DRAMATIS PERSONAE

CITIZENS

Sylvia Andrews			Commissioned Officer (Major) at TTA-1 (Dural)
Gen. James Battersby 	Director of RADC-61 (Hawkesbury Outer)
Alexander Callan		Sometime Husband to Harriett Callan
Harriett Callan			Commissioned Officer (Colonel) at RADC-61 (Hawkesbury Outer) 
Pamela Carlisle			Major-Demo to the Judge
Dr Christopher Carson	Senior Reconstructor at EverSeal Head Office (Katoomba)
Abby Clarke			Enlisted Woman (Cadet) at TTA-1 (Dural)
Colin Dawson			Proprietor of the Bitch Pit, a night club at TTA-1 (Dural) 
Gretel Debenham		Commissioned Officer (Major) at RADC-46 (Wyong)
Jennifer Delany			Commissioned Officer (Major) at TTA-1 (Dural)
Louisa Favaloro			Commissioned Officer (Captain) at RADC-61 (Hawkesbury Outer)
Janet Greer			Commissioned Officer (Lieutenant) at TTA-1 (Dural)
Alexis Hamel			Commissioned Officer (Major) at RADC-46 (Wyong)
Catherine Hannan		Commissioned Officer (Major) at TTA-1 (Dural) 
Angus Hill				The Prime Minister
Emily Jones			Enlisted Woman (Cadet) at TTA-1 (Dural)
Margaret Kirby 			Commissioned Officer (Lieutenant) at TTA-1 (Dural)
Callie Kramer 			A Very Wealthy Heiress
Alison Loomis			Wife to the Judge
Gloria Loomis			Wife to the Judge
Leland Loomis			The Judge, Visionary Architect of a Braver New World 
Sam Medbury			Technical Services Director at EverSeal Head Office (Katoomba)
Sam Molloy 			A Mysterious Politician
Tom Mooney 			Senior Project Engineer, Bell-Dixon Corporation
Glenda Patterson		Senior Secretary, Bell-Dixon Corporation 
Susan Penny 			Enlisted Woman (Cadet) at TTA-1 (Dural)
Carl Redding 			A Politician
Caroline Smart			Wife to Graeme Smart
Graeme Smart ('Slick')	Administrative Executive, Bell-Dixon Corporation
Dorothy Timmins		Enlisted Woman (Cadet) at TTA-1 (Dural) 
James Tingey			Mayor of Greater Penrith
(Mr Wobbly)			(Friend to Graeme Smart)


FEMLONS AND OTHER NON-CITIZENS

Blunder Buns			Bitch-Fighting Contender
Brenda				Personal Assistant to the Judge
Carafe				Formerly Major Brigitte Sommes (now somewhat differently employed by the Judge)
Collette				Personal Bondage Nurse to Dr Carson
Clara					Bondage Secretary to Sam Molloy
Isobel/KJJ-646/Belle		Thoroughbred Pony-Girl to the Judge 
Molly				Pet to Pamela Carlisle
Rosa					Playmate to Gretel Debenham 
Salacious Lil			Bitch-Fighting Champion
Sally					Personal Bondage Nurse to Dr Carson 
Tipsy					Pony-Girl to Graeme Smart
Topsy 				Pony-Girl to Graeme Smart
Tracey				Personal Bondage Nurse to Dr Carson
Twinkle				Pet to Emily Jones and Dorothy Timmins


AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is the second Judge Loomis adventure. It's not necessary to have read Meet the Judge to enjoy this story... but some references will make more sense if you have. So go and buy a copy!


CHAPTER ONE

EMILY

Isobel returned to the conscious world so slowly that the enlisted woman on duty, Cadet Emily Jones, went some minutes before noticing the change of state and summoning the duty officer. Major Sylvia Andrews examined the bizarre, dehumanised creature through the anonymity of a large, one-way mirror.

"Very good, Emily," she said briskly. "Don't take your eyes from her. If she panics, call me immediately! Otherwise, call me as soon as she gets to her feet... er... hooves."

"Yes, ma'am," replied the eager youngster. Sylvia had deliberately chosen the least experienced girls in her command for watch duty. For that kind of monotonous work, recruits too green to let their minds wander were the ideal choice. Sylvia departed, leaving Emily with her eyes glued to the window. The thing inside, an absolutely amazing creation, fascinated her. Everything about the marvellous TTA facility fascinated her! And to think that at just twenty, here she was, a part of the team producing the sensation of the century! But she wasn't here to reflect, goodness no, she had to observe and report on the status of this very special project. The Judge himself was directly involved!

Even lying prone on the hard rubber floor, the immense size of the startling pony-girl was readily apparent. To Emily she was a thing of beauty and the longer she gazed enraptured at Isobel's deliberately erotic shape, the warmer grew her sexual pleasure in the sight and the firmer her resolve to expend every effort to ensure that her training was undertaken with diligence and determination.

Her skin for a start. Emily was well aware that the creature's glossy, smooth, dapple-grey hide was living tissue, totally replacing her former skin. Her pony-like ears were carefully shaped cosmetic conversions capable of twitching and pricking in their own right. Emily had actually seen it happen, albeit while the prototype pony-girl was unconscious. In fact, quite a few of the wondrous creature's appendages had shuddered and trembled while her sensitive pussy and bum were being filling to the brim with the very largest discipline dildos ever made by the hand of man! A mane of dazzling white sprouted in Mohawk fashion from the centre-line of Isobel's otherwise smooth and shiny skull. A long, long neck sprouted from armless shoulders at an unusual yet very graceful angle.

The twitching pony-girl lay prone on the hard, rubber tiled floor of a standard TTA recuperation chamber, on her side, her single pair of stunningly long legs at right angles to her astoundingly sculptured torso. So enormous were Isobel's spongy, strangely coloured breasts they flopped out, bulk one on top of the other, like two grotesque watermelons. Their great looked throbbingly turgid, awaiting only a tiny puncture to explode with the pent-up pressure of their confinement! Emily was hypnotised by the pink, glowing nipples. These immense, sausage-like appendages, bursting from the distant ends of Isobel's spectacular pony-tits, were at least four inches long, nearly two inches thick and made much more erotically interesting by the sophisticated system of chastened steel bands, rings and eyelets welded into, around and directly through them!

Emily's excitement grew apace with the long-awaited awakening of her charge. After what had seemed an age of unco-ordinated movement, Isobel had finally managed to twist onto her front, her weight supported by her doubled up knees while her gigantic pony-tits helped keep her balance. She raised her graceful head with careful deliberation and glanced querulously in all directions until her eyes focused on her mirrored reflection. Emily felt a sudden unease as she met the bewildered gaze but, of course, it was only an illusion of contact, generated by the one-way glass.

Image 1
Image 2

For the moment the polarised lenses that covered Isobel's big blue eyes were electronically open, allowing her unrestricted vision. It was difficult for Emily to gauge the pony-girl's reaction to the sight of her reconstructed body. Certainly the young TTA cadet couldn't detect any sign of panic or desperation, although the treatment meted out to Isobel's mouth was such that the beautiful pony-girl did not have much control over her facial expressions.

Emily was more certain of her own reaction. The warm and pleasant glow of rising sexual excitement was spreading out from her pulsing loins. She couldn't wait for her first opportunity to stroke those prodigious boobs; all in the line of duty, of course! For several minutes, perhaps as many as ten, the pony-girl remained balanced on her knees with her impossible boobs splayed out on either side, studying her reflection with an apparently intense interest. Emily could see the creature was trying very hard to move her jaws but against the combined handicaps of an internal metal brace and a gleaming steel tongue-stretcher she was unable to do more than hint at the terrible stress afflicting her mouth and jaws. The elaborate metal brace was actually riveted permanently into Isobel's toothless gums, jacking her poor jaws gapingly apart, while the multi-pronged, steel-sprung tongue-stretcher locked into the four sealed, symmetrical eyelets drilled through that tender appendage. This devilish combination provided all the leverage necessary to wrench the pony-girl's tongue agonisingly out from her mouth.

Following her instructions to the letter, Emily waited until the magnificent creature rose to her hoofed feet. The motion seemed so effortless, so graceful; so natural! Gulping in disbelief, she stuttered into the vid-com.

"Maj... Major Andrews... it... it's happened... the... the pony-girl is... is on her feet... hooves!"

"Thank you, Emily. Do calm down. I shall be there shortly."

Image 3

It was only when the dapple-grey pony-girl stepped tentatively up to the one- way mirror that Emily fully appreciated its enormous size. Poised stylishly on the towering pony-hooves which bent her restructured feet into a direct line with her shins, Isobel's gorgeous, over-ripe, rippling haunches stood as high as Emily's shoulders. Implanted into the base of the monstrous discipline dildo permanently filling the pony-girl's distended bottom, a lustrous, pure-white tail billowed extravagantly in perfect mimicry of its extinct exemplar.

Even as she watched, it seemed the pony-girl was well aware of the willowy attachment to the hellish contrivance spreading wide her magnificent buttock cheeks and, amazingly, just as aware of what had to be done to manipulate it! And that's exactly what the incredible creature was trying to do! There was simply no other explanation for her ponytail's deliberate, repeated, flicks and twitches. Not only did the incredible Isobel appear undismayed by the utter transformation of her voluptuous body from Amazon to bizarrely dehumanised pony-girl, the dumbfounded Emily could only conclude that the extraordinary creature somehow approved of the change! What other explanation was there?

The arrival of Major Andrews brought the star-struck cadet back to earth. "The pony-girl is flicking her tail already, ma'am," blurted the mesmerised Emily.

"I can see that for myself, Emily. Please keep your voice down. This is not an RAD centre."

"Yes, ma'am," Emily whispered, abashed. The tiny smile on the Major's mouth at her mention of the RAD service belied her admonishment. It hadn't taken long for a rivalry to blossom between the two institutions. 

"Your watch ends at noon?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Remain at this station until a relief arrives. You are to call me if the creature gets into any difficulty."

"Yes ma'am!"

"I have an induction ceremony to attend for the morning influx of TTA inmates which will keep me busy for the next forty minutes. Lieutenant Kirby will monitor the vid-com while I'm away. Observe the creature carefully. I will expect a report on your impressions of her behaviour to be in my tube by 1800 hours."

"Yes ma'am."

Sylvia Andrews left the earnest cadet to her duty.

For nearly three hours Emily watched, enthralled, as the magnificent, dapple grey pony-girl explored the recovery cell in which she was temporarily stabled. Indeed, so engrossed in her work did she become that the arrival of Cadet Dorothy Timmins at precisely twelve noon took her by complete surprise. Surely no more than ten minutes had elapsed!

"Oooooh! Look at it!" was Dorothy's instant response. "It's fantastic!" 

Emily couldn't control a mischievous giggle. Dot was her very best friend. They had enlisted in the TTA service together and currently shared a twin dormitory apartment in the TTA complex.

"Major Andrews has ordered me to prepare a full vid report by 1800 hours. She might want you to make one as well."

"I hope so!" Dorothy exclaimed. "I don't know about you but I think this is a wonderfully erotic sight! It will be a pleasure to take notes."

"Report any problems or difficulties directly to Lieutenant Kirby, or the Major, otherwise I don't think there's anything else. I'm off to prepare my vid. I think I'll do it at home rather than the station. If anything interesting happens, please call me if you can and tell me everything. This is so exciting!" 

"You know I will!"

"Thanks."

"Twinkle has been naughty again so I've tucked her away in the cage. Maybe you'll have time to give her bum another tanning or two. She's incorrigible!"

"That Twinkle!" Emily chuckled. "She never learns. Thank goodness!" 

Emily departed briskly, the steel tipped stilettos of her regulation, five-inch heeled, black neoprene knee boots striking a staccato cadence as she disappeared down the corridor.

Dorothy continued the vigil.

Emily wasted no time returning to her apartment in the two storey residential block which was home to about one hundred TTA personnel, housed in single or twin accommodation. The four room apartment she shared with Dorothy was both cosy and surprisingly spacious, especially considering they were mere cadets. The MID scanner detected her approach in time to admit her within the building without making her check her stride, though she did side-track for a moment to administer a customary couple of cuts to the straining, rubber sheathed and strapped buttocks of the sentry femlon mounted on a tiny pedestal in the spacious foyer. The agonisingly uniformed slave shuddered and squirmed with the sudden, vicious impact of the swishy cane but fortunately she kept her balance, notwithstanding the six inch heels of her stiff, crushing, crotch-length thigh boots.

Sentries didn't leave their post in The Willows, as Residential Block C was affectionately known to its occupants. Descending from a ceiling mount were a pair a thin steel chains, their nether ends clipped to the wretched femlon's nipple rings. One small slip, one clumsy stumble, and the hellishly immobilised slave knew that she'd hang by her punished, tortured boobs until someone took pity on her and restored her footing! There was very little likelihood of pity at The Willows!

Emily replaced the cane where she had found it, its handle hooked to the slave's gleaming, solid steel pussy ring. Home sweet home! Life in the TTA Service was all she had ever dreamed it would be!

At the other end of the foyer, Emily waved to Cadet Susan Penny. All the junior girls took turns in supervising the coffle of thirty house femlons whose role was to make life easier and more enjoyable for The Willows' residents.

Image 4

The sight of half a dozen identically helpless slaves lined up in the admin office, kept perfectly in place by the spring-loaded bolts which locked every nipple to the wall, brought a warm smile to Emily's lips.

A second MID scanner opened the front door to her second floor apartment just as she reached the doorway. It had taken Emily a little while to accustom herself to these and other electronic conveniences. There had been nothing affluent in her modest country upbringing.

The first thing she did was place her portable vid-com unit in the master console and verbally instruct the machine to download and backup all her vid and audio impressions from her duty watch. She requested audio playback while she slipped out of her immaculate rubber uniform into something a little more flexible. She did love her tight, revealing TTA uniform but it was so physically demanding! Normally Twinkle would have helped with the wardrobe change but that scrumptious strumpet was otherwise occupied for the moment. Wearing just a flimsy, transparent gown of smooth black lace, Emily sauntered into the single bedroom. By choice, she and Dot slept in the same bed.

With the sound of her recent observations on the prototype pony-girl's acclimatisation in the background, Emily posed provocatively in front of the Jay-El cage into which their impish house slave had been squeezed. Fully aware of the impact her appearance would have on Twinkle's uncontrollable sexual appetite, Emily relished the instant longing which appeared in her big, bright eyes.

Compressed into a dolorously uncomfortable ball so she could be crushed within the unyielding embrace of the steel-banded, spherical cage, Twinkle's head, encased within a complimentary and complicated steel brank, protruded oddly from the surface of the cage and the intertwined mass of her body and limbs. Her pretty mouth was burstingly full of custom crafted, steel studded punishment gag, locked in place by a bizarre arrangement of precise steel bolts which pierced her eyeleted lips in six places before being sealed with egregiously tightened steel nuts.

Image 5

"Dot told me all about you. You are a naughty girl, Twinkle. Won't you ever learn?"

The luminous response from the sumptuous slave's large eyes completely belied the ferocious intensity of her steel banded bondage.

"Hopeless!" Emily muttered in mock exasperation, reaching for the stiff, whalebone crop kept handy for just this purpose. "I don't suppose this will make any difference either... but who cares!"

She activated the console which controlled the universal mountings on the popular Jay-El steel orb and, with a few practised keystrokes, manipulated it until Twinkle's lush, spongy buttocks were at an ideal angle to receive a sound thrashing. Emily laid on with a will, the combination of exercise and the sight of Twinkle's striped, reddening bum fuelling the fierce sexual drive which was never far from the surface, particularly in circumstances like this. Her mouth hermetically sealed by the terrible steel punishment gag, Twinkle made no sound other than the desperate, snorting gasps of a well-trained slave uncertain whether she was in agony or ecstasy!

Long, auburn hair flying, Emily kept at the fell caning until the throbbing pulse in her precocious pussy demanded relief. With practised skill, she locked a huge, moulded rubber dildo onto the corresponding lugs in Twinkle's dread gag and, while her supple fingers danced over the control pads on the Jay-El console, she spread wide her yearning hips to await the imminent insertion of the contoured pleasure pole. With silent efficiency, the precision cage of torment positioned its helpless victim's dildo-sprouting head into line with her mistress' impatient, drooling pussy. Leaning against the bed, Emily surrendered to the insidious invasion, relishing the vibratory motions enforced by the automatic programming of the multi-purpose Jay- El machine. The knowledge that poor Twinkle was providing the vibrations courtesy of the frequent electric shocks which struck all of her tender areas added a definite piquancy to the heady experience.

Emily held out as long as she could but all too soon her licentious body betrayed her and a spectacular orgasm flushed through her trembling flesh.

She collapsed onto the bed, swooning, hands cupping her palpitating breasts through the sensuous film of slinky black lace which partially covered her up Twinkle. svelte figure. Alas, there was no such reward for the scrunched She had to make do with another five minutes of painful electric trauma which was how long it took Emily to remember her slave's predicament and absent-mindedly switch off the stimulation unit. Emily didn't bother to unlock the pleasure dildo nor return the abused, exhausted Twinkle to an upright orientation. After all, hadn't she been a very naughty girl!

The audio playback had long ago finished, not that Emily had listened too carefully. Sated for now by the fulfilling orgasm dear Twinkle had so thoughtfully provided, she retired to the living room leaving her slave to the frustration and discomfort of her crushing bondage.

A recent addition to their household, the Jay-El cage took pride of place in the bedroom. There were so many wonderful fringe benefits available to TTA personnel. Not only did they get interest free credit from almost every major manufacturer, they were also eligible for substantial discounts ar- ranged by the all-powerful Judge Loomis. Emily didn't know a single girl who wasn't in awe of his mere shadow!

In the living room, Emily collected what she would need to prepare her vid- As her warm, bare bottom touched the resilient texture of the rubber report. covered chair, she couldn't help be reminded that she and Dot had volunteered to help test the new range of FDFs being jointly developed by the TTA research unit and a team from Ainsworth Holdings. Another day or two and they'd take delivery of several intriguing pieces of femlon decorated furniture. Both girls were really looking forward to that. Even poor Twinkle was enthusiastic, mistakenly believing that somehow her lot would improve with the new arrivals.

Emily concentrated very hard while she put together her report for Major Andrews. Interspersed with her direct audio and vid footage, she edited in her observations as instructed. On request, the compact Merrimac 2X auto- bar produced a cold soda. Drug use was strictly prohibited to all TTA personnel, at least while they were on duty. Nobody broke the rules. The Judge didn't like that!

Dot's watch stood down at 1800 hours so there wouldn't be time for her flatmate to review her report. Emily checked it one last time then downloaded the vid-report to Major Andrews' official tube. Off duty now, she called up a sparkling wine and sipped it appreciatively as she meandered back to the bedroom. She was ready for a short nap but the sight of that gorgeous Twinkle still hellishly ensnared within the crushing embrace of merciless steel brought both a smile to her lips and a thrill to her loins. The slave's head- down bum-up pose hid her mistress' return so it wasn't until Emily swung the malignant whalebone crop into Twinkle's tender, helpless, perfectly vulnerable buttock cheeks that the startled girl realised she was being warmed up for a second round!

Emily warmed her well, vigorously flogging Twinkle's juicy bottom the better to prime her own rapacious genitals with the stimulation that never failed to bring her to the boil. A deft touch on the Jay-El console manoeuvred Twinkle's gag-filled, dildo-sprouting mouth into Emily's silky love-sheath and, after a glorious ten minute encounter with the vibrating pleasure pole, the young TTA cadet exploded with the intensity and ecstasy of a magnificent orgasm!

All of her orgasms these days were magnificent, she reflected a short while later, squirming contentedly around the wide bed. She was sleepy now and somehow the console was just out of reach. Oh well. That's what Twinkle was for. The little vixen was always in need of discipline. They could do anything they liked with her, or to her. A languid, smug smile creased her lips as she drifted into slumberland.

Barely inches away, trapped in a diabolical steel cage, the voluptuously naked Twinkle sobbed disconsolately. No sound escaped the fiendish punishment gag filling her gaping mouth but the tears flowed freely from her wide blue eyes. A constant barrage of electric shocks lanced into the sensitive flesh of her shaven pussy, her ringed and collared nipples, her eyeleted tongue and her ringed nose. The throbbing pain from the severe caning had set her soft bottom afire.

Dreadful as her suffering was, Twinkle's forlorn distress was due in large part to the heartbreaking frustration of being brought to the very precipice of orgasm only to be stopped short at the last moment. Just one more stroke, she knew, would have done the trick. Twice in one afternoon she had been made to suffer the terrible torment of orgasm denied, the cruellest treatment her strict mistresses' could mete out to her! Her foolish decision to tease Mistress Dorothy had backfired with a vengeance. Maybe they'd release her tomorrow if she was very good? Maybe not! Barely a week had elapsed since the horrid cage was installed and somehow she seemed to have spent more time in it than out of it! Hopefully the novelty would wear off soon!

