We loved teasing the ponyboy; it was one of the few pleasures we show ponies on the small midwestern farm got in life.

There were a dozen of us ponygirls and only one ponyboy, who was kept separated from us. During the times we weren't being trained, though, he was kept in a corral adjacent to ours, and he would often stand close to the fence, watching us, his eyes hungry with desire and his cock quivering stiffly out toward us like some kind of sexual divining rod.

Sometimes Mistress dressed him in women's undies-- a stiff pink-lace waist cincher gartered to sexy stockings, for example-- or tie his dick up in a leather sheath that prevented him from becoming fully erect. On these occasions, we would laugh at him or mimic sexual intercourse, getting him frustrated and angry enough to charge at us and kick the fence, his stiff member straining vainly in its tight leather cage. Of course, we would only laugh at him more and get him angrier.

Other times, we would parade in front of him, bouncing our boobies until the sexual frustration made him shoot his load. We had to be careful, though-- once, Booty Doll got too close and got sprayed all over her ass. She tried wiping it off on the fence, but it was too gooey, and she had to spend the rest of the day with jizz smeared on her butt, much to her disgust. Boobarella got revenge a few weeks later when she was able to land a booted foot in his crotch, dropping him to his knees in pain. He avoided us for a long time after that, but we knew that, given the chance, he would get back at us. And that is exactly what happened.

I suppose I was singled out because I was one of the worst offenders-- and because I was one of the sexiest. I knew he lusted after me, though whether it was my golden-blonde mane, my green eyes, my large boobs, slim waist, or long legs that attracted him, I don't know. I only know that he stared at me with longing more than he did the others. Even though he wasn't bad-looking, it was his attitude that turned me off to him, and I let him know it every chance I got.

It was a day that we were confined in the Prep Room to be measured for new costumes for an upcoming event. We weren't thrilled, as these costumes were usually an uncomfortable and sleazy Frederick's of Hollywood design of either lingerie, latex, or leather. All of us were lined up in a row, our bridles attached to ceiling straps, our arms bound horizontally behind us in leather sleeves, and our feet held apart by spreader bars when we heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

Our handlers had left with the costume designer, and we assumed they were returning with the ponyboy, even though he rarely performed with us. Imagine our horror when we saw that he was alone. How he escaped, we don't know.

The doorway to the Prep Room had a gate that locked, but the ponyboy-- who was tall already-- was able to rise up a little higher and flip the hook out of the eyebolt. Horror turned to outright fear as the gate opened and he sauntered in, his unrestrained cock swelling with desire as he relished our struggles and whimpers.

He strolled back and forth in front of us, dressed ridiculously in red bustier and black fishnet stockings, wondering who to torment first. He chose Boobarella.

He mashed his face into her cavernous cleavage as she squealed with distress, unable to escape the lips and tongue that molested her mounds of flesh. And then, somehow, he was able to snag one of her large nipples between teeth and bite, yanking viciously. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of her triple-Ds stretch out into a taut cone before snapping free. The buxom woman bellowed as the pain shot through her breast. He did the same with the other breast, holding it for several seconds before letting go.

He next targeted Booty Doll. Hooking one pony boot behind the spreader bar between her ankles, he pushed up against her, rubbing his naked body against hers. As she tried to twist away, he shoved the fingers of one hand into her bush before furiously masturbating her. Unable to eacape his abuse, the ponygirl's moans occupied an uneasy middle ground between pleasure and disgust as the rest of us stood there horrified, unable to come to her aid.

Where were the stablehands? Though they were probably gone no more than ten minutes, I felt as if we had been abandoned. That feeling intensified when the ponyboy finished with Booty Call, then passed by three others to get to me.

I could feel my muscles go limp as he stared lustily at my naked body. There was nothing I could do, and everyone knew it. The room was deathly silent as he hooked a boot over my spreader bar and moved in.

As he pressed his body to mine, I couldn't even resist as he crouched down slightly and thrust upward, his hard cock invading my inner thighs. It took a couple tries, but he managed to enter me-- hard. I grunted in pain as he stood up, ramming his cock all the way in, then pumped away with fast brutal strokes. All those months of pent-up frustration found their release in just a few minutes of frenzied sexual intercourse, and he shot a massive load into me. Then he moaned with satisfaction before his limp member slid out, trailing cum.

I was outraged, yet I was helpless to do anything about my situation. I could feel his hot cum inside me and around my labia. The ponyboy laughed and ran behind us, randomly wiping his dick on the butt cheeks of other ponygirls before leaving the Prep Room.

We were forbidden to talk, and probably wouldn't have been articulate anyways due to our bits and lack of speaking practice. Our only hope was that one of our handlers would notice our discomfort and the signs of abuse and put two and two together.

But they didn't. They went about their business as if nothing was wrong. Booty Doll started to cry, but got smacked in the ass for her troubles. Our training schedule went on as usual. We performed to enthusiastic crowds two weeks later. The violations of our bodies fell by the wayside.

Of course, that is not the end of the story. We no longer teased the ponyboy, but he would often gloat at us. And I? I got pregnant. When my owners discovered my condition two months later, there was hell to pay-- I was whipped, and shipped off to a milking farm.

And here I stand, strapped into a holding pen, my breasts pumped twenty-four hours a day. Sensors automatically tell the computer when I am full of fresh milk, and I am quickly sucked dry. I haven't seen my baby since it was born, just the inside of a barn and some occasional sunlight. I have even less freedom now than I did before, though I don't care, as I am kept sedated. And yet, sometimes when I dream, I can still feel him forcing himself on me, taking me like a burglar stealing money, and I wake up wet with desire.