"We're going to start today's training with a little lesson," said the head mistress of the ponygirl farm. "Some of you might remember the little warning on your first day against pleasuring yourselves. If you did, good, because that would mean you're smarter than this little filly here--," she said, swinging her riding crop to indicate Daphne, "--who obviously cannot control herself at night. Isn't that right, Peachytits?"

Daphne reddened and averted her gaze, more because of having everyone know she had been masturbating than from her demeaning ponyname. The petite golden-haired young woman with the round pink-tipped breasts stood there in her pony gear, restraints holding her in place between two poles, her hands lying palms-up and strapped down to the top of a podium before her. Her fingers were spread out, each one held down by tiny strips of leather.

The mistress turned back to the row of ponygirls, who dreaded seeing what was about to happen almost as much as Peachytits. "Little Miss Hormones is about to see what happens to busy fingers that can't control themselves at night. Maybe then she'll remember to pay attention next time. Won't you?" The woman's sadistic smile chilled the ponygirl more than anything.

Peachytits honestly didn't think that anyone could see her at night as she lay face-down on her mattress, her fingers playing discreetly with her cunny, but they must have found out somehow. She watched helplessly as the mistress stepped back and slashed downward with her riding crop.

The leather end cracked against her right palm, the stinging pain engulfing her hand and causing her body to jerk as if hit with an electric shock. The ponygirl gave a stifled scream as tears spilled out of her eyes.

Before she could recover, the riding crop came smacking down on the tender palm of her left hand. Peachytits jerked and screamed, the hot tears rolling down her cheeks. The pain was unimaginable, as if she had fallen and scraped her hands raw on hard concrete.

An accomplished sadist, the mistress waited, knowing how to prolong the suffering and maximize the pain. When the stinging subsided, the riding crop again came slashing down. The ponygirl could no longer hold back-- the screams tore from her lungs and the tears were a steady stream now.

Ten for each hand. By the time her ordeal was over, her hands were as red and burning hot as if she had held them to an open flame. She sniffed back the snot that had built up in her nose and did her best to control her sobbing.

"Well, have we learned our lesson, you horny little breeding-mare?"

Peachytits stamped her right foot twice, indicating yes.

"Good. Remember that the next time you're in estrus. In fact, the rest of your punishment will insure that you do."

Peachytits went cold. She wasn't done yet?

The mistress crouched down and positioned herself in front of the ponygirl's bare crotch.

Oh, God, no!

The riding crop hit her squarely on the labia and clit. Afterwards, Peachytits didn't even remember screaming, though she knew she must have. Everything just dissolved into a red haze. She assumed she got ten blows to her crotch, but this was only a guess. For days after that, it was sheer agony to walk and pee, though she had no choice. Sympathetic looks from fellow ponygirls Melons, Bananaboobs, Cherrynips, and Poutycunt helped.

She remembered the first test they had put her through, a cruel little exercise in desire and torment. It was a month after their training had started, a month when they had been deprived of any food that had the least bit of sweetness to it. They had restrained her to the back of the stall by a leather leash and collar, then had put a small piece of chocolate on the food tray at the front. The leash was just long enough so that it stopped her mouth no more than two inches from the chocolate. And they left her. She could even smell it but, maddeningly, her tongue was just millimeters from the enticing treat. For hours she stood there, her mind slowly consumed with the thought of tasting the delicious chocolate until she felt she would go mad. She later overheard that some of the others did, one nearly strangling herself in an effort to close that tiny little gap, and another attempting to chew through the leather that kept her from her reward. These intelligent, civilized women had been reduced to slobbering, slavering animals by nothing more than a few ounces of candy.

The mistress had returned, gloating as she saw the saliva dangling in rubbery strands from the delirious ponygirl's open lips.

"I don't think we're drooling enough," was all she said before leaving.

It was enough. As parched as she was, Peachytits produced streams of saliva that hung from her chin and formed thick gooey pools at her hoofed feet. That little piece of chocolate was all she could think about.

The mistress had returned once more. "That's much better," she said, taking the chocolate and popping it into her own mouth. Peachytits had lost it, throwing a temper tantrum the likes of which she hadn't done since she was three years old. She didn't realize she was one of the lucky ones: two others had been forced to eat theirs along with the cockroaches that had gotten to it before they did, their mouths forced shut as the tiny vermin crawled around teeth and tongue before being crunched and swallowed.

The test had been repeated two months later. This time the leash was long enough for them to reach the chocolate, but they were warned that if their pieces of chocolate were disturbed in any way, those ponygirls lacking self-discipline would be severely punished. Peachytits had been driven nearly mad, turning away and forcing herself to think of other things, but the sweet grew larger and larger in her mind. Just when she thought she was about to break, the ordeal ended, and she was rewarded with the chocolate. The rich heavenly taste of the candy was all too brief, but worth it. Those who hadn't had such self-control were brutally whipped, then put through the ordeal on a weekly basis until they passed.

When the pain subsided enough for Peachytits to think clearly again, she saw the the other ponygirls had already been taken away. She was released and taken back to her stall, hunched over and hobbling along in pain.

As they entered the stable, she heard unfamiliar voices coming from a room at the end. The mistress heard them too, and she turned to Peachytits with an evil smile.

"Come. There is something I want to show you."

As they reached the doorway, Peachytits saw another ponygirl. She was bent over a bench, which was angled so that her ass was high in the air, her booted hands and feet flat on the floor and shackled to the legs of the bench. The ponygirl turned at the sound of their approach, and Peachytits did a double-take-- even under the bridle and muzzle, she could recognize the face of a former Olympic runner.

There were men in the room, and they stood around laughing and talking and drinking. Before the punished ponygirl could wonder what it was all about, a ponyboy was brought in. As soon as she saw his hard-on, Peachytits knew what was about to happen. She closed her eyes, tight.

"Open your eyes!" hissed the mistress. Reluctantly, she did so, and watched as the impatient struggling ponyboy was released. He immediately positioned himself behind the helpless ponygirl and entered her. Peachytits saw the ponygirl's eyes go blank just before he reached her, and they remained blank as the ponyboy thrust away and her limp body jerked forward in response each time. The men in the room resumed their conversation and drinking as if nothing unusual was going on.

Mistress whispered into Peachytits' ear. "And that is why you must not play with yourself, as you must be ready for the time that you become a breeder-- for as long as you are fertile."

Peachytits stared at the immobilized and defeated ponygirl as she was pounded from behind in a hard steady rhythm by the virile ponyboy, her nearly-naked face and body skidding roughly back and forth across the leather top of the bench, then imagined herself in that position and shivered. To be inseminated day after day by an anonymous man until she was pregnant, a process that would be repeated year after year until she was too old to breed anymore. Her heart sank. It was just her luck to land in a breeding farm.