܀܀܀

CHAPTER TWO

DOROTHY

Blissfully unaware of poor Twinkle's anguished suffering, Cadet Dorothy Timmins studied the fantastic pony-girl creation separated from her by a single sheet of one-way Synglass. Her vid and audio recorders were kept busy by a constant stream of excited commentary as she dutifully made note of everything she thought might be of interest to her superiors. Dorothy's brief experience in the recovery unit of TTA-1 had shown her that the first few hours of consciousness after irreversible transformation were the most traumatic for an untrained pony-girl and often required strict counselling in the form of discipline bits, bridles and/or nose, nipple and pussy leashes. 

The Judge's extraordinary prototype pony-girl was a breed apart from the usual production-line model. In addition to such obvious differences as her enormous physical size and unique posture, there was an unmistakable aura of energy and excitement surrounding her, exemplified in her crisp, snappy body language. There wasn't a lot of room in the padded recovery cell but the radiant, dapple-grey pony-girl was obviously trying hard to make good use of what little there was. Compelled by radical surgery to maintain a grotesquely elegant pose which ensured that her torso could never exceed an angle of 901⁄2 from her impossibly long and shapely legs, she was moving stylishly around the perimeter, testing out the limits and constraints of her bizarrely restructured body. That her jaws were jacked gapingly apart and her tongue stretched wickedly by inexorable steel seemed to have no effect whatsoever on her spirited display.

Image 6

The rhythmical bouncing and swaying, juddering and slapping of Isobel's prodigious pony-tits had an almost hypnotic effect on the watching cadet. Only the evidence of her own eyes convinced the stunned Dorothy that the amazing pony-girl's boobs really did dangle all the way down to her knees, there to be capped by the largest pair of turgid pink nipples she had ever seen. As if to emphasise their enormity, each nipple had been collared by two separate bands of thick, chastened steel, the distal band welded into place right at the junction between nipple and aureole and the proximal band almost two inches further toward the tip. The exacting astringency with which the gouging bands had been permanently welded into the helpless nipple flesh was made clearly evident by the swollen mass of sensitive tissue ridging abruptly from the sharp rims of each merciless steel band. A wide steel eyelet was riveted right through the pony-girl's stretched, engorged, erogenous tissue, mid-way between each pair of half-inch wide nipple collars. Through this eyelet a thick steel nipple ring dangled, its diameter large enough to protrude past Isobel's quivering nipple tips. In the artificial light cast by the high ceiling sol-strips, Dorothy couldn't help but notice how beautifully all that nipple jewellery shimmered and sparkled!

Dorothy's reverie was interrupted by the unannounced arrival of Major Andrews. She snapped smartly to attention, as always eager to please her formidable superior.

"Good afternoon, Dorothy," was the pleasant greeting. Sylvia Andrews knew all her girls by name; and their strengths and weaknesses. Not that many weaknesses were tolerated. There was no shortage of eager volunteers for the few prized positions made available each month in the TTA Service. "I can see there's something you're dying to say, Dorothy, so you might as well spit it out."

"Yes, ma'am! It... it's about Isobel... I mean KJJ-646! I... I've never seen a pony-girl respond like this in recovery ever before! Look at her, ma'am! I know I don't have much experience but I'm sure she is actually enjoying herself!"

A fleeting smile crossed Sylvia's lips. Nothing the Judge was involved with surprised her any more. The combination of secrecy and fussing which had surrounded the prototype pony-girl's induction was a sure sign that some- thing peculiar had happened to the Judge's chosen. Her friend and colleague, Jenny Delany, knew a lot more about the program but she was still abroad with the Judge and there hadn't been time to glean more than a vague outline before her hurried departure.

"Perhaps you're right, Dorothy. There's still an hour or two of daylight left. Let's see what happens when we take her to an exercise paddock for a bit of a run. I'll need a nose leash and a neural gun."

"Yes, ma'am!" Dot bounded away, returning moments later with the requested items.

"You take the leash, cadet, I'll cover you. I want you to proffer the leash when you enter and we'll see what she does."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Sylvia hit the servo-lock and as soon as the entrance panel had slid noiselessly aside, Dorothy strode boldly inside, backed up by her superior. The resplendent, dapple grey pony-girl was momentarily startled by the sudden arrival of visitors but she quickly got over her surprise and stood quietly. As instructed, Dorothy held out the clip ring on the end of the leather leash, not exactly sure what was going to happen. No sooner did the magnificent creature see the proffered leash than she pranced straight over and nuzzled her gleaming steel nose-ring against the leash clip.

"Wake up, Cader! Snap it on!"

Hands trembling nervously. Dorothy fumbled with the solid clip until she finally snapped it through Isobel's chastened steel nose-ring.

Image 7

"Yes ma'am," Dorothy spluttered, pulling diffidently on the leash and desperately hoping her superior wasn't going to get too far ahead or that her frighteningly huge charge might decide to be difficult. To her immense relief, neither eventuality materialised. She was able to keep up with Major Andrews' brisk stride while the bizarre creature tethered to her trotted along behind with surprising meekness.

It wasn't long before the little procession was in the open air, the rosy glow of the late afternoon sun casting deep shadows between the leafy branches of the many native trees which lent a relaxed and rustic air to the expansive grounds surrounding the central group of TTA buildings. It was along one of the many artificially turfed paths which linked the various paddocks, stables and training yards with unobtrusive efficiency that Major Andrews led the way to a particularly large exercise paddock, currently not in use. 

As always, Dorothy was fascinated by the sights and sounds around her. Her present responsibilities, however, precluded a more active interest for the moment. As with all exercise paddocks at the TTA Centre, a low level laser screen guarded the perimeter, making it impossible for any pony-girl to escape its environs. The laser gate deactivated instantly in response to Major Andrews' voice-com.

"This will do nicely. Remove the leash."

"Yes, ma'am."

Both women couldn't help but be aware of the amazing pony-girl's barely suppressed exuberance. Yet the resplendent creature kept her hoofed feet firmly planted in the one place.

"I... I think she's waiting for us to tell her what to do... ma'am..." Dorothy ventured uncertainly.

"Well, Cadet! So she is. Get her moving!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Dorothy took a last, close-up look at the superbly dehumanised pony-girl. The sight was staggeringly erotic! She raised her right hand.

"Off you go, pony-girl! Off you go!" Isobel darted away as soon as the words were spoken but not before Dorothy got one chance to flick her magnificent, quivering bottom with the slim leather leash. This time it was Dorothy's voice-com which sealed the laser gate.

"One hour will be enough for today. Please return KJJ-646 directly to her assigned stable. I don't think we'll need the recovery cell again. Introduce her to the basic facilities. I shall inspect at 1800 hours precisely. In addition, I will require a detailed vid-report by 0900 hours tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am. May I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"What will I do if I can't catch her when the hour is up?"

"Mmmph! I suppose you'll have to request assistance. Voice-com the security unit and... if you do need their help, you had best bring her back to a counselling cell. Notify me immediately."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Sylvia left the conscientious cadet to her solitary vigil.

The allotted hour seemed to fly by. Dorothy had her personal vid scan going most of the time, its auto focus locked on the lively antics of the prancing pony-girl. Dorothy occasionally remembered to mumble a word or two by way of commentary but the vid spoke for itself.

Isobel possessed boundless energy. She pranced magnificently from one end of the paddock to the other, her lustrous mane billowing in the wind, her enormous, pendant pony-boobs swinging like gigantic pendulums and her flowing pony-tail flicking vigorously from side to side. Dorothy watched in awe as the pony-girl continually picked up the pace until she was fairly racing across the green sward, her powerful, lissom legs pounding into the smooth turf leaving a trail of sharp, tell-tale hoof-prints to mark her passage.

The TTA cadet had never seen such a display of strength and stamina. The hour was up all too soon and there she was, still tearing across the paddock at breakneck speed, a spectacular vision of erotic splendour. What drove her to such extraordinary lengths? Exercise was enjoyable, Dorothy knew that, but this display of zealous fanaticism was beyond her understanding. None of the many hundreds of regular pony-girls she had supervised in the last six months had ever manifested behaviour like this! Dorothy's steaming pussy oozed liquid delight at the mere thought of mounting and riding the dazzling creature. Surely she would get the chance eventually! 

Dorothy voice-commed the laser gate and stepped tentatively into the paddock. Moments later the glowing, dapple grey pony-girl rushed past her like a mad thing, barely avoiding an accident. She had no doubts about who would come off worse in such an eventuality. She had seen historical vids of horses and their various uses by humans - it was required course-work for all TTA cadets - so now she wished for, what was it, a lariat. If she opportunity, she'd ask Major Andrews about that. 

Her fears proved groundless. The next time the prancing pony-girl within range of the uniformed cadet, she skidded to a sudden stop and again nuzzled up to the proffered nose-leash with apparent pleasure. Pony-boobs heaving, legs quivering, pony-tail flicking, Isobel stood more or less still while Dorothy shook off her amazement. The pony-girl was a constant source of wonder! She was fascinated by the sight of Isobel's pulsing, dildo- disciplined pussy. She had been present when the pony-girl's tender orifice was painstakingly filled with a custom moulded neoprene dildo of impossible dimensions. She had seen the complicated network of pads, probes and prongs which festooned every inch of its enormous surface area. She knew of their diabolical potential. She had watched with great excitement as the integral labial plate was positioned between the prominent, fleshy folds of her spongy pussy lips and held there by the combined strength of three TTA personnel while thick steel rivets were permanently welded through the carefully aligned labial eyelets and the mating slots in the plate. Only the wretched creature's cosmetically enlarged clitoris, now a full inch long and almost half that around, was permitted to escape the hellish steel prison. That escape, however, was cruelly illusory. A pair of thin steel bands, similar if smaller to those torturing her nipples, were welded murderously around that tender, helpless shred of sensitive sex-flesh. They flanked the solid, serrated steel clit-ring which pierced the very centre of the callously abused organ. Indeed, the dildo and all its associated paraphernalia had been designed to make its victim constantly aware of its hideously uncomfortable presence and, at the whim of a remote, inflict unspeakable agony.

Dorothy instinctively used her free hand to fondle the pony-girl's bizarre head. Her rubber gloved fingers caressed the glossy, dapple grey hide, thrilling to the touch of her steel-stretched jaws.

"What a good pony-girl you are, Isobel," she said expressively.

Encouraged by the warm response her gentle ministrations elicited, she widened her area of exploration to include Isobel's preposterous, heaving pony-boobs. They held the same fascination for her as they did for her partner.

Dorothy dearly wished her orders were less explicit so she could invest a lot more time in the pony-girl's charms but she daren't be late. Major Andrews would inspect at 1800 hours precisely and Dorothy knew better than to be found wanting.

"Maybe later, pony-girl," she whispered affectionately, tugging gently on the nose leash.

An entire stable complex was in the process of completion to house the new breed of saddle pony-girls expected to arrive once the initial trials were complete. The Judge lacked nothing, if not confidence in his vision! For the moment, Isobel had the brand new building to herself. The central atrium was designed around a sophisticated and efficient feeding and waste extraction system. There were separate stations for upwards of 50 pony-girls and it was into one of these that Isobel was carefully directed. Dorothy had no trouble backing the gigantic creature into position. She did breathe a sigh of relief as soon as she had locked both pony-legs into the tight ankle manacles which ensured the occupant kept her legs very stiff and straight.

Even when the cadet used the spring-mounted nipple leashes to stretch the pony-girl's colossal, torpedo-shaped boobs to waiting eyebolts in the floor, there was no sign of rebellion. Not even so much as a disguised complaint! A final, spring-driven connection between Isobel's nose-ring and an over- head beam completed the rigid and painful immobilisation required by the ingenious design of the feeding station.

Up close, Dorothy was both amazed and fascinated by the diabolically elaborate discipline system which had been permanently welded and riveted into the pony-girl's pretty mouth. It seemed as though there was scarcely a square centimetre lucky enough to have escaped the agonising contact of high-tensile, cruelly barbed steel.

The pony-girl's gaping jaws fairly creaked so extreme was the tension which jacked them apart. Dorothy didn't even have to release Isobel's steel- stretched tongue from its terrible predicament. Not that she had the power to do that. The plethora of discipline devices which controlled the prototype pony-girl were operated exclusively by a compact remote unit. She had glimpsed it once or twice already but never been permitted to use it. 

The simple, functional design of the maintenance system allowed the TTA cadet to snap the waiting feeding line into the self-sealing needle-valve located at the very entrance to the pony-girl's throat. Isobel's entire oesophagus was fully filled with a permanent rubber tube, one end of which terminated inside her modified stomach while the other formed an air-tight seal with the regulator valve. Furthermore, the tube itself formed a seal with Isobel's oesophagus for its full length, thereby guaranteeing that whatever went down the tube would remain there. The stability of the valve was ensured by its direct connection to the fiendish steel discipline system within the pony-girl's helpless, punished mouth.

One of the several consequences of this feeding philosophy was the necessity to upgrade the respiratory capacity of Isobel's nasal passages. Oxygen intake came exclusively via this route and was made apparent to the discerning viewer by the constant flaring of the pony-girl's snorting nostrils. 

The connection of a standard TTA fuel line to the regulator valve automatically started the flow of the viscous fluid which comprised Isobel's custom diet. Dorothy kept her eye on the small indicator panel until an LED confirmed the transmission was progressing satisfactorily. That done, she turned her attention to Isobel's magnificent hind-quarters. Using one hand to raise the billowing, lustrous tail which somehow seemed to explode from the dapple-grey pony-girl's inhumanly dildoed bottom, Dorothy snapped the dual waste/cleansing line to the twin self-sealing valves located immediately below the tail's stub. The astonishing size of the permanently implanted rectal dildo ensured there was plenty of room for both valves and her tail! 

Dorothy wasn't exactly sure how Isobel's plumbing had been rearranged but she did know that solid waste was extracted through the upper valve while liquid waste was handled by the lower valve. It was obvious from the pulsing umbilical that the extraction and cleansing of the rigidly restrained pony- girl's rectum was accomplished under high pressure. Isobel's huge, juicy buttocks clenched furiously and futilely in response to the boiling, surging action of the abrading enema. Immobilised by the spring-loaded chains at her ankles, nipples and nose, the Amazonian pony-girl had no choice but to accept the fiendishly efficient surge of liquid which variously sustained, cleansed and tormented her!

The spellbound cadet couldn't help the rush of arousal which further excited her damp genitals. Her legs tingled squishily. A little smile creased her lips. She had that Twinkle to play with as soon as she got home! Thank goodness for that!

The entire process took barely ten minutes to complete and it was a simple matter for Dorothy to sever the umbilical connections, secure the station and release its unfortunate occupant. All of her exposure to date with inexperienced pony-girls urged her to expect a tantrum of rebellion or despair, or both, so she kept a very firm grip on Isobel's nose-leash, ready at an instant to use it as a weapon. Yet again she was dumbfounded by the gorgeous creature's meek and unquestioning acceptance of her inexorable circum- stances. It was something Dorothy just had to discuss with Emily as soon as she could. Perhaps she would even mention it in her report to Major Andrews. There was always a settling-in period for pony-girls. Its absence in this case was baffling. The inhumanly boobed and bent creature trembling obediently at the distal end of the leather leash balanced confidently on her single pair of hoofed feet, gazing benignly at her erotically uniformed tormentress.

It was beyond understanding! What had been done to her?

Isobel trotted placidly along in the wake of the taut leash until Dorothy jerked her up short at the entrance to her personalised stall. After unclipping the leash, it took only a curt nod to instruct the fantastic pony-girl that this was indeed her new home. She looked around inquisitively for a moment or two then squeezed into its close confines. There was barely room for Dorothy to snap Isobel's nose-ring to a convenient mounting and activate the high- tensile spring mechanism which ensured a fierce and cruel tension would be continually maintained.

Isobel's pussy hobble had been uniquely arranged so that it was her cruelly clamped and ringed clitoris which bore the terrible burden of her immobilisation. Dorothy had no trouble raising the gorgeous creature's left leg until the permanently implanted steel swivel ring grafted into the bone of her ankle made contact with, and locked into, the evilly gleaming, serrated steel clit-ring. Dorothy ran her rubber-gloved fingers lightly along the full length of Isobel's straining thigh, relishing the tension generated by the fiendish hobble. Only the twitching tail gave any indication of the pony-girl's dire distress.

Dorothy felt almost guilty when she hefted one huge pony-boob and clipped its solid nipple ring to an articulated side stanchion. Moments later the matching pony-tit was secured to a second stanchion, this one on the opposite side. The TTA cadet jumped an inch as the spring-driven mountings concertinaed, wrenching the massive, spongy melons out perpendicularly until the tension along the entire length of each tortured boob was agonisingly acute! Isobel's dapple-grey pony-tits thrummed like tuning forks!

The Judge had directly authorised this hellish treatment for his personal prototype and Dorothy wasn't sure whether to be appalled or thrilled by this spectacle of diabolically tormented pony-girl. It boggled her disbelieving eyes! No regular pony-girl was ever treated with such inhuman barbarity! Not even those wretched creatures permanently assigned to the Quality Control Unit were stabled with such deliberate cruelty. No regular pony-girl could have endured it, even for a day! Yet this special pony-girl was expected to thrive under these conditions for the foreseeable future! A shudder, part fear, part excitement, coursed down Dorothy's spine. The Judge was implacable!

Dorothy mumbled these and associated thoughts into her vid-com as she waited for the overhead display panel to confirm that it had indeed gone 1800 hours. Immediately, she called her superior.

"Cadet Timmins here, Major," she said. "The pony-girl is stabled for the night. Everything is in order. What shall I do now?"

"Nothing! I shall be there presently."

Major Andrews' searching eyes quickly appraised that her subordinate had done a thorough and exemplary job. Dorothy, and Emily for that matter, had promotion potential.

"Well, Dorothy, it looks like KJJ-646 knows how to behave already."

"Yes, Ma'am!" the eager cadet replied fervently. "I'll put all the details in my report. I've never seen anything like it!"

"For what it's worth, cadet... nor have I!"

Dorothy stood at strict attention, only her heaving bosom betraying her excitement. Sylvia grinned to herself. The quality of TTA recruits was continually improving!

"That's all, cadet. Remember that report at 0900."

"Yes, Ma'am! Good evening, Ma'am."

Sylvia stayed awhile after the cadet's departure, reflecting on the events of the day. Isobel's induction had been completed in total secrecy so, of course, there were hundreds of rumours circulating about what had been done to her. Some were obvious nonsense, certainly, but something extraordinary had happened and Sylvia was as curious as the rawest recruit. Jenny would be back soon and maybe then the mystery would be unravelled. If she could wait that long!

Dorothy had earlier voice-commed the barred door to the astonishing pony- girl's stall and this restricted Sylvia's view of its amazing occupant. Little more than a pair of huge, rippling haunches framing a lazily flicking, pristine tail were visible.

What was the Judge up to? Only this morning she had been ordered to take temporary command of the prototype project until the Judge's return. Her orders were disconcertingly vague. Other than supervising Isobel's recovery, activating her implanted electronic circuitry, some basic maintenance and taking her for a bit of exercise and there was little else she was required to do. Whatever the Judge had planned wasn't going to happen without his personal attention. Piqued by insatiable curiosity, Sylvia knew it was going to be a long two days waiting for enlightenment!

܀܀܀

CHAPTER THREE

TWINKLE

Dorothy found her sweetheart fast asleep in their bed, watched over by the mercilessly contorted, cruelly caged and helplessly suspended Twinkle. Nothing extraordinary about that! The twin sights of her slave and her partner sparked Dorothy's already primed genitals to a fever-pitch of longing. Emily was erotically sprawled across the covers in a darling negligee that simply begged to be caressed and removed! But first the raging passion of her desire must be sated and Twinkle was eminently available for just that purpose.

Dorothy patted the deliciously upthrust nates, still red and striped from the floggings it had received from Emily's willing arm. Only then did the uniformed TTA cadet realise that the electronic stimulation unit still ran at full throttle.

"You silly thing!" Dorothy giggled as quietly as she could. She didn't really want to wake her friend until she'd finished with their slave. She picked up the control console and spun the Jay-El cage until Twinkle's diabolically branked and gagged head was right way up. She caressed the steel-banded, shaven skull with considerable affection. She jiggled the superbly shaped dildo affixed to Twinkle's steel-bolted lips. The thin, translucent film covering the firm neoprene confirmed the excellent use to which it had already been put!

"You have got yourself into a fix, darling, haven't you? Still, I wouldn't have it any other way! Just you wait until I get out of this uniform!"

Dorothy removed her prestigious TTA uniform and, stark naked, returned to the communal bed. Twinkle saw her coming and for moment the pitiful slave's eyes lit up with the expectation of at last getting what she so desperately needed. Alas, it was not be! Dorothy began where Emily had left off! The whalebone cane sung its merry song again as a lithe, deceptively strong arm descended upon helpless, juicily ripe and reddened buttocks with reckless frequency and ferocity. Dorothy's urgent gasps drowned the muted snorts from her victim's flaring nostrils but even the combined exertions of the unequal combatants did not disturb Emily's supine slumber.

