with boredom as the photographer bent her arms and imprisoned her wrists in cuffs attached to the back strap that ran down her spine. Still, she felt a little jolt as the crotch strap pressed into her clit and labia.

"Comfortable?"

"Yeah," said Cassie, even though she wasn't. Having her arms bound behind her arched her back and thrust her chest out, her C-cup tits straining against the confines of her bra.

He came over with the bridle. "Open."

She opened her mouth, and he inserted the metal bit. She flinched as the leather straps pressed against her face, and it was an uncomfortable two minutes as he tightened and adjusted the straps.

The bridle was even more irritating and annoying than the harness, especially with the metal bit pressing her tongue down to the floor of her mouth and stretching her lips back into a grotesque grin.

"Good. Let's start with some outside shots first."

He clipped a lead to her bit rings and led her out. He spied a hitching post and took her over, where he tied the lead to the rusted metal ring hanging there before going back in for his tripod and camera.

Cassie was glad they were out in the middle of nowhere. Still, she was afraid someone would happen by and see her. Almost all of these sessions were done indoors, in a studio, where they had privacy. It would be just her luck if a busload of tourists or a wagonload of Amish people happened by. She waited patiently as the photographer set up his equipment.

"Okay, keep facing the post so your left side is toward me. Now turn your head this way and tilt it back just a little. You're really scared. Good. Good. Hooold it."

He took a number of shots, her position highlighting her tits and ass and frightened face.

"Now turn toward me and step away from the post a bit. Lean so the lead is tight like you're trying to escape. Good. That's it-- twist your head and body like you're straining to free yourself. Now let's see some pain. Lots of pain."

The experienced Cassie knew exactly what he wanted, and had no trouble looking like a helpless victim struggling valiantly to get away. She held her position for a minute as he clicked away.

"Perfect. Now let's get a few inside the corral."

He unhitched Cassie and led her into the corral. As the photographer repositioned his camera and tripod, the model found that, even though she had been in bondage many times, being led around like an animal felt more demeaning than being tied up. Perhaps she was just not used to it. After all, the first few times she did this work was pretty scary.

"I'll be right back."

The blonde stood there, suddenly alone in the isolated countryside, and began to feel vulnerable like she never had in the studio. There, other people were always around. Here, if anything happened to the photographer, she would be completely at the mercy of anyone or anything.

He returned with a long bullwhip and a roll of tape. Cassie's eyes grew wide with fear and she stumbled backward.

"Relax. I'm not really going to use it." He held up the roll of tape. "I'm going to tape it to your body so it only looks like you're getting whipped. That way I won't take all day trying to get a good action shot."

Cassie wanted to say Whew! You had me scared there for a minute!, but knew she couldn't because it would come out all garbled with the metal bit.

He turned her so that her right side faced the camera, then stuck some double-sided tape on the left thigh of her panty girdle. Taking the end of the bullwhip, he pressed it into the tape until it held. The photographer stepped back, the handle of the whip in one hand and the end of the lead in the other.

"Good. Now, right leg in the air like you're prancing. Knee high, toe pointed downward. Face toward me, head tilted back. Perfect. You're being hit with a bullwhip, so I want to see a nice scream."

The girl complied, trying to imagine what it was like to be hit in the ass with braided leather as thick as her finger.

The photographer set the auto-timer on the camera, then stood behind the tripod, holding the whip and lead. Anyone seeing the photos could easily imagine being the trainer of this reluctant filly.

"Perfect."

After the tape was peeled from her undergarment, they moved into the stable. Cassie stood in the center of the stall as leather ankle hobbles were strapped on her legs, and lengths of rope were tied to her bit rings and hooks on each side of the stall. The photographer turned on his lights, angling them so that the harsh lighting increased the look of vulnerability of the bound model. A life-size cardboard cut-out of a menacing figure was placed off to the side, so that its shadow fell threateningly on the wall alongside the ponygirl, a horsewhip taped to its hand so that it was held as if ready to strike.

"Eyes on the whip. Cringe in fear. That's it."

Cassie was able to step back half a step and twist her body slightly away as she froze in wide-eyed terror at the whip poised above her, a frightened victim expecting a rain of blows from an angry captor.

"Super." The blonde kept her body tensed until the camera stopped shooting, then stood up, trying to stretch her aching body. They had been working for an hour-and-a-half now, and she was getting stiff and tired. She hoped they were going to wrap it up soon.

The photographer turned as if he heard a sudden noise. "Hold on. I'll be right back."