Dorothy persevered with the thrashing until she reached that plateau of desire which could only be assuaged by the insertion of something warm and willing. She lay down beside her somnolent friend and snuggled up. The Jay- El remote ensured the instrument was willing and a few luxuriant thrusts, enhanced by constant electronic stimulation, soon warmed it up! Dorothy's throaty moans of ecstasy were enough to wake the dead, let alone a now drowsy Emily. Possessed by the demonic power of exploding orgasm, Dorothy groped blindly for her lover's sleepy head and clamped Emily's soft, full lips around the nearer of her turgid nipples. Instinctively Emily knew what to do and within seconds her soft tongue was adding an exquisite piquancy to the tumultuous turmoil deep within Dorothy's broiling pussy! 

Panting to regain her breath, a delirious Dorothy could only marvel at the wonderful turn her life had taken since she put on the elite TTA uniform. A nerveless hand fumbled with the remote, disengaging the well-oiled dildo from its appreciative sheath, returning the poor, abused Twinkle to an upright orientation and at last switching off the electronic stimulation unit. If Dorothy had been able to read the jangled thoughts of her aching. exhausted slave, she would have known of her desperately unfulfilled craving for the orgasm which was kept always just out of reach! But then, if Dorothy had been that sensitive, she would never have been recruited into the TTA Service!

Emily reluctantly released her lover's tender nipple and lazily rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"Goodness! Is it that late already?"

"Sleepyhead, it's nearly six-thirty."

"I only dozed off for a minute." Emily snuggled closer. "Well, tell me! What happened with that freakish PG?"

"I've got everything in my vid. She's terrific! I'll bet the Judge has done something miraculous with her! I've never seen a pony-girl respond so...err... positively... to initial induction!"

"That's what I thought... and I said so, more or less, in my report. Did Major Andrews say anything about it?"

"Your report?"

"Mmm!"

"I don't remember. I have to transmit mine before nine tomorrow. Do you want to help me prepare it?"

"I'd love to!"

"Now?"

"Later, darling. Let's eat. I'm famished! Then we can watch you know what!" "The Baroness!" Emily exclaimed. "Of course, it's Wednesday!"

"It's your turn to cook. I know! Let's dress for dinner so we can watch the holo-vid in style! Then we can relax for an hour or two at 'the Pit'. Tonight's the big challenge!"

"And what shall we do with our little miscreant?" Emily queried, sensuously leaning across her lover and patting poor Twinkle's steel-branked head. 

"Take her with us! I'm dying to try out her new outfit! It's gorgeous!" 

"What new outfit?"

"You'll see. I wanted to surprise you. The BB has some tremendous bargains this week!"

"Well? Where is it?"

"Not here. It's registered in our hologen cubicle."

"Ooooh!" Emily exclaimed, not needing an explanation from her partner to know that meant their slave's outfit promised to be deliciously elaborate. Without exception, the occupants of the various TTA residences considered this provision of communal hologen cubicles about the best subsidiary benefit any girl could wish for!

"Up you get, lazybones," Dorothy encouraged, giving her lover an affection- ate kiss. For a moment she was tempted to prolong the pleasure. Emily did look so scrumptious in that cute negligee. There would be plenty of time for cuddles later in the evening. She could wait.

Still deliciously naked, Dorothy floated over to the sec-com and called up domestic services.

"Hi, Dot!"

Cadet Susan Penny was still on duty.

"Hi, Sue. Can you send up a house femlon? Program her to take our Twinkle to the hol-cube and return her as soon as she's changed her outfit. I'll log into the cube directly."

"Programming now. How soon?"

"Right away, if it's possible?"

"Done! ETA three minutes!"

"Thanks, Sue."

"My pleasure. Out."

"Well, Twinkle, did you hear that," Emily crooned, fondly tickling her slave's ringed ears.

Indeed, Twinkle did. Her heart skipped a beat with gratitude. Anything, anything at all, would be preferable to spending another minute in her hellish cage!

The girls were still rummaging through their wardrobes when the apartment's sec-com announced the arrival of a house femlon. The TTA bureaucracy allowed each separate residential complex to determine its own femlon requirements and the nationwide surplus was so great that no restrictions were placed on the numbers engaged. Turn-over was high due to enthusiastic femlon abuse but there were always plenty more to take the places of the worn-out hulks returned and permanently stored away in one or other of the nationwide de-animation centres.

It hadn't taken long for a friendly, if intense, rivalry to develop among the apartment blocks. There was stiff competition in all aspects of femlon use, abuse and discipline. Following on from a suggestion by a senior TTA officer, each apartment complex chose a particular theme and developed it with the dual goals of showing up their peers and maximising the misery of their wretched, defenceless femlons. TTA regulations, in fact, demanded that all femlons be disciplined with extreme severity.

The femlon arriving to transport the agonisingly caged Twinkle was a perfect example. The unfortunate creature was permanently and inhumanly sealed within a seamless sheath of crushingly thick, black neoprene. Her identity was eradicated by a hideously inflated, amorphous, oval-shaped punishment hood which prohibited all visual and aural contact with the world at large. In splendid contrast to the glistening, polished sheen of the creaseless, black rubber skin were a plethora of steel studded, white leather straps, cutting and gouging everywhere into her, all of them cinched and buckled with a crushing, cramping and supremely agonising ferocity.

Emily smiled warmly as the mincing mannequin waited Stoically in the hallway for her next instruction. The stirring sight of leather compressed, rubber encapsulated femininity sparked a cosy, comforting glow beneath her flimsy lace negligee. The nameless femlon was not permitted to stand upright; wicked steel rods directly locked her ringed nipples to her leather strapped knees. A quick glance confirmed the terrible strain on the poor creature's torso and legs. Since the femlon would not require her arms for this assignment, they had been agonisingly twisted into a double hammer-lock position, a favourite among all TTA personnel, and strapped mercilessly along her spine. A diabolical use had been found for the small steel rings embedded at the end of each finger and thumb of the crushing rubber skin. They had been snapped to custom provisions in the network of gouging, studded leather straps which, among other things, made sure the gigantic torture gag filling her mouth stayed exactly here it was meant to and her disciplined, hooded head was jerked back to its absolute limit.

Unconcerned by her own near nudity, Emily opened the door and stepped into the hallway. A deft touch of the compact fem-con unit mounted at the rear of the femlon's waist-cutting corset strap switched her to local control. Only a slight tremor marked the transition. Without electronic guidance, the helpless femlon was completely cut off from outside influence. Her only stimulus was the cruel, ceaseless suffering she must endure from her fiendishly elaborate bondage uniform.

The solitude lasted less than a minute. Emily took hold of the snake-like, coiled leash clipped to the femlon's huge pussy ring and used it to pull her into the apartment with callous indifference to her suffering. Stumbling inside stiff, crotch-length, six-inch heeled punishment boots, the pussy- leashed femlon could barely keep her balance. She could do nothing to avoid the distress Emily deliberately chose to inflict upon her helplessly vulnerable sex. A femlon's lot is not a happy one!

Emily dragged the bound and blind bundle of leather and rubber entombed slave into the bedroom. As soon as she relaxed the tension on the leash, the cruelly bent and misshapen creature assumed a rigid pose, awaiting in silent despair for the next torment to befall her. She didn't have long to wait! Dorothy used the Jay-El's remote to free up the castors which presently kept the Twinkle-filled punishment cage from moving about before giving the diabolical steel orb a gentle push toward the unsuspecting femlon. Emily did the honours, first pulling the supple leash between the trembling femlon's rubber sheathed legs and then clipping it to one of the convenient D-rings mounted around the sphere's rim.

Poor Twinkle's eyes were open wide in surprise. Where were they taking her now? Would she never get that precious orgasm?

Image 8

"Ready?" asked Dorothy, already beside the sec-com.

"Take it away," she answered, switching the fem-con unit back to auto. 

"It's me again, Sue. The femlon's all hooked up to our Twinkle. And we've already programmed the hol-cube. Can you return the Jay-El when you get a chance? But please keep Twinkle in the foyer until we collect her. That won't be for two hours or so. We're going to have a bite to eat and watch the Baroness... and we don't want to be distracted!"

"And I do? I guess I'll have to put that strumpet out of eyesight. I'm supposed to be on duty!"

"It's a tough life, Sue," Dorothy commiserated with a chuckle. "However do we manage?"

With a sudden surge, the wretched femlon lurched into motion, almost immediately taking up the strain of the heavy burden leashed to her steel pussy ring. She couldn't complain nor could she refuse her assignment. The electronic implants emplaced in her nipples and her breasts, her pussy and her bottom, her hands and her feet, her tongue and her throat, ensured her complete obedience. Through the apartment she struggled and out into the hallway. Dorothy followed, the Jay-El's remote still in her hand. A mischievous grin brightened her pretty face as she slowly raised the slim device and depressed the pad which tightened the castors until they were all but jammed. The effect was instantly apparent. The poor femlon had barely got into stride with her load, stepping smartly down the corridor in response to the various electric shocks besetting her. It was as if her handicap had magically doubled. Her pace slowed, the tension on the terrible pussy leash grew visibly more onerous and her legs seemed to twitch with every tortuous step.

Emily popped her head into the hallway, immediately appreciating her lover's little joke.

"Be a good girl, Twinkle," she carolled pleasantly. "See you soon."

"Come on, Em, we must get dressed and eat in forty-five minutes. I don't want to miss a minute!"

"Then stop playing with the femlons... you're the one wasting time!"

"Me!"

The apartment door closed behind the giggling girls about the same time as the fiendishly disciplined femlon, towing a helplessly caged cargo, disap- peared around the far corner of the corridor.

Emily ran her gloved fingers down the length of her clinging, moulded lycra- satin evening gown. She looked a treat and she knew it! The backless, strapless bodice provided sensuous support for her ample, spongy boobs without concealing her turgid, rouged nipples from the purview of all who appreciated the sight of such magnificence. In keeping with the latest fashion, and explaining the excited state of Emily's engorged nipple flesh, the glamorous TTA cadet sported a beautiful pair of tear-drop sapphires clamped snugly to their bases.

The smooth, glistening, whispering satin gown hugged her rounded hips with creaseless perfection, emphasising the appeal of the female treasures hidden therein. Her lush thighs were caressed with the same degree of intimacy for most of their length before an erotically positioned vent provided the freedom to allow the wearer to take tiny, deliberately provocative steps. The full-length, royal blue, lycra-satin gown rustled and rippled in response to Emily's every motion. It was a sound and sensation she loved! 

Underneath the gown, Emily had compressed her slender waist within the satisfying grip of a stiffened, lycra-satin waspy to which her matching silk stockings were tautly fastened with the assistance of a cascade of frilly, rubberised suspenders. Again, as current fashion and her own nature dictated, the revealing cut of her svelte evening gown guaranteed that even a nonchalant passer-by would be treated to the always exciting sight of prettily gartered and suspendered stocking tops framing the pale texture of soft, feminine thighs.

Emily's dainty feet were elegantly shod in matching patent leather slippers, their five inch heels accentuating and complimenting the shapely lines of her slender, silk-stockinged legs. Her smooth arms were slinkily sheathed in creaseless, royal blue lycra-satin gloves which caressed her sensitive flesh from finger-tip to shoulder. Other accessories included a snug leather choker in a slightly paler shade, sapphire ear-rings to match her twinkling nipple jewellery and a cute sapphire stud in her right nostril. Emily admired her reflection. She did so love to dress up!

The sudden intrusion of Dorothy's husky voice broke her reverie.

"You look gorgeous, darling! You always look great in that colour!" 

"Thanks, Dot." Emily relished the compliment. She had so much in common with her friend. "You look pretty terrific yourself!"

"Do I?"

"Don't be so silly! Of course you do!"

Indeed she did! Dorothy had taken the same care with her appearance as her sweetheart. In fact, the TTA Service encouraged a very high standard of dress and deportment, both on and off duty, and to that end provided a generous wardrobe allowance for all personnel, even junior cadets! As far as the girls were concerned, TTA fringe benefits were next to none - and non-taxable to boot!

Dorothy wore a finely beaded, white satin evening gown, its graceful lines flowing sensuously from the high neckline to the ankle-length hem, relieved only by the addition of a gaspingly tight girdle of golden links. Provocatively thrusting through the satin ruffles which attractively framed them, Dorothy's generous, creamy bosom was deliberately exposed for the delectation both of her sweetheart and the world at large. Similarly conscious of appearance, Dorothy had chosen to decorate her splendid boobs with delicate golden jewellery, in particular her dark, stiff nipples. Matching golden circlets in her thick blonde hair complimented the stunning effect.

Underneath the clinging embrace of the satin sheath, Dorothy was naked save only for the reassuring grip of her thigh-high, white patent leather boots, their towering six inch heels elevating her to the same height as her partner. Shoulder length, white patent leather gloves, strapped at wrist and elbow, completed the stunning effect.

Image 9

"Dinner time, I think," Dorothy announced, calling up the evening's menu on the display panel above the delivery platform of the apartment's Kelvin terminal. Everyone at TTA Dural ate well, at least among the staff. The quality and variety was exceptional.

The return of the hellishly handicapped house femlon caused a minor delay. 

Dorothy really did intend to separate the empty steel orb from the femlon's tender, bruised pussy and send the weary slave her on her way but, alas, a wicked impulse stayed her hand.

"It's me again, Sue," she chimed into the sec-com. "How busy is it down there?"

"Well, I've got seven femlons hanging around doing nothing, if that's what you mean."

"Hurry up, Dot," Emily called from the dining room. "Dinner's ready!" 

"Coming... no, sorry, Sue... I was talking to Emily... if that's the case, would you please program this lazy femlon to march along the corridor until further notice."

"No problem, programming now."

"Thanks... and could you add a worthwhile punishment if she fails to maintain a steady lap rate?"

"Love to... anything else?"

"I don't think so. I have to dash, Sue. Em's got dinner ready and we don't want to miss a moment of the Baroness."

"Who does?"

Dorothy closed the apartment door with only a fleeting glance at the poor femlon beginning yet another cruel sentence.

"Let's eat!" Dorothy exclaimed as they sat down to a delicious meal.

"None of that, darling! Not yet!" Emily squealed. Dorothy had popped the last strawberry into her mouth before leaning across the table to plant a wet kiss on the nearer of Emily's bejewelled nipples. "Look at the time!"

Emily and Dorothy sat side by side, hand in hand, on the reclining sofa for the full duration of their favourite holo-vid. The New Adventures of Baroness Steel was the number one prime time show this season, watched by an estimated 70% of the national viewing audience. And no wonder! In addition to the top-notch cast, it boasted the appearance of over 2,000 femlon extras with the further promise that every ordeal endured by those hapless maidens was filmed without recourse to special effects or trickery of any kind.

In this historical episode, the heroic Baroness was still striving to complete the epic laying of the first trans-continental railroad across the nation. Like millions of enthralled viewers around the country, Emily and Dorothy watched with bated breath as the cameras revealed in glorious, holographic detail the serried ranks of steel-bound slaves toiling endlessly away under the stern direction of a hand-picked crew of steel-garbed supervisors. It was a sight to wake the dead!

With practised skill, Emily's gloved hand sought the solace of Dorothy's smooth, warm pussy just moments before her lover's leather sheathed fingers did the same for her. Moaning and squirming, the girls did their best to arouse each other, all the while trying desperately to concentrate on the holo- vid action. When the Baroness' personal train rolled across the screen, its motive power supplied solely by the Herculean efforts of the thirty-six excruciatingly bound femlons encased within the gleaming perspex and brass engine, the off-screen action got out of hand! A close-up study of the Baroness personally adjusting the complicated controls to encourage more effort from her engine cylinders was more than the youngsters could stand. Groaning wantonly with supreme arousal, each busy hand simultaneously triggered a wondrously satisfying orgasm.

"Don't worry, darling," Dorothy mumbled, "I've recorded it... thank goodness!"

The episode ended with the Baroness paying another visit to the sinister carriage which accommodated, in mind-boggling bondage, some of her many enemies. What she did there was enough to get the girls going again!

"It just gets better and better... every week!"

"Don't look at me for an argument... goodness, Dot! Look what you've done to me... I'm all mussed up, my fingers are sticky and heaven knows what state my poor pussy is in."

"Well... it was your idea to dress beforehand..."

"I know!" Emily started giggling again. "But it is so much more fun like this!" 

Dorothy muttered something about her outfit being ruined but a few moments of repair restored her voluptuously garbed figure to its full splendour.

"Come on Em, let's get that Twinkle and stroll over to the Bitch Pit. I can't wait to see tonight's show."

"We have to stay sober, remember, I have to submit my report by nine."

"Oh no," Emily laughed, an impish grin brightening her pretty face, “you have to stay sober! My report's finished. I can drink what I like!" 

"Some friend... I'll remember..."

Arm in arm, the glowing pair of TTA cadets left their apartment. Passing the struggling, exhausted femlon who had been condemned to a continual parade, up and down the corridor, with the heavy Jay-El cage still in tow, Dorothy vouchsafed her a hearty slap across the crown of her rubber hooded, leather strapped head.

Emily was bubbling with excitement by the time they reached the foyer. Dorothy had such a wonderful imagination when it came to costuming their cute pet. Yet the polished vestibule was empty. Empty, that is, if you don't count the decorative, house femlon balancing in blind terror on the tiny pedestal with only the certain knowledge that she would hang by her ringed and chained nipples if she so much as moved an inch from her precarious pose.

"There's no-one here!" Emily exclaimed peevishly. She looked questioningly toward the plush, glass fronted office which was home to the duty cadet.

Sue Penny was currently occupied with the important task of teaching an aspiring house femlon the proper technique to use when called upon to apply her dildo-sprouting head as a stimulant for a needy TTA officer's pussy. In line with official policy, and her own inclination, she was more than liberal with the stiff cane kept close by for this and similar purposes.

Susan's snorting, uninhibited moans, the flashing ferocity with which the cane found its mark and the frenzied thrusting of the rubber-sheathed femlon's occluded head were sure signs this particular lesson was nearing its end so Dorothy and Emily looked on quietly, approvingly, until a stunning orgasm called a halt to proceedings. No need to guess that it was the TTA officer who enjoyed the orgasm!

The smiling onlookers clapped in appreciation.

"This is your fault, Dot," Sue chuckled warmly, a broad grin suffusing her sensuous lips.

"Mine?"

"Leaving Twinkle here in the foyer! Right in front of my eyes! What did you expect would happen?"

While she was speaking, Sue's expert fingers danced over the console which first released the erotically contoured dildo from the expended femlon's gag- filled mouth before directing her back into position along the wall where she joined her three companions in misery. So precise was the electronic control, her ringed nipples made direct contact with the spring mountings on the wall, activating them to full tension.

"Please Sue... don't tease me! Where is she?"

"Didn't you get the vid?" Sue looked genuinely surprised. 

"What vid?"

"We didn't look," Emily piped up.

"I'm not the only one distracted by that Twinkle. Major Hannan came by, took one look at her, and requisitioned her for the evening. I did overhear the vid message. I think you'll get her back some time tomorrow. I'm really sorry... but you gals know the rules. Rank has its privileges."

"Now what do we do?"

"Don't carry on, Em. What can we do?"

"Not be so naive for a start," Sue added helpfully.

"You don't have to be so cheerful about it, Susan... it wasn't your slave whisked away." Emily's disappointment was readily apparent. "Buck up, Em! We look great... and the first bout at the Pit kicks off in ten minutes... and it won't hurt a bit for us to get into Major Hannan's good books."

Pouting petulantly, Emily strode over to the straining sentry femlon, unhooked the polished cane from her thoroughly ringed pussy lips and laid on with relish. The helpless, unsuspecting femlon silently endured the prolonged thrashing of her ripe, tender bottom, all the while striving desperately to keep her balance. Alas, no sooner did she think she had survived the cruel beating and had saved her leather-strapped, rubber crushed breasts from a diabolical ordeal than a miffed Emily shifted position to launch a sudden attack upon those pitifully vulnerable melons. A desperate, momentary struggle ensued but it was too late! The wretched femlon tumbled from the pedestal to be caught by her fiendishly chained nipples. The short steel ankle hobble restricted the jerking, twisting creature's legs from flying around too much while the agonising immobility of her lifeless arms, welded along her spine in the favourite double hammer- lock style, kept those appendages from moving at all!

Emily had quite a bit of trouble reattaching the cane to the bouncing femlon's pussy ring.

"I feel better now," she stated as, arm in arm again, she and Dorothy left the building.

About an hour later, Sue strolled over to the twitching slave and restored her precarious perch.

܀܀܀

CHAPTER FOUR

SALACIOUS LIL

The TTA complex boasted several bars and night-clubs, each with its own ambience. The Bitch Pit, aptly named, was the bar of choice for most TTA cadets and many junior officers. Other than the sporadic appearance of the Occasional male technician, civilian worker or crony of the proprietor, the Pit was a feminine domain. Even without counting femlons or pony-girls, at TTA-Dural, women outnumbered men nearly three to one. In a world where men were scarce, girls had to make do amongst themselves!

When the original plans had been drawn up for the complex, Judge Loomis had called for tenders from those parties interested in establishing entertainment facilities for the thousands of personnel and support staff who would eventually be engaged in the design and manufacture of PGVs and associated products. These were prized opportunities and eagerly sought after by a variety of interests ranging from sole operators to national corporations. Little wonder, all enterprises within the boundaries of the TTA perimeter operated in a tax-free zone! The Judge's business values were as sound as his political beliefs. The profitability of PGVs, and the productivity of his dedicated staff, had completely vindicated his revolutionary views on the role of Government.

Colin Dawson, a sometime senior engineer turned executive, had made the most of his limited finances when tendering for one of these concessions by carefully researching all that was known about Judge Loomis' personal preferences for femlon use. Very early in his studies, he was delighted to find that the Judge's predilections were very much in line with his own! So astute was his submission that he had received a call from the Judge himself! At his suggestion, Colin made several minor changes to the design of his establishment which both excited him and guaranteed a successful tender.

Aptly named, the Bitch Pit opened its femlon decorated doors for business about three months after the first PGVs began rolling off the production lines at TTA-1. The Judge himself had put in a brief appearance on opening night, his eye-catching, mouth-watering Brenda in tow. With that kind of recommendation, it was no surprise the place was an instant hit, particularly among younger, single girls in the service.

Colin did have a discerning eye for feminine beauty in all its various manifestations and this was precisely the clientele he wished to attract. Emily and Dorothy had been regulars since that first night, nearly two months ago.

The centrepiece filling the spacious premises was an enormous, rectangular bar in the middle of the floor. No inanimate structure, this; the polished oak bench-top was supported for its entire length by silent columns of permanently integrated, leather and steel embondaged femlons. No two pillars of contorted, twisted femininity were alike, save only that one or more extremities from each tormented body protruded through the oak top for the amusement and convenience of the revellers. Here a leather or steel crushed head, there a pair of turgid, tortured tits!

Every metre or so, an agonisingly emplaced femlon writhed and spasmed feebly, her endless, agonised gyrations deliberately sustained by a carefully orchestrated system of electrical discipline which kept the bar's unique support structures in perpetual motion. The customers had responded favourably to this display the first time it was trialed and it had quickly become a regular part of an evening's entertainment at the Bitch Pit.

The main attraction, however, were the nightly Bitch-Fights conducted on the circular, plexi-glass stage which would descend from the ceiling to a height just above the heads of the bar patrons. This allowed plenty of visibility for those customers seated at any of the establishment's wide variety of femlon-decorated chairs and stools to watch the show in the same comfort as those seated at the bar.

Initially, Colin had equipped his watering hole with an equal mix of animate and inanimate furniture but within the first week, customer demand had forced him to dispose of the lifeless seating and replace it with the infinitely more popular flesh and blood variety. Indeed, every week, there was at least one or two new seating designs, some of them the product of Colin's fertile mind, others evolving from the suggestions of his discerning clientele. There were just so many delicious ways a femlon or two could be presented for the enjoyment of a paying patron!

Table service was provided by a bevy of steel and lace uniformed waitresses. Each wretched, defenceless femlon was permanently sealed inside a banded steel body-cage which made a cruel, agonising mockery of her figure, twisting, squeezing and gouging her tormented flesh into a bizarrely erotic shape. Compressed boob and bum flesh oozed out from the complex arrangement of steel bands and stays while waists were whittled down to nothing. The wonders of technology allowed their extremities to be crush- ingly sheathed in gleaming steel. Entire heads disappeared inside solid, featureless helmets with never a hint of the femlon's identity. Arms were immovably steel plated to the shoulder, elbows bent, hands palm up and steel sheathed fingers locked stiffly to support heavy syn-glass drink trays. Rigid femlon legs were welded into crotch-length steel boots, feet twisted into line with shins to obviate the need for any type of heel.

The wickedly handicapped waitresses moved at a snail's pace, understand- ably so since they could barely move their hips to take the tiniest, teetering steps. Every other part of their anatomy was utterly immobilised. Frilly collars and cuffs of white lace relieved the stark, cold steel. A white lace cap perched jauntily on each steel crushed head. In addition to the drink trays, each femlon was generously provided with a variety of rings and clamps through her nipples and labia as well as welded to convenient locations on her unbearable costume. Customers could use these attachments as they saw fit.

Image 10

In fact, the customer had an option for complete command over his waitress. A control panel nestled into the centre of each table-top and a single keystroke would allocate a waitress. A manual over-ride allowed an adven- turous patron to manoeuvre his waitress as he wished by accessing her punitive, internal electronic control system. Moving a waitress around the crowded floor required care, especially as the Bitch Pit had a strict policy of charging clumsy drivers for any spillage. Auto-pilot was safer and a lot cheaper!

Emily and Dorothy made straight for the bar, taking advantage of a suddenly empty place along its crowded length. Colin Dawson himself was behind the bar, as he almost always was, and he greeted the TTA cadets with his trademark, booming voice.

"Just in time for the main bout, girls!" Colin Dawson's broad smile was infectious and just what Emily needed to dissipate the last of her lingering bad temper over Twinkle's loss.

"You look terrific!" he continued, his piercing, grey eyes boldly appraising their sensuously erotic appearance. The girls deliberately preened them- selves, thrusting out their bejewelled boobs the better to display those
generous assets.

He pulled two glasses of white wine from the big, multi-station Merrimac unit which provided an endless supply of any drink you could name! Emily and Dorothy sighed, moaning faintly and in unison. Colin's hands had strayed immediately to those inviting, juicy melons as soon as his customers had taken the proffered glasses. It wasn't often the young cadets were lucky enough to have their tingling tits caressed by such experienced fingers and they made the utmost of this fleeting  opportunity.

Perfect," he intoned, "absolutely perfect!" He withdrew his strong hands with some reluctance. "Show time, I'm afraid."

"There's still a few minutes, Colin," Emily replied huskily, her trembling fingers raising the glass to her lips while she thrust her splendid bosom as far across the bar as she could reach. Simultaneously, a quietly unobtrusive MID scan identified the customers and made an instantaneous entry in their TTA service accounts.

"Bugger!" she whispered softly, her throbbing breasts expressing their regret in the form of a steady ache of frustration. Fortunately, the nearby leather- skinned head protruding through the bar top made an adequate substitute. Emily rubbed her greedy boobs against the very thick, shortish projection sprouting from the femlon's cruelly gagged mouth, knowing full well that the slightest pressure on the dildo-gag stub generated a sharp series of electric shocks for the wretched creature.

Who's on next? Dorothy asked, exercising more self-control than her sweetheart. "We didn't get a chance to check the program." 

"Who do you think," Colin grinned widely. "Why, our very own Salacious  Lil is going up against some slut from RAD-46. They brought her up from Wyong earlier tonight."

The they Colin referred to were a pair of elegantly attired RAD officers, at this moment lounging at the other end of the bar. On closer examination, the pair were actively at work. The taller woman had discovered that pinching either of the two agonisingly clamped nipples belonging to the impossibly huge, mercilessly steel-bifurcated breasts thrusting up through the bar top activated a series of flashing lights recessed into the oak just a little to one side of the hideously mistreated breast-flesh. The object of the game was to match the master pattern and, of course, this was achieved by squeezing the right nipple at the right moment.

Down below, welded to the under-surface of the bar and wrapped in a devilishly spiked cocoon of steel, the luckless owner of the tormented boobs shuddered in fell despair, her hopeless screams silenced by the hellishly punitive, spiked steel gag filling every corner of her straining mouth. To play the game with any chance of success, a customer had to pinch those nipples very hard!

Recreating the pattern earned the lucky patron a free drink and, since the game cost nothing to play, there was never a shortage of customers willing to try their luck. Indeed, as the girls watched, the panel lit up to signal another winner.

"Well done, Gretel! My turn next!"

Emily and Dorothy overheard the excitement. Both girls had spent many enjoyable hours playing with those stupendous tits!

"After the bout, Alexis," replied the beaming RAD officer. "It starts any moment. I can hardly wait to see Blunder Buns demolish the TTA runt!"

"Ha!" Dorothy blurted, turning to her companion. "Blunder Buns! What a name! Lil will pulverise the bitch!"

I think I see a few gentlemen out there... Ladies and "Ladies and... yes, Gentlemen! May I have your attention!"

Colin Dawson's stentorian voice, amplified by an auto-sync sound system, got everyone's attention. A rolling thunder of drums, rising to a crescendo, heralded the lowering of the plexi-glass stage. Two sets of steps rose to meet the descending platform and, moments later, the bizarre contenders and their entourages climbed up onto the stage where they faced each other across 10 metres of smooth, transparent plexi-glass.

Colin mounted the stage himself and strode to the centre.

"In the black costume," he announced theatrically, waving to the motionless figure standing at strict attention between a pair of erotically uniformed handlers, "we have the gorgeous Salacious Lil, undefeated in fifteen bouts here at the Bitch Pit!"

Raucous applause greeted the introduction of the local heroine and Colin paused for a moment until the noise abated.

"And in the red costume we have the notorious Blunder Buns, the undis- puted champion from the Witch's Cauldron at Wyong!"

Ragged clapping was quickly drowned in a cacophony of hoots, hisses and boos as the parochial crowd clearly expressed which contestant they supported. Relishing his role as ringmaster, Colin gave the expectant throng plenty of time to quieten down before finishing his overture.

Image 11

"This bitch-fight will be a single whip, single dildo bout fought until one bitch completely submits to the dominance of the other!"

Another dramatic pause helped build the tension. Another drum-roll. 

"Prepare the bitches!"

Emily and Dorothy watched as an unresisting Salacious Lil was made ready for the contest. Her amazing costume was already fitted and all that remained to be done was lock the electro-whip into her leather-gloved right hand and fit the monstrously bulbed torture-dildo into the provision made for it in her similarly gloved left hand.

Lil wore a beautiful bitch-fighting costume, supplied by Colin himself, who always ensured his girls were splendidly turned out. Her head, as required by national regulations, was completely obliterated by a crushingly oppressive, featureless hood of stretchless, black patent leather that served to blind and deafen her and to fill her jacked open mouth with a bloated bladder under extreme pressure. A steel-rimmed collar bolted her amorphous, leather head onto her shoulders and ensured that nothing could interfere with the gleaming hood's deliberate de-sensing.

Lil's hairless torso was essentially naked from neck to groin but the presence of a thin, cutting, black patent leather strap around her waist emphasised her lush femininity in a way any connoisseur of embondaged beauty could appreciate. That the embondaged beauty herself suffered terribly in that strict embrace was of no concern whatsoever!

Matching patent leather straps, equally thin, encircled the base of each prodigious, nipple-ringed boob and were buckled with ferocious intensity. Lil's magnificent, cruelly disciplined tits were a sight to behold! Her turgid boobs fluttered with every faint tremor of her hour-glassed torso, the ripples high-lighted by the glinting, steel spikes which added a touch of menace to her appearance.

Lil's arms and legs were completely encased in skin-tight, black patent leather sheaths, secured to her shapely limbs by fiercely buckled straps above and below every joint. The seven-inch, stiletto heels looked terribly awkward and uncomfortable but Lil's adversary was identically handicapped.

The Pit's favourite bitch was a stunning, incredibly erotic sight and through. out the hushed room, everywhere the expectant patrons were getting ready to enjoy the impending bout with maximum comfort. Femlon mouths, tits, pussies and other orifices of choice were hastily pressed into service as the Pit's living furniture was called upon for a maximum effort.

Dorothy had her favourite stool, a two-femlon unit, which positioned a pair of soft, spongy tits under her naked buttocks and a strong, flexible tongue hard up against her lust-engorged fanny. Emily preferred a different style so she was leaning against a pair of cruelly strapped and stretched thighs while her own warm thighs straddled a leather-hooded head from which a delicately ribbed and noduled dildo thrust stiffly up into her drooling, appreciative pussy.

Salacious Lil's opponent was far from overshadowed by the local champion, and many were the searing rushes of lust which surged the through ranks of the audience at that red leather vision, as the respective handlers urged their bitches into the centre of the stage. Colin Dawson dramatically produced the two metre length of brightly polished steel cable which would separate the combatants and clipped one end to the skull ring atop Blunder Buns' red leather crushed head and then the other end to Lil's black leather skull. A sharp tug confirmed the link was successfully established and, instantly, the bitches took up a fighting stance. Raised electro-whips were poised ready to strike and the horror dildos threatened immediate attack.

A booming drum-roll resounded throughout the amphitheatre and as soon as Colin judged the moment right, he slipped to the side of the platform and signalled an official to start the bout. He and the handlers left the stage via one or other of the sets of stairs and as soon as they were safely out of the way, a laser barrier was activated to secure the circumference of the plexi-glass platform.

That the combatants were experienced bitch-fighters was immediately apparent. There was none of the pell-mell thrashing which characterised a green bitch. The cable which linked their de-sensed, leather encased skulls pulled taught immediately as both girls took up the strain, hoping to find they were the stronger bitch. Salacious Lil and Blunder Buns were equally matched!

There are no rules in a bitch-fight; anything goes! A clean hit with the electro-whip is registered as a charge in the companion electro-dildo. This bolt of electricity is discharged when the fiendishly bulbed head of the dildo makes contact with bitch-flesh. Inexperienced bitches often 'own-goaled' as it was known, much to the merriment of their audience. Tonight's contest-ants were unlikely to make that mistake. The electro-dildos were capable of holding as many as fifty separate charges so it became a matter of judgement as to how best to apply the stored power. Even a single jolt was exquisitely painful, so the consequences of having several applied almost simultaneously were too horrendous to contemplate.

The first whip-crack signalled the audience to begin abusing the host of helpless femlons, although the more impatient patrons had long since started work. Watching a skilled bitch-fighter in action was a rare treat and the captivated spectators certainly appreciated the quality of the contest. Electro- whips flashed venomously with better than seventy percent of all cuts qualifying as clean hits. A clean hit was no arbitrary decision; the whip-tip itself registered the intensity of contact and instantly translated a score into a dildo charge.

Colin Dawson stood near the entrance where he could watch the bitch-fight and the audience with equal facility. The hoarse, ecstasy-filled moans from the spectators were as much music to his ears as the staccato snapping of flailing electro-whips. Colin had a soft spot for Lil but within the first twenty minutes of the ferocious fight, he knew she had met her match. Both girls were scoring freely with their whips but Blunder Buns was exercising much greater patience with the use of her frightful dildo. The unknown RAD bitch was better able to tolerate the shocking pain of dildo contact and, although

Colin hadn't kept an exact count, he suspected the voluptuous, red leather sheathed vixen had accumulated some fifteen or twenty charges; more than enough to immobilise any opponent!

Lil knew it too. She went on the defensive but all that did was postpone the inevitable. Blunder Buns correctly interpreted the situation and rather than rush in and expose herself, she continued with her stylish whip-work, building up her dildo potential while occasionally suffering a counterstroke. The end came very swiftly. Blunder Buns charged her opponent, spearing her abdomen with the brutal electro-dildo and knocking her off her high- heeled feet. Salacious Lil's dildo hit Bunsie's boob but with only two charges in reserve, she endured the blinding pain while pinning her opponent beneath her. Lil was subjected to a horrific series of electric shocks, so severe that her nerveless hands relaxed the pressure they had to maintain on the jerking, weapons they held. Disarmed, she was utterly helpless, just a squirming, leather harnessed carcass.

Blunder Buns rammed home her triumph with heartless cruelty. She thrust the still charged electro-dildo hard into Lil's defenceless pussy and raised her whip arm high in the air to signal her victory. The tormented, vanquished Lil writhed feebly under the total domination of her victorious opponent. A hushed silence descended on the audience as they realised their favourite was utterly defeated. Well, some were hushed. Those still needing the services of their entrapped femlons kept up a creditable level of moaning and groaning. Steel and lace embondaged waitresses tottered from table to bar and back again, driven by the perpetual stimulus of their merciless discipline systems. Colin shook his head. No doubt about it. He was too soft. From now on, all his bitches would be trained to endure much higher levels of electric shock!

Both Emily and Dorothy were already on their third orgasms when the monstrous electro-dildo disappeared up poor Lil's terrified pussy.

"Oh dear," Dorothy sighed. "That's the end of Lil."

Image 12

"Poor Lil," Emily giggled. "Here today, gone..."

Colin Dawson's announcement, again amplified by the auto-sync sound system, interrupted all conversation. He had mounted the stage along with the bevy of handlers.

"Thank you, ladies."

The electro weapons were deactivated and the cable link unfastened. He helped Blunder Buns to her feet and gave her a friendly slap on the buttocks. 

"The winner, and new champion, is the lovely Blunder Buns! Let's hear it for her!"

There was a noticeable lack of enthusiasm in the crowd but that was to be expected. Gretel Debenham and Alexis Hamel, the visiting officers from the Wyong RAD Centre, applauded vigorously, their wide grins attesting to their pleasure in the outcome. Discomfiting their TTA rivals was an always worthwhile achievement!

"Well, Alexis, are you going to play, or not?"

"What? Sorry!" Alexis replied, startled, still recovering from the particularly satisfying orgasm her femlon stool had stimulated during the climax to the bitch-fight. "The tit game? Of course I'll play!"

Dorothy and Emily used the lull while the stage was being prepared for a second match to slip out quietly. Dorothy still had her report to complete and Emily, if her maths was up to it, had already experienced a total of seven orgasms since coming off duty. Exhausting!

This time it was Dorothy who dispensed the customary flogging to the femlon sentinel in the apartment's foyer while Emily shared a joke with Cadet Abby Clarke who had replaced Sue in the duty office. There was no sign of the missing Twinkle.

Upstairs, the wretched house femlon staggering up and down the hallway was still in agonised, tortured motion, and still towing the empty Jay-El cage by her cruelly ringed pussy. The girls watched in silence for several minutes, savouring the erotic vision. As the tormented, exhausted creature traipsed past on her endless patrol, Emily leaned over to plant a little kiss on the poor femlon's rubber crushed, leather strapped head; Dorothy chuckled.

What a day!

܀܀܀

CHAPTER FIVE

GRAEME

"Still at it, Slick? I thought that scrumptious wife of yours was calling for you?"

"G'day, Tom." Graeme Smart looked up from his tidy desk to see his long-time colleague, Tom Mooney, enter the room. He grinned.

"She is. But not for another hour or so. I'm trying to clear up all the peripheral issues on this Dixon-Thurgood joint project before I submit the final proposal for the Judge's approval. He'll be back tomorrow."

"Already! Mmmph. Well, you can tell him that we've finished all the preliminary tests on the syn-skin. It meets or exceeds specs in every criteria. Maybe you can clarify... is that going to be the official trade name... or have the PR boys complicated the issue by going back to synthoderm again?" 

"No, not that I've heard. We'll be marketing the material as syn-skin. The number of potential uses we've identified is astonishing. Just as the Judge predicted, it's another winner."

"That gal in the new PG complex is a winner, I'll tell you that!" Graeme was surprised by the feral gleam in the usually taciturn eyes of his colleague. 

"So, Tom," he enquired innocently, "you approve of the Judge's prototype?" 

"I'll tell you this, Slick, if she wasn't the Judge's property, I'd call in evert favour I'm owed and buy her myself! That's the most amazing bum I've ever seen!"

"It's not bad, is it," Graeme added, having been captivated himself by the awe-inspiring sight of those magnificent, voluptuous haunches. Seen from the rear, it was a heart-warming vision, never to be forgotten! "Do you know what the Judge did to her before he left?"

"What do you mean?" 

Tom plucked at his neat goatee beard before answering.

"Her attitude... behaviour, whatever you want to call it. Regular PGs take a few days, or longer, to come to terms with their metamorphosis... and they can be a bit frisky... this Belle..."

"Belle?"

"Mmm... Isobel, the TTA girls have taken to calling her Belle... apparently that's the Judge's pet name for her. Anyway, what was I saying... mmm... well, it's as though she wants to be a pony-girl... enjoys it..."

Graeme's sceptical expression interrupted his friend.

"I mean it, Slick! How else do you account for her willing co-operation whenever we're testing her syn-skin... or teasing her for that matter!" 

Graeme's scepticism turned to outright disbelief.

"Delusion, Tom! Wishful thinking!" Or was it? Graeme remembered the Judge's intent to do something with Isobel's muscle tissue. What was it? Something to do with sexual response? That'd be the Judge!

"Listen Slick! We've done extended puncture testing, extreme temperature response, and impact and abrasion tests. Toughest I've ever implemented. You explain the gal's behaviour! Sure, it's obvious she's in terrible discom- fort, but you'd never know from the way she responds.

"Look! We don't even have to restrain her! I admit she's not very good at understanding what's said to her but as soon as she works out what we want to do, she actually tries to co-operate! Go and see for yourself! I tell you, Slick, everyone in the crew down there is on the boil over this creature. Suzy and Cassie won't know what hits them when I get home tonight!"

"I guess I'll have to see for myself. What can I say?"

Shaking his head, Tom headed for the door.