The model stood there, getting annoyed. He could have at least undid some of the restraints, she thought. Just because I do this kind of thing doesn't mean I like being like this all day.

She waited. The minutes ticked by. Still no photographer. Cassie fumed. The first thing she was going to do when she got out of here was complain to the editor. This guy was a jerk. From now on, she would only work with Ted. Anyone else and she would walk.

She squirmed. A strait-jacket was more comfortable than this bondage shit. Twisting around, she tried to free herself, and found that she couldn't.

"Oh, shit, I'm SO sorry."

The photographer rushed into the stall and began untying the ropes on her bit rings. "I was waiting for someone else to come by and he was late. We got one more shot to do and then we're all finished. Okay?"

Cassie tried to voice her protest, but it came out in a jumble of nonsense. The photographer took the lead and pulled her out; the bound girl, still hobbled, was forced to take six inch baby steps as she scurried along behind him. She was getting furious. If he was in such a hurry, why didn't he remove the hobbles so she could keep up?

She emerged to see a waiting horse trailer, its back open, ten feet in front of her and hitched to a car. A grizzled, muscular man stood off to the side. Did they really need to do this shot? Weren't the others good enough?

Something flashed a warning sign in her mind. Perhaps it was the haste with which they were trying to get her into the trailer. Perhaps it was an evil glint in the other man's eye. Perhaps it was the fact that there was no photography equipment set up. Perhaps it was all that and more. Cassie screamed and struggled to break free.

The two men shoved her into the trailer and began strapping her in. Straps to the harness, straps to the bridle, and straps to the hobbles. Within two minutes, the model was unable to move more than an inch or two in any direction. She was really scared now, and she tried to plead with them, but they ignored her.

A blindfold cut off her vision, and she started to tremble, tears pooling in her eyes. A plastic tube was put in her mouth and taped in place. She tried to spit it out, but it was held there.

"It's Gatorade, okay? You might get thirsty on the way." On the way? Where were they going? How far away was it?

The crotch strap was removed, and Cassie felt the crotch of her panty girdle being pulled away. There was a snipping sound, and the garment snapped open, exposing her pussy. Before she could imagine what terrible things they were going to do to her, a soft plastic cup was duct-taped between her legs.

"That's if you have to pee."

It struck her that they had had this all planned out from the beginning, and were now abducting her, just like those other men had done to their victims. They couldn't get away with this, could they? She hoped not, as she didn't want to spend years as a captive ponygirl.

Ear plugs were pushed into her ears, throwing her into a world of silence. She felt the sudden stillness of the air and a slight movement of the trailer, signaling that the doors had been closed.

The two men got in the car and relaxed.

"Well, that's it. I'll hand in the pictures. They'll get a call from 'Cassie' saying she's retiring from the business. Bingo, she's ours."

"We won't make mistakes like those other guys did, will we?"

"No way. She's gone for good."

Cassie happened to catch a glimpse of a section of newspaper that had blown into her corral; the date said 2009. My God, she thought, I've been here for over thirty-five years.

In those three-and-a-half decades, her body had aged considerably. Her hair was now mostly gray, her tits had dropped, and her skin was now dark and leathery, even her tits and shaved head. Her whole world in that time was confined to this isolated farm and her training as a ponygirl.

And she was not alone. Since her abduction, over thirty other girls had been kidnapped and forced to become ponygirls. Several had disappeared along the way, and one or two had evidently died from health problems, but the rest faced the same dreary fate as herself.

The abductors had made private films of their training. Over the years, Cassie had noticed how the 8mm cameras had given way to camcorders and then to small digital cameras. Phones had become portable, then had gradually shrunk from large handheld units to tiny devices that clipped to the ear. Other, mysterious electronic devices appeared which apparently did all kinds of things. Everything but locate her whereabouts.

The women changed, too. Shortly after her abduction, the girls had multi-colored spiky hair, then it was big hair, followed by long black hair and ghoulish make-up. Over the past decade or so, the trend was toward body piercings and tattoos everywhere, something which would have been unimaginable in her day.

They no longer gang-banged her like they used to; the younger girls got that treatment now. Every once in a while, they'd bring in a young guy and challenge him to fuck her, calling her a MILF, whatever that was.

Though not much had changed of her surroundings in thirty-five years, she got the impression that the world was a completely different place. Living in such a strange society would be quite a shock, and Cassie wondered if it would be better to die a ponygirl than to adjust to such an unfamiliar world.