"Wait a minute, Tom. Did you want something?"

"Clean the shit out of your ears, Slick. The tests! They're finished!" 

"Sorry. Brain's in neutral."

"Mine has short-circuited! See you tomorrow."

Graeme farewelled his colleague and turned his attention once more to the proposal on his table. Maybe he would take more interest in Isobel. If there was one downside to the recent change in his lifestyle, it was the impossible demands on his time! Between Caroline, and Tipsy and Topsy, and work, it seemed there was never a spare moment. He smiled ruefully. He wasn't going to change a thing!

As it turned out, Graeme completed the proposal earlier than expected. He toyed with the idea of summoning his gorgeous chauffeuse. No, he'd let her have the full two hours he'd promised. Caroline was so keen to road-test the new equipment and accessories. There was no accounting for women! Far from being repulsed by the sight of these exquisite vehicles, as she had once been, Caroline had acquired a passionate fanaticism for the sport. More often than not, these days, she took the reins whenever they were out and about, goading along the delicious Tipsy and Topsy with considerable skill, lots of enthusiasm and a touch of malice!

He called up a gin and tonic from the office Merrimac and, as soon as it appeared, strolled over to the bar and took a slow sip. No doubt about it! It had been a hectic month since the night the EverSeal team had borne his wife away for the necessary improvements and modifications. They had kept the dear girl for the best part of a week, there were that many changes to make The day after her collection, he told Judge Loomis what he'd done and was surprised by the warmth of the old man's congratulations. He brought up the topic of the courtesy PGV he'd borrowed and before he could even ask about a deal, the Judge had generously given it to him, gratis, on the spot!

Furthermore, he promised to have a word with Thurgood Industries' CEO about a domestic hologen cubicle. In return, it was the least Graeme could do to put together the best possible proposal to get the Judge's prototype pony-girl scheme underway with the minimum of fuss and red tape.

The Judge had another surprise, as Graeme remembered fondly.

"I must see to the preparation of KJJ-646. Why don't you keep my chair warm for half an hour or so. I'm sure Brenda would like to congratulate you in her own special way!"

Well, the Judge had skipped right out of the room before Graeme could think of an adequate reply, or even an inadequate one. Left with the choice of making a fool of himself or taking advantage of that incredible mouth, Graeme made the sensible decision and within moments a delighted Mr Wobbly was banging away out of control within the most manipulative throat on the face of the planet! Graeme's trembling hands gripped the smooth, leather head, hanging on for all he was worth. Pumping away on the first of three titanic orgasms, Graeme's mind was filled with the spectacular image he'd saved from his earlier view of the uniquely gifted Brenda as she accompanied her proud boss across the front courtyard that morning. There was only one Brenda!

Later that day, work somehow completed, he'd staggered down to the PGV pool where, fortunately, Lieutenant Janet Greer was again on duty.

"Mr Smart. How nice to see you again. Even without the Judge's instruction to transfer ownership of House Team 22A to you, I could tell by your smile that we've gained another convert." Janet's friendly smile was infectious. 

"Indeed you have, Lieutenant... Janet... I can call you that?"

"Of course, Mr Smart." The pretty girl had dimples.

Tonight, Janet, I really will watch the training video, and read the manual."

"If I may say so, sir, I think you're a natural. Team 22A was done to a treat by the time you returned them. They had a great time!"

"Do you think so?"

"Of course! As you instructed, I gave them a few minutes of pleasure stimulation after I'd hitched them up for the night and, before I could blink, those pony-girls were orgasming spontaneously. That doesn't happen very often."

Reassured by Janet's revelations, Graeme confidently strode over to the parking bay and took some considerable time releasing the straining pussy- hobbles. His fingers played gently, soothingly with their instantly pulsing, throbbing, rubberised labia. There was no mistaking the urgency or intensity of the pony-girls' response.

Graeme swung up into the driver's seat, settled in, and punched in a warm- up program of his own devising. Before initiating the electronic signal, he aligned the carriage frame to force the harnessed pair into the demanding, horizontal position. Just to be sure his pony-girls, they were his now wouldn't take him for granted, the start-up stimulation was short on pleasure, long on discipline.

To one side of the carriage, Janet Greer nodded approvingly.

"That's a good idea, sir. It doesn't do to spoil pony-girls. You'll regret it if you do."

"I couldn't let that happen, Janet, could I?" Graeme smiled as the sharp, snappy prancing in place finally came to a halt. "Do you think I could call by tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, and avail myself of your experience I want to learn to use the reins as soon as possible."

"I'd love to help, sir. I'm rostered off tomorrow but I'll be on day duty for the rest of the week." Janet couldn't keep her excitement from flushing her rosy cheeks. Graeme Smart was a good-looking man and there were so few men these days.

"Splendid! Then it's a date!"

"Yes, sir!"

Later that night, after a long and leisurely ride around the quiet avenues of the TTA complex, Graeme drove the prancing team into his bungalow's garage. His arm was somewhat weary from the energetic efforts he had made to improve his very ordinary whip wielding skills. Some progress was made. To reward the fine show his willing pony-girls had put on throughout the evening, Graeme gave their soft, receptive pussies a long and vigorous massage. He even went so far as to extend his generosity to their dangling, leather harnessed boobs and steel-ringed nipples. Of course, he first pussy- hobbled both of them to make sure they stayed in the one place. He kept them in the fully bent, horizontal position as well. Why not? He had decided that this was far and away the most visually appealing arrangement and he could see no reason why they need ever return to an upright, human stance. 

Graeme was an accomplished pussy pleaser so it didn't take long at all for his resourceful ministrations to the bring the whip-primed pony-girls to a rousing climax. He restrained an impulse to polarise the opaque lenses that covered their eyes, and to open communications through the pressure plugs grinding into their eardrums. He wanted to talk to them, to tell them what he expected; even to allow the pony-girls to see what he looked like. But caution prevailed. Such a move would be premature, he decided. Better to wait until he had assimilated all he could learn from the tutorial material, and Janet's lessons.

So he had hooked up the PGV to the maintenance pod in his garage, set the control for regular maintenance, and settled down to finish off the paper- work for the Judge. In the wee small hours, Graeme watched the PGV tutorial three times and read through the accompanying manual.

Graeme looked down at the empty glass and ordered another refill. The silent Merrimac obliged. Evening was approaching and in a few minutes Caroline would call for him. His mind picked up the train of thought again. Janet Greer had proved very helpful. One lesson with her was worth ten of the DIY variety. It wasn't so much that the reins were difficult to use; developing the co-ordination necessary to use the whip in a meaningful way while keeping control of a pair of flying pony-girls called for split second timing, balance and plain hard work!

Janet's continuous encouragement and generous praise kept him motivated through those first, unproductive hours. Gradual improvement and deter mination to succeed saw to the rest. Graeme was no great athlete, everyone knew that, but here was a sport he was resolved to master. There was something sublimely satisfying, controlling a pair of lively, flighty pony-girls with the simple combination of reins and whip. With experience came the realisation that the severe, sophisticated bits filling the fillies' mouths needed only a gentle touch to respond to his intentions. Only inept, lazy or cruel drivers need resort to rough handling to impose their will, although there were certainly plenty of the latter types amongst the swelling ranks of PGV owners.

Somehow he managed to fit in the flight to Albury Haven. What a polluted hole that commercial centre had become, particularly when compared to the pristine cleanliness at TTA-Dural. He wouldn't do that again if he could avoid it. A smile creased his lips as he recalled the Judge's surprise that he had got the complete proposal accepted and implemented by the Bell-Dixon Board within that first week so that work could commence even before the Judge had to interrupt his schedule with an unforeseen diplomatic mission to, as the Judge derogatorily described it, Bloody Pommie Land!

Graeme had been half expecting another chance to plunder the rich pleasures of Brenda's fantastic throat but, alas, the Judge did not have the time to indulge him, so Graeme had to make do with the willing, if far less accomplished, mouth of Lieutenant Janet Greer. She stayed the night after their third lesson together and Mr Wobbly was delighted that his boss had done something to make up for the earlier disappointment. He had not forgotten that night and as soon as his life became just a little less hectic, he intended to renew the acquaintance. With the right modifications and enhancements, Janet would make the perfect occupant for the Ellison ZK 2800 console he intended to install, just as soon as head office confirmed him as permanent head of the Bell-Dixon facility at TTA-Dural. The Judge would have to approve his request, of course, so he would wait until the appointment was in his pocket before asking. Regardless of the outcome, it was a delicious thought!

The sec-com unit interrupted his recollections.

"Mr Smart, your conveyance has arrived." What a lovely, old fashioned word!

"Thank you, Glenda. I shall be down presently."

He finished off the dregs of his gin. Caroline's arrival was always welcome!

܀܀܀

CHAPTER SIX

CAROLINE

In the three weeks since a metamorphosed Caroline had been delivered into the safekeeping of an excited and appreciative husband, her world had undergone a kaleidoscopic change. Chief among them, of course, were the astonishing yet profoundly erotic modifications and transformations made to her gorgeous body. Following not far behind was the dramatic restructur- ing of her lifestyle, and her expectations.

Sustained by the unforgettable memory of that wondrous evening which had dispelled forever the lifelong dilemma between her visceral and cerebral values, Caroline endured the intensive sessions in the high-tech EverSeal laboratories with patient detachment, punctuated by occasional moments of sheer terror. She wasn't always conscious and, not surprisingly, the more radical elements of her treatment tended to be effected under the umbrella of oblivion. She could still remember that moment of frozen horror when she awoke to find her pretty face festooned with a terrifying confection of brightly polished steel.

The ubiquitous restraints which kept her under control virtually every minute she had been in the care of the EverSeal Corporation prevented her from blindly tearing at the dazzling array of bizarre jewellery which she all too quickly learned was either permanent or controlled by her enigmatic husband's capricious whims.

Caroline had always been very proud of her shapely, 38DD breasts but it didn't take long for her to find out that Graeme considered them inadequate and had ordered an increase to 58EE. It could have been worse. Huge boobs were a popular reconstruction at EverSeal and during her brief stay she saw several young women staggering along trying to cope with breasts as large as 80EEE and even 90EEE! A complimentary series of operations on her slim torso was performed to both strengthen her back and to make room for the most extreme corsetting.

Caroline often had to guess the purpose of her various treatments since EverSeal policy prohibited any communication between staff and patients and this policy was enforced by keeping the patient fully gagged whenever and practicable and backed up by a regime which compelled all female staff to wear immovably implanted discipline gags at all times! Male staff, of course, were trusted to follow company policy without coercion.

She accepted the permanent depilation of her beautiful body as an inevitable consequence of her changing circumstances. Similarly, the preparation and piercing of her nipples, labia and clitoris to take whatever rings, collars, clamps, shackles or studs her husband might want to attach caused only mild concern. After all, now that her nose and cars, her lips and tongue, and even her eyelids for goodness sakes, were likewise primed, it seemed silly to make fuss. And what possible use could there be for a narrow diameter, quarter- inch steel screw thread embedded inconspicuously in the crown of her hairless head? Ruefully, she did realise that her equanimity would very likely be dispelled as soon as these perforations were put to work handicapping her! 

True to his word, and her dismay, Graeme had gone ahead and instructed the EverSeal staff apply a series of tattoos to her firm, tender buttocks and her enormous, sensitive boobs. Property of GS was neatly stamped across each ripe buttock cheek while, in an obvious attempt at humour, Slick's Tit was similarly stamped on each bursting boob. Of all things, Caroline thought she was least likely to get used to that!

Considering all the changes made to her, and the sudden end to her erstwhile lifestyle, the week in EverSeal care passed with surprising speed. Before she knew it, she was standing completely naked in Dr. Christopher Carson's office, totally free of manacles for the first time since she had stepped out of the hologen cubicle at the Bondage Boutique.

"How do you feel, Caroline." The concern in Dr. Carson's voice was genuine.

"I'm... I'm fine, doctor... at least I think I am?" Caroline's faint attempt at bother her. She ran her tongue limply around her punctured lips. The feeling humour brought a smile to Christopher's lips. Why didn't her nakedness was still disconcerting.

"You do look in excellent shape. Have the tattoos stopped itching?"

For a moment, Caroline had forgotten about them. Dr. Carson's reminder brought a blush to her alabaster smooth cheeks. She nodded demurely. 

"Earlier this morning, we informed your husband that treatment had been completed and he has asked us to get you ready for collection. He sounded very excited! In fact, he declined our offer to return you ourselves and insisted on driving all the way from Dural, just to collect you.  You're a very lucky woman, Caroline!"

"I know, doctor," Caroline replied somewhat dubiously. "Must I... Must I stay naked?"

"Of course not! That's why you're here. Your husband has selected a very attractive ensemble for you to wear."

Caroline wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that but a delicious shiver of expectation ran through her. Her newly enlarged boobs tingled with desire She still didn't understand how such massive torpedos, well, that's what the looked like, could flaunt the laws of gravity with impunity! Oh dear, she groaned silently. She was surely going to regret that reaction. Just what was her stupid body trying to do.

Dr. Carson whispered into the com unit on his desk and, almost immediately, three erotically, bizarrely garbed personal nurses entered the room Without instruction, they marched with perfect precision to their designated places, standing ramrod stiff and straight in a neat line against the far wall.

Image 13

Caroline stared in awe at the fantastic, rubber visions standing so still and silent. More than anything, she was impressed by the intricate complexity of their detailed, immaculate uniforms. The wasp-waisted contour of their shapely figures proudly announced that each nurse was corsetted with extreme severity. Their uniforms consisted of gleaming, rubberised satin blouses in a rich shade of royal blue. Long sleeves billowed attractively to the elbows where they were contained within the creaseless grip of glistening, skin-tight, white rubber gloves. Integral straps around each wrist and forearm welded the polished rubber into their flesh with a seemingly ferocious intensity.

The matching, white rubber helmets, crafted from what looked like the stiffest neoprene, covered each pretty face save only for the eyes and a small expanse of the features surrounding them. These dazzling discipline helmets were egregiously tight, emphasising the impossible size of the monstrous, studded bladder gags which filled each sealed mouth to bursting point.

The high necks of the rubber blouses disappeared under the crushing influence of thick, steel studded and D-ringed rubber collars made all the more startling and uncomfortable by the merciless manner in which they forced the wearers to hold their hooded heads rigidly and regally high. Pinafore style, white rubberised satin frocks sheathed their gorgeous, hour- glass torsos with sensuous intimacy, highlighting the more than generous expanses of their obviously rubber sheathed and disciplined breasts, before terminating at knee height.

"Please accompany my nurses, Caroline," Dr. Carson requested, his hand gesturing towards an open doorway. Caroline's heart was beating faster now and while she absolutely knew she should be horrified by the plight of those poor women in hellish, if impeccable, bondage, all her wilfully wanton body could focus upon was the growing, welling need blossoming within her own loins. She knew she was just incorrigible!

In stunned, inflamed admiration, she watched agape as the three bondage nurses abandoned their rigid pose along the wall and minced toward her. Instantly, Caroline was made aware of the severity of their footwear. The gleaming, white rubber thigh boots moulded onto each leg were so stiff that they prohibited any flexibility at the knee or the ankle. Perched on the slenderest, seven-inch stilettos, every tiny, precise step was fraught with danger. Integral rubber straps, buckled murderously into every ankle and above every knee ensured the inflexible authority of the crushing rubber was preserved. Caroline's flesh crawled with delicious suspense when she heard the unmistakable tinkling of steel chains emanate from beneath their rustling pinafores and, instinctively, she knew that something terrible had been done to them down there.

Nervously, she followed their lead and stumbled into the adjacent room, her attention now directed to the cruelly tight, fingerless, white rubber gloves which would make any attempt to use those hands a frightfully difficult proposition for the embondaged nurses.

She was right in the middle of the small antechamber before she realised there was only one piece of furniture in the room. It wasn't the same model she had used before; but there was no mistaking the corporate logo and the single purpose for which the device was intended.

It was a dreaded hologen cubicle!

Her thumping heart skipped a beat and, for an instant, the steady build-up of sexual excitement within her astoundingly contoured, naked body was masked by a stab of pure terror. Caroline gasped as the surge of fear ran its course and then didn't know whether to be shocked or delighted when the immediately following emotional rush was clearly one of extreme, erotic anticipation! A severe tremor racked her lush, naked figure. She spun around like a startled hare, half expecting to see a knight in shining armour come to her rescue, half grateful that no such succour was in sight.

Dr. Carson's portly figure lounged nonchalantly in the doorway. His personal assistants had turned to face their benefactor, obediently awaiting an order before proceeding further. Obviously enjoying the situation, Christopher was in no great hurry. Caroline knew there was nothing she could do or say to postpone her rendezvous with the diabolical machine, even understood in her heart of hearts that she didn't want to postpone it, yet she had to try one last, plaintive appeal. It was as much for her own pleasure as for her silent audience.

"Must I... must I, sir?" Caroline whispered pleadingly, the expression on her lovely face enough to melt a heart of stone.

Dr. Carson's heart may not have been made of stone but listening to that exquisitely imploring voice certainly got the attention of his pride and joy Caroline didn't notice the stirring in his loins, her eyes had been drawn which promptly became just that hard! What a truly magnificent girl inexorably back to the hologen cubicle, but the trained eyes of all three bondage nurses responded immediately, brightening in expectation of the opportunity to soothe Christopher's manhood with whichever of their individual or communal orifices he chose to abuse.

"Don't disappoint your husband, Caroline," he advised quietly. "You know it's for the best."

"Yes, doctor."

Caroline's winsome smile brought with it such a surge of arousal that Dr Carson absolutely had to assuage his passion immediately. As Caroline stepped tentatively into the open portal of the Thurgood chamber Christopher passed the wink to Sally, or was it Collette, and a simple hand gesture instructed her to take up a position in front of him. A single touch sent the rustling, crinkling, rubberised satin pinafore tumbling to the floor to reveal the secret of the tinkling chains and the fiendish intensity of the cruelly studded, heavy neoprene corset which made such a valiant attemp to cut the hooded femlon's torso into separate halves!

The door to the hologen cubicle closed quietly behind its ambivalent occupant about the same time as Christopher unlocked the punishment dildo filling his chosen femlon's bottom and left it to hang between her rubber booted legs by the heavy chain which connected it to the punishment dildo sealed by steel into her smoothly shaven pussy. Without another word, the voluptuous, rubber sheathed femlon assumed a terribly awkward and uncomfortable pose. Her expertise in doing so amply demonstrated her previous experience in providing this type of entertainment. She split her crushingly booted legs at a drastic angle, bending forward at her hips until the fingerless tips of her rubber gloves touched the floor in the shadow of her dangling, conically constrained boobs.

Christopher slapped the gloriously bare buttocks, the sharp crack of impact breaking the silence with a resounding echo. The femlon barely twitched, fully expecting the salutation and aware it was simply the doctor's way of praising her graceful transition from a two- to a four-legged stance. Dr. Carson's stout manhood was more than ready for the task so without more ado he plunged the drooling weapon into the ever ready rear channel of the doubled over femlon. His pudgy hands gripped her naked, juicy thighs to stabilise the precariously balanced offering doing her very best to recipro- cate each violent thrust. The femlon's fevered snorting was drowned out by Christopher's strenuous grunting as the welded pair put on an extended show. The doctor was a connoisseur of the female bum and years of practice had enabled him to spin out these marvellous moments for the best part of fifteen minutes a throw!

In all the excitement, nobody even thought about the all but mute sighs coming from the cruelly gagged mouths of the two unlucky femlons forced to stand forlornly at rigid attention, with only their imaginations to pass the time. As a consolation of sorts, they did get to clean up their bum-bonked companion as soon as the doctor was finished with her.

"Well done, Sally!" he panted. "Good girl!"

Of course, the gasping, exhausted femlon could not reply. When you're to the eyeballs with agonising, steel studded bladder gag, such gagged luxuries are out of the question. Had she been able to speak, she might have said- my name is Tracey, sir.

Eventually, Dr. Carson was capable of operating the main control unit of the hologen cubicle. Not that he had much to do. Graeme Smart had already pre-programmed the unit by remote and all the doctor had to do was engage the initiation sequence. He did this, then stood quietly watching the impassive, silent machine as, somewhere within its coils, a gorgeous young woman was being bound to please her husband! Christopher grinned, his was indeed the most noble of vocations.

"Come on, girls!" he carolled, leading his bevy of rubber uniformed bondage nurses back to work. There was always plenty to do these days. EverSeal's services were increasingly in demand. As was the custom, the lucky husband himself would release his property from the hologen cubicle.

Caroline had no idea why she was kept waiting so long. Her one experience in the Bondage Boutique's cubicle led her to believe that she would be rendered unconscious almost immediately. Well, not unconscious exactly. Disembodied was a better word. How else did you describe a floating sensation, your mind perfectly intact yet every connection to your physical body somehow severed. Caroline likened it most to being lost in eternity. 

It didn't happen that way this time and, as the minutes passed, she grew increasingly anxious. Stygian blackness enveloped her, adding to her distress How was she to know the doctor was habitually delayed by an affinity for a tasty bonk! EverSeal's policy of allowing senior staff unlimited privileges of this kind was particularly popular among its beneficiaries, if somewhat less so by its providers.

Fidgeting nervously, Caroline actually welcomed the unseen grip of the cubicle's mechanicals when, finally, it sprang to life. No sooner was her soft, naked body made helpless by the precision waldoes than an instantaneous transition robbed her flesh of feeling, suspending her mind in that silent sea. Time had no meaning for her so it could have been a minute, or an hour, or a day before she became aware of a gradual change. Rather than return her senses at a constant rate, Caroline's various links to the world came on-line sequentially. Eyesight was first, allowing her the opportunity to appreciate her bondage predicament in full before, supposedly, its discomfort distracted her attention.

Caroline gulped in amazement at what she saw. An array of pseudo-mirrors allowed her to view her body from every angle. What had Graeme done to her! How could she, how could any woman, endure the diabolical, if oh so alluring, bondage her husband had chosen to subject her to! Instinctively, she tried to struggle free of the amazing leather and satin costume which displayed her torpedo boobed figure with a wantonly erotic licentiousness. To no avail. The machine still retained control of her motor nerves and nothing happened. Later, when she finally did have control again of all her faculties, her attempts to struggle were equally futile. Only this time they were made to accompaniment of a million protests; nearly every nerve and muscle in her poor, embondaged body had been made to suffer by the deceitfully innocent appearance of her dolorous outfit! Trapped helplessly in a sealed tomb, bound with leather and satin, and a taste of steel, into a hellishly miserable and uncomfortable package, sweet Caroline could only wonder in awe at the future surprises her husband might have in store for her. If this was to be her introduction to bondage life, what more perils lay ahead! She dared not even imagine!

The hologen cubicle did not permit her the freedom to do more than breathe, shallowly of course, and squirm and twitch ever so faintly. Time had a very different meaning now and minutes seemed like hours as she waited interminably for some kind soul to release her from that grim prison. It was a harbinger of things to come!

At last, a stiff and aching Caroline was ejected from the chamber and, as her eyes struggled with the change in lighting, found herself face to face with the smiling features of her handsome husband. Her tormented, disciplined body somehow managed a flutter of unaccountable joy but she was at a loss to understand how such an unsuitable response could spontaneously occur. She wanted to groan but her gag prevented that, with a vengeance! 

Graeme was saying something to her but since not a sound penetrated the painful plugs in her ears, she had no idea what it was.

"Whoops! Sorry, darling!" Graeme had fiddled with the pads on a slim remote and, as a consequence, he came through loud and clear. The peculiar pressure directly disturbing her ear drums was quite uncomfortable. 

His smile widened.

"Wow! What a sight! You look absolutely scrumptious!"

Caroline had her own view on that but she had to keep it to herself! 

Graeme studied her bizarrely, beautifully bound figure with a passionate intensity. His wife stood still, by choice. Though there was no relief from the continual physical discomfort of her bondage, the less she moved about, the less her misery.

Inspection completed, Graeme bounded to his wife's side and enveloped her carnally displayed figure in an affectionate embrace. Just why her foolish body would want to respond to his crushing grip with an equal passion was no less incomprehensible than the need of her gag-strained lips to press against his in the heat of their mutual ardour. Her achingly bound breasts speared into his chest, inflaming their torment. Caroline wondered momentarily if the thrusting, rigidly conical leather cups which squeezed her absurdly huge, completely imprisoned boobs with such cruel disregard for their suffering were causing her husband even a tiny modicum of the misery she was helpless to relieve. Not likely!

The smoothly polished boob cones were just part of the hellishly stiff, white patent leather corset which remodelled her figure into an agonising caricature of feminine beauty. Caroline could no longer see her incredibly wasped waist, the matching, white patent leather collar saw to that, but her memory of the image last seen in the hologen cubicle's pseudo-mirrors convinced her that somehow she had been whittled down to an impossible thirteen inches. Her lucky number! The realisation that her gag-stretched lips were at a level with her husband's confirmed that the towering, needle thin heels of her crushing, cramping, crotch-gouging white leather boots were the best part of eight inches high! Her creaking toes were forced to pointe, her ankles immobilised by the intense pressure and her knees barely capable of bending. That the solid, steel bar hobble between her knees was totally unnecessary, as plainly evident to any sane mind, did not make the least difference! 

Caroline's horribly bound arms were the most grateful part of her anatomy when Graeme finally relaxed his over-affectionate embrace and the trembling girl snorted with relief. Sealed fiendishly inside the merciless grip of a polished, white patent leather single-glove, Caroline's shoulders were drawn and twisted achingly rearward, her lifeless elbows ground into each other to weld her forearms into one for the full distance down to her stiffly trapped fingers. From the useless, communal clump of leather sheathed fingers and thumbs, a thrummingly tight leather strap threaded between her ripe buttocks, split her humid, engorged labia and buckled egregiously tight into a recessed provision in the deadly corset's front panel. Every tiny step she took was calculated to be a very delicate exercise!

Graeme turned his attention to the gleaming array of jewellery which festooned Caroline's otherwise naked and glisteningly bald skull. Why she needed such a display of sparkling, silvery rings through her ear-lobes and nostrils, even the central septum, all linked together, heaven only knew. Nor did she understand why her poor mouth had to be so burstingly full of cruel steel gag, its surface covered with a forest of horrid, abrasive steel spines. Some sort of diabolical spring mechanism, locked through her eyeleted tongue, kept up the tremendous tension and it was only the strength of the steel rings through her warm, full lips that held her mouth securely shut. At least the twinkling, sapphire studs in her eyelids were only mildly uncomfortable.

Caroline shuddered with that delicious combination of dread and delight while her husband's gentle fingers traced out the lines of her face jewellery and tested the bloated rigidity of her gag-stretched cheeks. His caressing fingers followed her jawline, feeling the cutting edge of her choking collar and exploring the wicked extent to which her slender neck had been arched. 

Caroline sighed inwardly. It made no sense at all. How could she adore this charming, sinister man?

Image 14

"Look what I've done! You're all messed up!" The trace of mock concern was lost in the warmth of his smile.

Caroline could feel his bumbling fingers trying to straighten out the flimsy, diaphanous satin tunic which made no pretence at all of covering her leather tormented torso, merely providing a clinging, aqua-blue shimmer from her neck to her knees. Men! A spontaneous smile was instantly stifled by the terrible effect of her gag-rings.

"That looks better, darling."

Caroline's wide, doe-like blue eyes were drawn helplessly into the compelling aura projected by her husband's luminous gaze. She couldn't help but pay attention to every word he said.

"I drove up in the PGV, and quite a ride it was. Mostly uphill, but you'd never know. My pony-girls never faltered once. Very impressive. It's not often advertising claims stand up to reality. Anyway, I expect it will be a very easy and leisurely trip home."

Graeme inched closer and Caroline couldn't control a little shiver of expectation. Her husband noticed, smiled that incorrigible Graeme smile, and her heart started pounding.

"I know you haven't had much of a chance yet to get the feel of your costume. We'll soon fix that. But for now I want you to be on your best behaviour while we're in public. Will you do that for me?"

Caroline blinked once, her studded eyelids sparkling.

"Is that one blink for yes, two for no?"

Another twinkle.

"Perfect!" Graeme extracted a short, wicked crop from the folds of his jacket.

"Of course, darling, I am prepared to enforce my wishes if necessary." 

Caroline shivered. The smile had turned sinister.

"Let's be on our way."

This time his jacket disgorged a coiled length of very slim steel cable, one end equipped with a white patent leather hand-grip, the other terminating in a sturdy steel shackle.

"The Judge gave me this idea, darling," Graeme commented, as he bent forward to lock the working end of the leash to one pair of her labial rings. "My word, Linny, it's very moist down here. Just what have you been thinking?"

Graeme gave the pussy-leash a firm tug to test the connection.

With nearly five feet of steel cable between the leather grip and her shackled pussy, Caroline could just depress her line of vision to see her husband's hand as he led her away. There was something erotically symbolic about her taut pussy-leash and the deadly whip he held in the same hand.

Fully aware that she just had to be on her best behaviour, Caroline tried her utmost to ignore the shrill protests screaming in from all her mercilessly bound extremities. In particular, the devilish leather strap sawing between her leashed labia was a constant nightmare. Thank goodness Graeme set a sedate pace for their promenade through the endless EverSeal corridors! Intent on maintaining a smooth, stylish stride, albeit in steps of the tiniest length, it was some minutes before Caroline realised the soundless greetings and comments from the male staff they passed were an ominous sign that the plugs filling her ears had been deactivated. She hadn't seen it happen. How simple it was for her husband to control her! Mesmerised by the whip in Graeme's hand, her poor pussy afire from the terrible combination of the slicing leather strap and her own wilful imagination, Caroline minced helplessly on in obedient response to the insistent demand of the steel leash. 

Graeme allowed her a moment's rest in the foyer. What errant neurone in her peculiar brain compelled her to appreciate his gesture as kindness? How could she feel grateful to the man who had taken advantage of changing values in society and, admittedly, her own somnolent sexuality, to condemn her to bondage life? Why did his congratulatory smile spark such a surge of pleasure in her leather crushed and tormented body?

"You are a good girl, Linny," Graeme whispered and her heart thrilled to the palpable note of approval in his tone. Once again, her hearing was brought on-line without her awareness. Basking in the glow of her adored husband's praise, Caroline wondered idly how long it would take to get used to the complete and effortless control afforded by modern technology.

"Mr. Smart, may I have a word?" Caroline recognised the voice immediately. "Of course, Dr. Carson. Just a moment..."

As if reading her thoughts, Graeme touched the remote and the sudden curtailment of her hearing brought home the full extent of her helplessness. Unable to turn her chokingly collared neck, Caroline had no idea what went on between her husband and the doctor. It was something else she must learn to live with!

The air outside was brisk and exhilarating and if only her poor mouth wasn't so explodingly full of horror gag, she could have really appreciated it. Snorting shallowly though her ringed nostrils was not the same! The parking lot was, mercifully, only a short stroll away, though stroll was hardly an appropriate word. The sheer number of stationary, pussy-hobbled PGVs assembled there amazed her. She hadn't realised before how i many there were! They had become a phenomenon. And they did help her perspective. Her circumstances could be much worse!

Graeme snubbed her to a halt beside a magnificent roan team. Was it the same pair that had taken her to the Bondage Boutique that fateful night? She couldn't be sure. With her husband's assistance, she struggled into the passenger seat and somehow managed to sit precariously balanced on the very edge. It was heart-breakingly uncomfortable but her extreme bondage condition precluded any trace of relief. Caroline's helplessly immobilised hands bore most of her weight, squashed between the pitilessly unyielding seat and her ripe, naked bottom. Her aching, twisted feet absorbed the balance.

The wide grin suffusing her husband's handsome features made her heart flutter. Her squirming and writhing, as she desperately, unsuccessfully tried to find a bearable position, obviously amused him. He said something to her but she couldn't read the meaning on his soundless lips. She blinked twice, hoping to attract his attention to her confusion. Still grinning, he shook his head and reached over to lock the bar hobble between her knees to a awaiting clamp in the carriage frame of the PGV. Something rigid bolted into the back of her crushing leather collar. That put an end to her wriggling and squirming!

Caroline had been to Katoomba before so she knew there was the best part of 50 kms between her and home and any hope of remission from her arbitrary sentence. Her eyes strained to watch Graeme turn his attention to the rubber-sheathed pony-girls and release their frightening pussy-hobbles. His hands lingered for a long minute just beyond the arc of her vision but tender, she knew exactly what he was doing and, in futile sympathy, her own tormented, strap-bifurcated fanny began to throb with insistent need. 

Graeme climbed in beside her, tapped out something on the control console, and the bent and bitted pony-girls sprang to life, prancing so precisely in place that the carriage scarcely trembled. A few minutes later, a single whip- crack and a light touch on the polished leather reins spurred the laden PGV into motion. Tails swishing, manes bobbing, they pulled smoothly away in an easy trot.

Poor Caroline had no idea how she was going to endure the endless ride. It was impossible!

Of course, endure it she did, albeit with a short break for lunch. Seraph Springs, a popular hideaway in the mountains now that the first of the new generation, artificially turfed highways had opened, offered a variety of entertainments for the weary traveller.

"Now there's a coincidence, Linny," Graeme chuckled.

Caroline had no idea what he was talking about until the all-too-familiar McDuck logo passed in front of her limited field of vision. The freedom to move her head as she wished was just one of the many little luxuries denied her.

"Do you remember the last time we dined at McDuck's?" he continued, reining in Tipsy and Topsy to a slow trot.

How could she forget!

There were at least a dozen PGVs in the grassed parking lot and in a glorious setting of green trees, blue sky and crisp air, the neat rows of pussy-hobbled pony-girls made a splendid sight. Horrid as her own predicament might be, Caroline could not suppress her erotic interest. Her smooth, strap-sawn pussy dribbled as a cornucopia of fantastic visions, fuelled by these bridled and harnessed creatures, flashed through her mind. 

"Let's celebrate!"

Graeme had inched his PGV into a vacant space.

"I hope they keep that ridiculous duck out of my way. I wonder what  happens when you punch a hologram!"

While Graeme set about enforcing the ubiquitous pussy-hobbles, Caroline had no choice but to stare straight ahead - directly at a team of four chestnut pony-girls, harnessed line abreast, and hitched to a magnificent carriage easily capable of transporting six passengers.

Released from her restraints, Graeme's strong hands helped her alight from the rig and supported her for a moment while she got her balance. Every inch of her poor body ached, or worse. Caroline reeled in ecstasy to the touch of her husband's probing fingers as he played sweetly with her engorged, inflamed pussy. She shivered with pleasure as the solid steel shackle threaded slowly through her pierced labia, to the accompaniment of Graeme's gentle teasing.

Pussy-leash secured, Graeme straightened and looked into her eyes. Why did that smiling face melt her heart so!

"You hussy," he whispered endearingly. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were asking for a taste of the whip!"

Knees trembling, her heart raced as the meaning of the message sunk in. That was the last thing she wanted! Or was it?

"Best manners, darling. Don't forget, we're still in public."

Caroline couldn't tell how many pairs of eyes watched her parade across the lawn and into the restaurant's swank entrance. She hoped it was a lot because she summoned up every ounce of strength in her tormented body to make her husband proud of her.

A funny little man - a hologram - in a period costume greeted them at the door and showed them to a quiet corner. Caroline was so busy concentrating on being the perfect bondage wife she didn't notice much more. Graeme sat down.

"Don't worry Napoleon, my wife won't need a seat!" Graeme tugged on the pussy-leash, drawing Caroline closer to him. "I'll call when I'm ready order."

"Thank you, sir."

Two women sat opposite and, mouths agape, stared at the alluring sight of leather-embondaged femininity.

"Darling," Graeme whispered intently. "I just have to show off! I want you to bend over until your nose touches the table-top. That's right - perfect!" 

Snorting bravely through her flaring nostrils, Caroline strained and stretched to reach the required posture, accomplishing the feat at an agonising cost. Her ripe buttocks, split by the terrible strap from her single-gloved arms, were provocatively displayed for the benefit of all who cared to look. 

"That gorgeous bum of yours is about to meet my cane! Don't embarrass me by making a fuss!"

All her desperate efforts to please her husband were for nought. Or were they? She wasn't being caned for disobedience. No indeed - the caning was solely for her husband's amusement.

She tried as hard as she could not to flinch but the searing stripes hurt so much. Each blow laid a line of fire across one side or other of her bum. How she prayed for the excruciating ordeal to end!

"Well done, Linny!" Graeme's whispered praise didn't relieve any of her dreadful suffering, but it did make her heart thump. How could she love this man so?

"Let's see what you're made of. Stand up straight again."

Caroline struggled upright, balancing as ever on her twisted pointes. Her bum glowed very red from the vigorous thrashing. Graeme carelessly hooked the handle of the stiff cane to her gleaming nose-ring. He stood up.

"Ladies and gentleman... May I have your attention for a moment... I have a favour to ask! My wife is a glutton for the cane... and my old arm is plum flogged out! Can I trouble anyone here to keep her happy? I know it's a lot to ask... and she does like it hard... but both of us will be very thankful!" 

Mortified, Caroline's heart shrank in horror as a chorus of shouts identified the volunteers. Graeme whispered into her ear.

"Well, Linny, I think they're all convinced you're addicted to the cane! I shall be very disappointed if you disillusion anyone. Please do your best to thank these kind people for their help... and don't come back until you've thanked everyone and collected at least fifty cuts!"

Bewildered by the sudden and disastrous turn of events, Caroline had no choice but to teeter helplessly in the direction of the nearest participants, a group of middle-aged businessmen enjoying a quiet lunch away from the hustle of city life. Her pussy-leash dangled between her long, leather-booted legs.

Incapable of disobeying her husband, she proffered the cane to a welcoming hand, eyes wide in invitation, and bent over their table just as Graeme had earlier made her do. Willing arms wielded the whippy cane with relish and Caroline could hardly believe how quickly the score grew to fifty. How she stayed in position, how she endured the frightful pain, was beyond her. What else could she have done?

If it wasn't for the interjections of other anxious customers, Caroline may never have escaped from the first session. The warm cane was rehung, reluctantly, on her nose-ring and she staggered away to find the next volunteer. For some inexplicable reason, the poor girl kept count long after the need had expired.

Graeme had the leisure to drink half a bottle of good red wine and savour a light snack-all the while keeping a close eye on the precious Caroline-before her thrilling performance was brought to an abrupt end when the cane splintered as a result of a particularly savage stroke. Just as well, Caroline was dead on her feet and there were at least half a dozen volunteers still waiting! The young man responsible bent down to pick up the pieces.

"Don't worry, sir," Graeme called out amiably. "I have plenty more at home. Catch that pussy-leash, if you don't mind, and give her a prod in this direction."

Caroline was only semi-conscious. How she kept her balance was a miracle. Graeme took one look into her misty eyes and knew she had been driven t the limit - for now. If her bum was warm before, now it was white-hot and not a square inch spared a livid weal.

Graeme settled the electronic tab, unable to tear his eyes from the poignant spectacle he had created. To be on the safe side, he slipped an arm around Caroline's wasp-waist to lend some support as they made their way back to the PGV. A spontaneous round of applause marked their exit.

"You were magnificent, darling!"

܀܀܀

CHAPTER SEVEN

MR. WOBBLY

The Old World charm of the sweeping carriageway leading up to the colonnaded front entrance of TTA-1 was the ideal setting for the scene which greeted Graeme Smart's eyes as he emerged from the main admin building. There, pussy-hobbled in the temporary parking area, were the sleek, glossy, contorted forms of Tipsy and Topsy, the motive power which drove his PGV. Attending to them was a thrilling vision of black leather none other than the chauffeuse of the century, as it amused him to loveliness, think of dear Caroline.

Absorbed in the never-ending grooming and polishing necessary to keep the luxury PGV at its best, Caroline did not notice Graeme's approach until he was almost upon her. Startled, she jumped to attention, and took a moment to compose herself. For his pleasure, she bobbed a cute little curtsy, accompanied by the melodious chiming of steel chain; not so easy a feat considering the nature of her brilliantine, black patent leather uniform. He restrained an impulse to return her greeting with a passionate embrace. Not in public!

"Hi, Linny! How did my fillies behave today?"

Much to Graeme's delight, his wife had become quite expert at communicating with her eyes. A very useful skill, given that she spent nearly all her time with her mouth absolutely filled with one gag or another, all horrible!

The excited gleam in Caroline's sparkling eyes was instant confirmation that all had gone well, at least from her perspective! Graeme needed only a single glance to recognise that his newly refurbished PGV had been given a strenuous road test. Tipsy's and Topsy's rubber-coated torsos still shuddered with the after-effects of their exertions; pony-boobs heaved mightily, emphasising the grinding severity of the gleaming, studded, white leatherwork buttock cheek. He nearly always remembered now. Topsy on the left, Tipsy which barbarically harnessed them. Graeme nonchalantly stroked a vibrant on the right. It was Topsy who felt his caress. Lucky pony-girl!

Graeme's warm smile was spontaneous. After all, Caroline's exuberance was contagious.

"All the tests?"

Another gleam!

"Well, I have to admit it, darling. You were right!"

Indeed she was. Three days earlier, Caroline had noticed an ad on the holo-vid for the opening of a new PGV accessory department at Interlink Corporation's shopping complex on the outskirts of Castle Hill. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, Caroline had begged her husband to request the complimentary vid catalog which Interlink were offering in support of their promotion. Disinterested at first, and understandably s since Mr. Wobbly was in charge at the time, supervising an eagerly anticipated visit to the nether regions of Caroline's welcoming throat, Graeme paid no attention to her request, nor to her repeated entreaties. Later, even a punitive caning couldn't dampen her enthusiasm so, in resignation, he agreed to download a catalog. Who was really in charge? There were times when he suspected the pecking order went Caroline, then Mr. Wobbly with himself tailed off to the rear!

If there was one thing which hadn't changed in all the eons of human history, it was the mercurial ebullience of women to nag! Even with her mouth full of gag, Caroline could somehow project a palpable aura of subliminal nagging. It had to be genetic!

Caroline's interest in the pony-girls had blossomed from the moment she found herself with the unavoidable duty of serving as, among other things, her husband's chauffeuse. Diffident at first with the strange, dehumanised creatures, familiarity with their exotic allure had quickly converted her into à an aficionado. Second only to the pleasure of satisfying her husband's personal needs, PGV motoring became her great passion. It had taken Graeme a couple of days to understand the reason for his wife's eagerness to be ordered into her chauffeuse uniform at any time of the day or night. Graeme's fanciful notion of the ideal chauffeuse uniform meant a very trying ordeal for its model, that was for sure! He worked it out in the end, and it amused him greatly. So much for Caroline's initial disgust. It was hard to believe that less than a month had passed since he heard her first, caustic comments.

"I won't be a moment, darling, I want a close look at what you've done to my fillies."

Caroline curtsied again and stood patiently by the carriage while Graeme studied the dazzling display of the new harnessing and trappings which bedecked his beautiful pair of pony-girls. Of course, Caroline had asked his approval for all the changes and additions she wanted. Indeed, no sooner had he bestowed his blessing than he felt a faint twinge of conscience when the full ramifications of his wife's devilry became apparent. It was quickly forgotten!

Mr. Wobbly's favourable reaction to the sight of the dreadful discipline bits was immediate vindication of Caroline's suggestions. Filling each pony-girl mouth was a monstrous steel wedge provided with a thin, serrated slot through which a helpless, pony-girl tongue had been cruelly stretched before a bobbing, steel ball locked through the tongue eyelet ensured that there was no possible escape from the fiendish handicap.

As an additional precaution to keep Tipsy's and Topsy's heads in perfect unison, a slender, high-tension steel cable thrummed between their ringed nostrils, supplementing the similar cables which bolted the crowns of their bridled heads both to each other and the carriage frame. A similar unison was forced upon their leather harnessed pony-boobs through the agency of a polished steel bar extending at right angles to the carriage pole and spring bolted to it. At spaced intervals, each agonisingly stretched and strapped tit was clipped to it by a straining nipple ring.

Every harness strap had been replaced by a fancier, tighter variant, although the basic colour scheme was still a gleaming white to compliment the glossy, strawberry roan hue of the pony-girls' rubberised flesh. Mr. Wobbly's approval of the changes was plainly visible, even of such esoteric features a the application of a gouging, white leather blinker strap which was clearly intended to proclaim that this pair of fillies were not going to be allowed the use of their eyes under any circumstances. Hand in hand with Caroline's acceptance of her changed lifestyle went an unsuspected predilection for the subjugation of her own sex.

"Well, darling, I'm sure Tipsy and Topsy are hiding somewhere beneath all these bells and bows!" Caroline's expressive eyes alerted Graeme to her apprehension.

"Just joking, Linny," he grinned. "You've done a fine job. Why don't you take me for a spin and I'll see how these beauties perform in their new finery." 

Graeme allowed Caroline to fuss and pamper while helping him into the passenger seat. It was a fine vantage point to admire the delectable figure of his gorgeous chauffeuse as she went about the task of releasing the pussy- hobbled team. The bizarre leather costume which Caroline wore with such aplomb was a thrilling sight, if a somewhat less thrilling experience to wear The obvious focal point of the costume was the incredible treatment meted out to Slick's Tits! If pressed, Graeme might have acknowledged the Judge's influence on his penchant but it didn't bother him at all. Other than her marvellous eyes, Caroline's massive, torpedo-like melons were the only expanses of her bare flesh exposed to public view.

The exposure wasn't complete, a series of polished, black leather straps, buckled excruciatingly tight, emphasised their lush magnificence with singular effect. With every body movement, with every breath, Caroline's prodigious, segmented boobs fluttered and jiggled. Soft leather bows tied to her nipple rings mimicked the motion of her tormented titties; all in all a true delight! The imagery had a devastating impact on poor Mr. Wobbly! 

Courtesy of the hologen cubicle, Caroline was sealed inside a glisteningly taut, black patent leather skin. The pressure generated by the stiff, creaseless leather was intensely uncomfortable, forcing its hapless occupant to exercise all her strength merely to move around. Caroline's head was obliterated by the amorphous leather hood; only her wide, eloquent eyes spared the torment of immolation beneath the crushing embrace of pitiless black patent. As always, Graeme had made sure her mouth was packed with punishment gag, this time a fiendish, barbed leather bladder, extruded far into her gulping throat, doing its best to squash her eyeleted tongue through the floor of her mouth.

Caroline's blonde pseudo-hair escaped the cruel confines of the grinding horror hood through a neat, steel-rimmed slot, cascading to her shoulders in a single tress, decorated by more of the soft, black leather bows like those though her thick nipple-rings. With every motion of her leather head, the blonde tress bobbed seductively. There was a touch of irony in the fact that tress was salvaged from her thorough depilation. The generous the golden lock was woven into a billowing plume constrained at one end by a clasp which screwed into the thin steel plate riveted into the crown of her skull. 

A second layer of crushing leather in the form of elbow-length gloves and knee-length boots oppressed Caroline's shapely limbs with fierce determina- tion, imposing an additional burden upon the uncomplaining chauffeuse. In polished black patent, of course, the gleaming stilettos raised Caroline's heels a good eight inches clear of the ground, forcing upon her twisted toes the hateful handicap of supporting her weight in the strained, terrible, pointe pose. A similar intention to maximise her dolour was responsible for chemically stiffening the fingers of her gloves.

A studded, black leather collar strangled Caroline's throat, the merciless steel rim compelling her to keep her featureless head bent back to the limit while a matching, black patent kidney belt wasped her waist down to beanstalk dimensions.

Image 15

From Caroline's pretty nose-ring depended a slender steel chain down to the eighteen inches of similar chain linking her leather strapped wrists to each other. From this junction, the nose chain continued downward until it terminated in the centre of the twelve inches of chain which hobbled her leather strapped ankles. The tinkling confection of steel chain did little to further handicap the leather lovely, but it sure did look great! Well, that was Graeme's opinion; one shared by Mr. Wobbly!

Caroline released the pussy-hobbles, as she did so pinching each pair of rubberised, ringed labia with considerable venom. Graeme shuddered involuntarily. His precious pony-girls would just have to get used to the way his chauffeuse did things. At least Mr. Wobbly approved of Caroline's attitude!

Caroline slipped into the driver's seat with a stylish agility, belying the restrictive severity of her erotic uniform. Graeme thrilled to the unmistak- able light of devotion in his wife's beautiful eyes. He patted her leather sheathed thigh.

"Drive on!"

Graeme had to admire the effortless ease with which his chauffeuse managed the reins and the whip in spite of her numerous handicaps. There was no doubt about it; she worked the reins with more vigour than he would have used and she certainly wielded the whip with greater frequency and ferocity. And, if he were to be honest, her style probably got better results than his! He was just a big softie at heart!

"Let's have a gallop, darling! All the way to Cobleys Corner!"

It was an exhausted pair of pony-girls who eventually trotted into the garage. As far as Graeme could tell, the imposition of the custom harness had not reduced performance, fully vindicating Interlink's advertising claims. While Caroline secured the PGV for the evening, and attached the fuelling and maintenance hoses, Graeme strolled into the living room and ordered up a welcome gin. The Merrimac obliged and he flopped into a comfy chair to unwind from the exhilarating ride. That Caroline was a fearless driver and more than once he had flinched from what seemed certain disaster. With so many PGVs on the road now, and no regulations whatsoever governing them, it was only a matter of time before disaster struck.

He smiled cynically. As soon as rules were introduced, he knew, he'd start bitching about them, nostalgically recalling the days when such controls were unnecessary. He quaffed off the gin and voice-commed the holo-vid. In the month since Caroline's conversion, he had installed a full range of modern appliances and conveniences.

It wasn't until the familiar, ferret-like features of Judge Loomis appeared on the holo-vid that Graeme paid proper attention to the news broadcast. The short clip showed a beaming Judge debarking from the consular hover-jet, accompanied by a curious steel contraption which appeared to enclose the lower half of a stunningly bound femlon. There to meet him, among others, were his wives, Gloria and Alison, the Edwardian influence in their spectacular bondage costumes clearly distinguishing them from the crowd. The voice-over congratulated the nation's premier jurist for another great service to his country. The Judge knew the value of good publicity!

Caroline minced seductively into the living room just as the clip ended. 

"The Judge is back, Linny. Would you like to meet him?"

A dread shiver plainly proclaimed her reluctance.

"We'll talk about it later... for the moment, I want you to know how pleased I am with the effort you've put into making my pony-girls the envy of the neighbourhood. Thank you very much, darling."

What more could a man ask for than to see his wife preening herself in response to her husband's approval, with never a hint that she laboured under an enormous bondage burden. He continued.

"It was a wonderful ride tonight... exhilarating! I'm delighted to see Tipsy and Topsy thriving in your care. Good girl!"

The leather sheathed chauffeuse curtsied coquettishly, her eyes alive to her husband's praise. Graeme called up another gin.

"Please bring me that gin, darling. Thanks. Why don't you pop into thebox?"

It was a rhetorical question. With a last look of desperate longing, Caroline disappeared into the maw of the hologen cubicle, installed discretely in the corner of the room.

"See you soon, darling," he whispered for his own benefit, sipping at the soothing gin.

Replete and content after a fine meal, Graeme sidled out to the garage to check on his treasured PGV. The maintenance cycle was finished so the umbilicals, fore and aft, hung limply. He returned them to the pod, preferring to admire his property without the unsightly evidence of their fuelling and exhaust systems to spoil his appreciation.

"That Caroline!" he chuckled.

In addition to the regulation pussy-hobbles which kept the matched pair perfectly stationary, Caroline had secured their reins to the carriage frame with malicious venom. A glance at the achingly arched necks, bit-stretched mouths and swishing pony-tails confirmed the extent of Tipsy's and Topsy's distress.

Despite Mr. Wobbly's protests, Graeme relaxed the cruel tension on the reins. He couldn't do anything, at least not easily, about the wicked tongue balls or the crushing blinker straps so he left them as they were. He did spend some time fondling the occluded, bridled heads of his pony-girls and a little more time caressing their tender, grateful pussies. They did deserve some- thing for their splendid showing earlier in the day!

Returned to the living-room, and primed by the excitement in the garage, Graeme and Mr. Wobbly got into a discussion over the best way to exhibit Caroline's charms for the evening and, as usual, Mr. Wobbly had his way. Graeme took advantage of the cubicle's domestic features to feed and cleanse his wife with a minimum of bother before keying in the instructions fed to him by Mr. Wobbly. A short time delay gave him an opportunity to order a glass of port wine and get settled in his favourite recliner. Mr. Wobbly insisted he turn off the holo-vid to avoid distraction.

An audio cue announced the imminent expulsion of the hologen cubicle's occupant.

"What splendid taste you have, sir, "Graeme chuckled. "Over here, Linny!" The lack of response puzzled him for half a second.

"Damn, you idiot!" The remote was on the sideboard. Caroline's internal ear mean he had to get up and collect it. Grumbling, he struggled to his feet. A brilliant idea struck him as he was about to switch Caroline's hearing on plugs were activated and there was no way to resolve the dilemma that didn't line. Why was it that inconvenience always brought out the best from his brain?

He called the EverSeal service hot-line. Their auto-reception software obviously rated him as a valued client for he was put through to Dr. Carson with scarcely a moment's delay.

"Hi, Slick! What can I do for you?"

"I'm not sure, Chris. I have an idea."

"What! Aren't you satisfied with that gorgeous creature? I'll take her off your hands, no problem!"

"Don't distract me. I want to run an idea past your tech services." 

"Stop it!"

"What?"

"Not you, Slick! These femlons! Behave yourselves!"

The sharp sound of a resounding slap seemed to solve the problem. 

"Okay, spit it out!"

"The remote console has certain limitations...no, it works fine... the limita tions are more to do with the forgetfulness of the operator. Is it possible to integrate the control circuitry within the implants themselves and allow them to be accessed by coded voice imprint... the remote would still be useful as a third party backup?"

"Slick, I have no idea. I mostly handle bio-medical services and reconstruc- tion. Give me half an hour and I'll call Sam Medbury. He'll know... maybe we already do it... it sounds like a great idea!"

"Thanks, Chris, but there's no great hurry. I expect I'm busy for the next couple of hours. I'll call tomorrow."

Graeme signed off to the sound of Chris' understanding chortle. Relaxed again in cosy comfort, Graeme devoured the wondrous vision standing so still and silent a scant fifteen paces from where he sat. It was shameless pandering to Mr. Wobbly's impatience!

Caroline was oblivious to all that had transpired. A soft, gleaming, black satin hood sheathed her head with deceptive fervour down to her neck, leaving visible just her full, ringed lips and a hint of the soft flesh surrounding them. A single, lustrous blond tress blossomed from the crown of her hooded head, tumbling in satin beribboned splendour to her shoulders. Her hair was artificial, the flowing lock screwed into the thread in the top of her skull, but there were occasions when Graeme liked to humour his memories. The polished steel of ear- and nose-rings flashed in the artificial light. Her breath whispered raspily in short, sharp puffs, clearly establishing the choking, black patent leather collar buckled around her slender neck had brought her within a hair's breadth of suffocation. Her voluptuous, erotically resculptured torso was entirely naked, save only for the tattoos on her tits and bum, her nipple-rings and a selection of pretty but frightfully cruel jewellery.

To keep her hands out of trouble, and out of the way for the evening, poor Caroline was compelled to suffer the murderous torment of having her black satin sheathed forearms welded together along her spine in an agonising double hammer lock. Gouging, black patent leather straps matching her suffocating collar cut into her wrists and elbows, petrifying her arms and literally jamming her nerveless, lifeless hands into the back of her satin sheathed skull. Very occasionally, a reflexive twitch would confirm there was life in the stiffly clawed fingers.

Caroline's long, shapely legs were coated with a pair of sheer, translucent. black silk stockings, held in place by black satin ribbons tied tightly into her soft flesh at mid-thigh and ankle. Hidden within these satin ribbons was a sophisticated network of motion sensing probes whose sole purpose was to detect proscribed movement and signal the miniature steel collars crimped around her nipples and clitoris to deliver violent electric shocks for every infringement. Disguised as jewellery, the shining steel bands were buried deeply into Caroline's sensitive, erogenous tissue.

For the moment, only those sensors responsible for keeping Caroline particularly fond perched up on the tips of her toes were active. Graeme was of the sight of long legs borne by feet twisted into pointe pose. Indeed, mincing on tip-toe was one of the first things Caroline learned she must d to please her husband, whether bare-foot or booted. Grim experience had taught Caroline the punitive power of the cruel sex-collars and since Graeme almost never gave her any advance warning of which were active, she tried to keep as still and stiff as possible just in case.

This was the marvellous spectacle both Graeme and Mr. Wobbly enjoyed at their leisure. Of course, Mr. Wobbly's composure left a lot to be desired and barely five minutes elapsed before his insistent demands spurred Graeme into action. He touched the remote.

"Here I am, darling," he crooned. "Come and give me a cuddle."

A faint shiver coursed through the deliciously displayed girl before she began tip-toeing slowly, erotically, in her husband's direction.

"It's been a long day, Linny," he continued. "I want special treatment!" 

Caroline immediately understood what was required and damned if Graeme didn't notice the trace of a smile flit across her steel ringed lips. Notwith- standing her severe and demanding bondage, Caroline sunk to her knees with feline grace, nuzzling her satin hooded head with unerring accuracy right into Graeme's groin. Mr. Wobbly was well prepared for the union and the coupling took place with practised ease. Graeme groaned aloud with the exquisite pleasure of Caroline's tender touch, the steel rings through her welcoming lips adding relish to the heart-racing experience.

Reclining in comfort, Graeme's seemingly comatose body jerked spasmodically in response to Mr. Wobbly's surging expressions of approval. Caroline was a quick learner and within the short space of the last weeks had shown a remarkable improvement in, and enthusiasm for, special treatment! How she managed to breathe with her mouth full of bounding manhood, Graeme didn't want to know, suffice it to say he had recognised Caroline's addiction to the joys of sexual suffocation. Her throaty, desperate gasps as she teased and manipulated an appreciative Mr. Wobbly added to his excitement. Her soft, warm, gentle tongue excelled in its intention to thrill its discerning customer and so, after a wondrous, ten minute interlude, the inevitable happened and Mr. Wobbly exploded copiously into a gasping, gulping throat.

Amazingly, Caroline recovered before her husband. Graeme struggled into a sitting position, to be greeted by a vision of erotic loveliness kneeling at his feet. She still gasped and snorted, but the choking collar adoringly made her do that anyway. Caroline's sensuous tongue teased her lips, savouring the taste.

"Oh, darling! I'm exhausted! I need a minute to recuperate!"

Ten minutes later, Graeme was sufficiently recovered to contemplate some further amusement. More accurately, it was Mr. Wobbly who regained consciousness and egged him on. Convenient to hand on a small table beside his chair was a pile of long, black satin ribbons and a mischievous gleam entered his eye.

"Where are those tits of mine?" Graeme carolled jovially.

Responding to her husband's request, Caroline's spine stiffened and she lent forward, thrusting her enormous bosom onto his lap. The rigour of her exacting, aching arm bondage highlighted the incredible dimensions of her spongy, pendulous melons.

Image 16

"Sit still, Linny," Graeme admonished, taking a satin ribbon and looping it loosely around a heaving torpedo tit. The noose tightened gradually until the satin bit into the base of the voluptuous, tattooed boob. Caroline scarcely - she knew what to expect as the ribbon disappeared into a squirmed crevasse of tortured tit flesh. Mr. Wobbly encouraged him to squeeze an extra inch while he had the chance. Graeme finished off the wrapping by tying a fluffy bow with the ribbon's ends, draping the loose ends down to her polished nipple rings.

It took a little longer to tie a matching ribbon around her other boob, mainly because Graeme liked symmetry and wouldn't be satisfied with anything less. He tweaked a turgid, engorged, ringed and collared nipple. Caroline shuddered with the mingled ecstasy of pleasure and pain, a concoction she had learned to love!

"Foot-stool duty, darling," he informed her, applying a gentle pressure against her forehead.

Caroline folded her naked buttocks onto her silk-stockinged ankles and then arched gracefully backwards until the crown of her hooded skull touched the floor. The choking collar around her neck denied any flexibility between her head and torso which meant her fiendishly welded arms were called upon to do their bit to support her weight. With her calves trapped under her thighs, Caroline's legs were achingly strained. No sooner did she look like she was in position than Graeme activated most of the motion sensors to be sure his foot-stool stayed very still. For good measure, he switched her hearing off-line as well.

With a sigh of contentment, Graeme plonked his bare feet onto the beribboned boobs thrusting up proudly from the bent and contorted torso. He mashed his heels into them, intent upon extracting maximum satisfac- tion. There was no doubt about it. Slick's Tits had plenty of uses!

Image 17

He toyed with the idea of watching the holo-vid for a while but before he could make a decision about that, drowsiness overtook him and he nodded off. He napped for two hours, or thereabouts, and for most of the time his feet rubbed unconsciously into the willing flesh supporting them.

"I didn't mean to do that," he mumbled, startled into wakefulness when a foot finally slipped from the comforting cushion and banged into the floor. "Look at the time!" A rush of affection for his gorgeous wife flooded through him. She had patiently endured, even cooperated, in another punishing, exhausting ordeal with never a sign of rebellion or contrariness. Graeme fingered the remote to stand down the sensors from their silent vigil before leaning lazily forward and slipping a forefinger through each nipple-ring. He teased the sensitive nubs for a moment, smiling at the profound effect his fondling produced. Despite the heavy rings and the cruel, cutting nipple- collars behind them, their immediate tumescence demonstrated beyond doubt Caroline's longing for the sexual pleasures of bondage life!

"Up we come," he chanted, hauling on the ringed nipples until the helpless Caroline was upright once more. The verbal encouragement was for his own benefit. Graeme saw no reason to put his wife's aural facilities on-line. Indeed, developing the theme, Graeme took another satin ribbon from the pile and threaded an end, in turn, through each nipple-ring. He fashioned a simple slip knot and, tugging resolutely, forced the steel rings into direct contact. The sight of so much squashed and mashed, beribboned boob flesh brought a tear of joy to Mr. Wobbly's single eye and in a trice he was raring  to go!

Graeme got to his feet, the loose end of the soft satin ribbon one hand. An insistent tug informed Caroline to do the same and the compliant girl rose onto her tip-toes with a stylish charm so erotically at odds with the severity of her circumstances. Graeme marvelled at her stamina and strength. Sure, the EverSeal labs had done their bit to help but her resilience after two hours of agonising contortion amazed him; and delighted Mr. Wobbly! 

Image 18

Leashed by her magnificent, tattooed melons, Caroline minced provoca- tively in her husband's wake as he led her into the bedroom. Even without the watchfulness of the motion detecting sensors, she was careful to keep her silk-stockinged feet twisted into a perfect pointe pose. Her trust was absolute! Blinded inside a clinging, opaque satin hood and choked into submission by a ferociously grinding collar, the confidence shown by the remarkable girl as she shuffled along on tip-toe bespoke wonders of her devotion to, and adoration for, the only man in her life.

The procession stopped at the foot of the bed and, without ceremony, Graeme toppled his satin sheathed wife onto the soft covers. Her agonisingly bound arms absorbed the muted impact. Graeme enjoyed watching the struggle as Caroline squirmed and writhed sensually until she was in position. She spread her long, shapely legs, exposing the naked beauty of her smooth, flawless fanny. Her crimped clit-collar winked at him.

Restraining Mr. Wobbly's excitement to get at the object of his desire, Graeme generously chose to give his gorgeous wife a passionate dose of the same special treatment he had so enjoyed earlier. Sated by an entire evening of exquisite sexual stimulation and torment, her sensitivity heightened by her extreme bondage burden, Caroline exploded into a spontaneous orgasm a scant sixty seconds after the first, tender touch of Graeme's teasing tongue! Taken aback by the speed and intensity of his wife's response, it was all he could do to keep his tongue in contact with her collared clitoris as she bucked and jerked in the throes of unbridled ecstasy. Her massive, satin cinched boobs heaved like bellows as air rasped gaspingly through her throttled throat.

"What a greedy little thing you are," Graeme murmured a few minutes later, as soon as he regained his breath. Caroline kept her legs as wide apart as she could and if ever a pussy was crying out to be filled with stiff dick, here was one. Mr. Wobbly congratulated his partner on the speedy conclusion to the first course and made it plain he was ready, right now, to get on with the main event, Awash with the oil of her arousal, Caroline's welcoming pussy greeted Mr. Wobbly's arrival with delight, sucking him greedily into her inner depths. Graeme groaned feverishly, flopping like a sack of coal onto her spongy, helplessly mashed tits. His weight inflamed the terrible torment racking her satin gloved arms and put further pressure on her asphyxiated lungs. He didn't for a moment quell her sexual frenzy! She answered every thrust with equal ardour and try as he might, Graeme knew he was little more than a passenger with Caroline doing the driving.

Mr. Wobbly didn't care! The flexing walls of her spasming, pulsing pussy blinded him to everything but the magic of the moment. Timing was perfect! If there was just one thing he knew in the game of life, it was that nothing could compare with the grandeur of climaxing atop a helplessly bound woman!

Caroline hadn't finished with him yet! With scarcely a pause to catch her panting breath, her powerful, silk-stockinged thighs surged into life and before Graeme could recover his wits in time to jump off, Mr Wobbly got caught up in all the excitement and ordered his partner to stay aboard for another ride. This time there was no pretence at all of running the show and when Caroline at last decided to milk him to the core, he was powerless to resist.

Replete with the sweetest pleasure, Graeme rolled to the side of his marvellous wife, pulling her with him. He kissed her quivering, lip-ringed mouth. He kissed her again!

"Oh, darling," he puffed, "oh dear, I do love you!"

She didn't hear what he said, of course. With Mr. Wobbly out of contention for a while, Graeme was able to regain control of the situation. He untied the ribbon which bound her nipple-rings together. He raised enough energy to slap a juicy, tattooed buttock.

"Bed-time, Linny," he murmured, giving her beribboned, tormented boobs a hearty shove. There was only a two foot drop from the bed to the floor but the synthetic carpet was a lot harder than the comfortable bed. Caroline rotated in mid air so that it was her torpedo titties that absorbed the brutal impact. Graeme leaned over the edge of the bed to watch what happened next. She didn't say a word, only squirmed around until she got her bearings. A plain rubber mat covered the carpet in one corner and it was in this direction she wriggled, her enormous boobs squished out to each side of her naked torso. At one end of the mat was a stubby rubber extrusion and Caroline's hooded head bobbed around exploratorily until she found it. Without hesitation, she sucked it into her mouth and the muffled twang of the expanding punishment gag informed him that her delicious mouth was properly full of silencing rubber. A bank of stiff steel springs engaged her lip rings, grinding her face into the floor. A pore through the centre of the jaw jacking gag allowed a trickle of oxygen into her starved lungs.

Image 19

"Sleep well, darling," Graeme mumbled encouragingly, at last feeling like he was in charge, at least for the moment. He voice-commed the lights, darkening the room. It was after midnight.

He hadn't even got to sleep before the high-pitched beep of a top-priority incoming com disturbed his repose. "Shit!" he swore, realising that someone to over-ride his personal security software. Graeme stumbled into his study very important wanted to speak to him. Only three people had the authority barely to take the call. The body of his erotically immobilised wife was a discernible shadow in the dark.

It was the Judge!

What did he want at this hour?

܀܀܀

CHAPTER EIGHT

HARRIETT

Colonel Harriett Callan resumed command of the BD Wing at RADC-61 on the morning following her return from England. She declined the option of a few days leave to recover. There was one particularly pressing matter which required her personal attention. The mission had been an experience, certainly, but living in such close proximity for so long with Judge Loomis sunnerving. It had been a long time since Harriett's equanimity had been unsettled by anyone! And the interruption had been very inconvenient! 

The Centre's director, General Battersby, welcomed her back in person and mighty glad he was to have her aboard again. She was the real driving force in his organisation! Harriett spent the morning fiercely prowling the corridors of her domain; inspecting everything. Louisa Favaloro accompanied her and, after the first hour or so, it seemed as though they had never been away. Standards had slipped slightly; they inevitably did in her absence. But it was no worse than she expected and a few subtle suggestions, and a punitive example or two, would soon have the show back on the road. 

The graduation ceremony for the current crop of BD artistes was scheduled three weeks hence and since this function now attracted some hundreds of interested spectators, many of them buyers for the nation's principal corporations and consortiums, Harriett had to make sure the event was as least as successful as the previous function. Her ambition to succeed the aging incumbent at RADC-61 was as resolute as ever. The high profile publicity attendant to a profitable and popular show could go a long way to getting her noticed where it mattered. Every bit helped. She had caught vid footage of the Judge's return. It rancoured bitterly that there was no the acknowledgment of her contribution, nor mention of her name. All the credit for the delegation's success went to the Judge! Where was the justice!

The arrival of her life-time friend, Gretel Debenham, went a long way toward dispelling Harriett's foul mood. That unexpected interlude on foreign soil had forced a postponement of this meeting, their first since the day they had consigned Isobel to oblivion. Other than a pair of contorted, rubber-coated femlons pegged to the wall ready for immediate use, Harriett and Gretel were alone in the spacious office. Harriett had left explicit orders that she was not to be disturbed.

"How's the jaw?" Harriett grinned.

Gretel smiled ruefully.

"Hairline fracture. You owe me one, Harry."

"I know. But it was worth it."

"I hear the brat has ended up in the Judge's pony-girl project. Not quite what we planned, was it?"

"No..." Harriett's expression had turned pensive.

"What's the matter? Surely the slut can't cause trouble now?"

"I hope not, Greta. But the Judge worries me. The little bastard has eyes and ears everywhere. Gord knows how much time I spend dusting my office for e-cims. You can't trust anyone these days. I've got enemies everywhere! What I'd really like is a chance to relax and enjoy the new relationship I've forged with Alexander."

That got a chuckle from Gretel.

How is Alexander? You must let me see him soon."

He's undergoing a bit of restoration at the moment. I hope to have him ready for public viewing in another week."

Gretel's jaw dropped.

"Public! You must be joking!"

"Let me finish. Actually, I got the idea from the Judge. Do you remember that vid snap announcing some sort of puppy-girl facility was in the pipeline. Another of the Judge's schemes to utilise excess femlons. Gord knows, there are enough of them!"

"About a month ago?"

"Yes. Just before I left. I shall transform Alexander into a cute pet puppy, a little bitch - you know, you see them in historical vids - it's the perfect disguise. No-one will ever know!"

"Except me!"

"And your Rosa! And Louisa Favaloro! They both know what happened to the brat. I trust you, Greta, we've been together since we were girls. But I don't trust femlons! And I don't think I dare trust Louisa."

"Who does? Rosa's a tasty piece of crumpet, that's for sure. Whether I'd count on her is another matter. Probably not! I can't vouch for your colleague. I've only spoken to her once." Gretel's brow furrowed in thought. "But I can tell you've hatched a plan. What is it?"

"Well, darling, I think Rosa would make an ideal companion for Alexander." Gretel had to laugh. Harriett never ceased to surprise her. Around Harriett, something exciting was always happening. And Rosa was no longer the novelty she had been!

"She's all yours, Harry."

"Thank you, darling. You know how much I appreciate your generosity. What can I give you in return?"

"It's a gift."

"Well, I won't forget."

"I know that. And Favaloro?"

"I'm not sure. I have to think about her."

Gretel stood up and walked to the window. It was time to talk about something else.

"Alexis Hamel came up from Wyong with me. We brought Blunder Buns. It was quite an experience, the other night, watching our girl demolish the local champion, a bitch by the name of Salacious Lil. You would have loved it!"

"The bitch-fight! I'm sorry I missed it." Harriett was glad for the change of subject. Anything to do with the Judge always left a sour taste in her mouth. 

"It was touch and go for the first few minutes - the local bitch was very experienced and did have talent - but Bunsie's toughness won out in the end."

Gretel smiled as the recollection of the fiery-red costumed Blunder Buns delivering the coup-de-grace flashed through her mind.

"With you in charge, Gretel, I'm sure all your girls are tough!"

"They are! We've built up an effective training unit, and a profitable one, in the last six months. We concentrate on inuring our girls to the rigours of harsh and continual electric shocks. We do work on skills, of course - and we'll have to do more as the competition gets better - but for now it's toughness that's most important. And my girls are tough!"

"I suppose I should establish a similar program here."

"As soon as you can. Now that the sport has become so popular, demand for skilled bitch-fighters has blossomed. KNAC will begin broadcasting live holo-casts in the next few months and you can guess what that will do for sales."

"I can count on your experience?"

"Of course! I can download my entire database right now. Can I use your personal logon."

"That might be best. I won't make an official request until I'm up to speed." Harriett looked on as Gretel called up a secure channel and ordered a download of the specified files. Transmitting on hi-scan, it took barely two minutes to transfer the 16 gigabyte database. A slow smile spread across her lips. The Favaloro problem had just found a solution. Louisa would head up he bitch-fighter program in a very direct and personal way!

"We have arranged an exhibition match between our Bunsie and two amateur combatants for Thursday week. It will be staged in the grounds of Callie Kramer's country retreat. She has become a great fan and is very keen I to build up a first class stable. I'd love you to come along."

"That's just here on the Hawkesbury, isn't it?"

"Less than ten kilometres."

"I haven't seen Callie since that trouble with her father. I can't imagine how she inherited everything. Wasn't there a brother, or something?" 

"I don't know. She has got lots of money. Will you come?"

Harriett thought for a moment. What better opportunity! 

"Yes, of course I will. And perhaps I'll bring Alexander with me. It can be his coming out party!"

Harriett almost doubled over with laughter. Gretel joined in. It took a few minutes for the senior RAD officers to regain their composure.

"That reminds me, Harry," Gretel spluttered. "What about Rosa?" 

"Anytime. Crate her up, third class, whenever it's convenient."

Gretel nodded. "Callie is sending a PGV to our hotel. Why don't you join us there?"

"We won't all fit!"

"Callie bought up the entire initial consignment of 6-girl teams to the TTA showroom at Gosford."

Harriett shook her head in disbelief.

"I didn't even know they were on the market."

"There's quite a range of team sizes. You should watch more holo-vid." 

"When do I get the time!"

"The 6-girl teams come with a variety of carriage styles. I think you can seat as many as ten passengers."

"This I have to see!"

"Thursday night. Can you be at the Collis Palms before six. Callie is sending the PGV at six sharp. Perhaps we'll have time for a drink? And I can get a good look at you know who!"

"I think so. I'll call if I can't make it."

Gretel Debenham's schedule did not allow her the luxury of accepting Harriett's offer of a little femlon hospitality. The officers embraced warmly before saying good-bye.

Harriett was sitting pensively when Louisa Favaloro diffidently knocked on the door. She had already done a lot of thinking. About moving house-good riddance to bad memories - and the new place wasn't half flash, and a lot closer to the office! About the rigid RAD bureaucracy and the rampant discrimination. About Alexander... And there was still a lot of thinking yet to do! Too many new things were happening and she was uneasy. She nodded absent-mindedly while Louisa rattled on about the deteriorating calibre of the femlon intake. It was an old lament. Harriett's eyes strayed to Louisa's very curvaceous figure. A twinge of erotic excitement warmed her went unnoticed. Not that the lush Louisa knew, she was destined - in loins, and helped to push her other worries aside. Her mischievous smirk Harriett's mind's eye-to become the first national bitch-fighting champion! 

"Louisa," Harriett interjected sweetly, motioning in the direction of the pegged femlons, "why don't you and I unhook those twitching bonk bags and give them a serious  workout?"

"Great idea, Boss!" her loyal subordinate replied, eyes alight.

It wasn't until later in the afternoon, in the L-chute on her way down to the isolated solitary cells, that Harriett's mood lightened - no doubt helped by the prolonged orgasm she had wrung from an unconscionably tormented femlon. Here, at least, was something she had been eagerly looking forward to. The tap-tap of her stiletto heeled boots echoed through the deserted corridors far beneath the surface. It was nearly a month since she had last passed this way. Cell 18K opened as it should to the hi-sec electronic signal, confirming the integrity of Alexander's prison had not been breached.

Just for a moment Harriett closed her eyes, unwilling to risk seeing something amiss. She trust that groundless fear aside immediately to be thrilled by the sight of her sweet Alexander spread-eagled before her eyes exactly as she expected. The fully automated discipline environment had functioned perfectly in her absence. Alexander was naked, thoroughly depilated and mutilated, and in extreme discomfort. He had earned it! 

Harriett forced herself to examine the detailed program recordings, alert for any irregularities. There was no sign of a major problem which was all that really mattered. Later, she'd check through the minutiae more carefully. Harriett had long prepared herself for this moment and now it had arrived, found it even sweeter than she'd anticipated.

Alexander wasn't aware of her presence. His blindly staring eyes were covered by permanently implanted lenses, at this moment polarised to one hundred percent opacity. His eyelids were removed, one of the many features of his exacting restoration, which went a long way to achieving the helpless, doe-like effect Harriett was so keen to capture.

He couldn't hear her either. Embedded hard against his inner ear mem- branes were solid steel plugs, their complex internal circuitry ensuring complete control over his auditory input while the outer casing fulfilled its function of dispensing continuous, severe discomfort. As with his eye-lenses, these plugs had been off-line for the best part of three weeks.

Harriett inspected her plaything carefully before rousing him from the terrible nightmare she had forced him to endure for so long. Little did the wretched creature realise that a new nightmare, infinitely more shocking, was about to take its place! Alexander's bald, gleaming skull drooped forlornly forward, his chin resting above the cleavage of his startlingly feminised boobs. His mouth had been jacked wide to allow the insertion of a powerful clamp through which passed the thick rubber umbilical which serviced his nutritional needs. While the studded clamp did fill a large portion of his mouth, it couldn't disguise the fact that all his teeth had been extracted.

A lot of work had been done on Alexander's flesh to fully feminise it and so it was only the limp, lifeless shred of sometime manhood dangling between his achingly split legs which identified him as a male. Harriett had originally convinced her that more could be achieved by leaving it in place. A slow planned to remove even that vestige but a last-minute brainstorm had steel collar which gouged ferociously into his defenceless, tender organ, the smile lit her features as she inched forward to inspect the demonic, serrated and head. Also hard to see was the thin filament which emerged from the tip gleaming steel almost hidden from view in the depression between its barrel of the cruelly mistreated penis. Alexander's plumbing had been rearranged so there would be nothing coming through that channel to interfere with the operation of the devilish probe.

Harriett widened her view to take in all of Alexander's terrible jewellery. She had planned his restoration carefully and rather than risk future inconvenience or disappointment, had chosen to fit him out with every conceivable ring, eyelet, collar or clamp she could imagine a use for, right from the beginning. Sparkling in the artificial light were two sets of ear-rings, a nose ring and a pair of nipple rings with matching nipple collars, all made from solid, chastened steel. Out of sight at the moment, or difficult to see, were a recessed head ring in the top of his shaven skull and steel eyelets riveted through the centre of his tongue and the base of each synthetically enhanced nipple.

"What a clever little girl you are, Colonel Callan!" Harriett whispered for her own benefit.

It was time to welcome her husband into his new world!

Taking it one step at a time, Harriett fingered the remote to bring his hearing on-line. A sudden shudder racked his tensioned torso. Harriett nodded appreciatively. Coincidental to activating the sound circuitry, the signal stimulated a short, sharp, particularly painful burst of static to announce the transition and to prepare him for an imminent communication from his mistress.

"Here I am, darling," Harriett crooned, announcing her presence with suppressed excitement. Another shudder from the tormented creature, this one stimulated by nothing other than the dread tone of her mellow contralto.

"I suppose you've missed me frightfully," she added conversationally. "Never mind. I'm here now. Let's get you unplugged."

Was that a garbled, creaking groan she heard? Must have been! It raised a smile. The huge clamp made coherent speech impossible.

Disconnecting the rubber tube from the clamp in Alexander's mouth, Harriett carefully withdrew the slender conduit. A full fifteen inches of it slid out from his throat, confirming the distal end had extended all the way down into his stomach. Removing the waste extraction maintenance hose was even easier. Alexander's sensitive rectum was stretched fiendishly around a permanently implanted, contoured anal dildo from which extruded a short catheter tapped into his urethra, diverting the flow to the huge, central cavity of the enormous plug. Solid waste also emptied into this cavern which meant was all that was needed to dispose of the effluent. A self- a single operation sealing valve, recessed into the rim of the torture dildo, accepted the nozzle of the waste umbilical and a high pressure vacuum extracted the percolated residue. All very neat and hygienic! The TTA Colonel did not care for messy or dirty personal habits!

Harriett was determined to begin the relationship on a positive note. From the many accessories she had designed for Alexander's benefit, she chose a curious steel rod, not much more than six inches long. A screw thread extended in for half an inch from each end. Accompanying the rod were a pair of steel balls, a little less than an inch in diameter. Two dozen or so flexible, needle sharp steel spines were distributed evenly around the surface of each ball. The final item she collected was a four-inch length of fine steel chain, one end provided with a snap-catch, the other with an integrally attached steel ball. This smooth ball was a little smaller than its spiked companions.

"Now then, pet," Harriett intoned, "let's see what we can do to improve the posture of these gorgeous titties."

Whatever Alexander wanted to say about Harriett's idea went unheard. The croaking babble which squeezed past the staunch clamp filling his mouth was completely incomprehensible. The sound was scarcely human.

Harriett ignored the rasping noise. She pressed Alexander's ripe, spongy tits together until his gleaming nipple rings were almost touching in the midst of a huge cushion of squashed boob flesh. A handy shackle locked his nipple rings together, mashing the voluptuous, tender melons under considerable tension and allowing Harriett to proceed with her plan.

The diameter of the slender steel rod matched the internal diameter of Alexander's nipple eyelets. Harriett threaded the bar first through one eyelet disguised the real thickness of the quarter-inch rod. Harriett screwed a and then the other. The immense size of the cursed creature's nipples spiked steel ball to each end of the bar. She was very careful not to catch her fingers on the diabolical spines. A muted snick locked one ball to each end of the rod. With his ringed nipples shackled so tightly, there was enough slack to keep the waiting spines from puncturing the helpless tit flesh. Harriett had to smile! It was almost as if the impatient needles were pleading with her for permission to attack.

"All in good time," she admonished the eager steel.

Harriett released the clips which locked the gag-clamp inside his mouth. She twisted it free of his toothless gums.

"Poke your tongue out for me, please darling," she asked sweetly.

Able to move his aching jaws for the first time in nearly a month, Alexander struggled with tortured muscles for a few moments before he was able to gasp out a desperate plea.

huh... help... help... me..."

Harriett chuckled good-naturedly.

"...help... huh... pl... please... aaarrrhhhhh... aaarrrrrhhhhhhhhh!"

Harriett had touched the discipline dial on the remote and triggered a jolting shock through all of Alexander's electrical punishment systems. Strung so tightly to the suspension frame, his tortured body strove in vain to express his distress. She waited until his hoarse screams had quietened into croaking whimpers before triggering a second, longer shock. This time, a minute or more passed before his screams died away.

"Let's try again, shall we, pet?" Harriett asked rhetorically.

A moan of abject despair preceded the appearance of Alexander's tongue between his lips. In silence, Harriett watched the soft appendage protrude further and further, revealing the full extent of the enhancement therapy she had subjected it to. Alexander's eyeleted tongue was a full two inches longer than it had ever been before. Harriett's skin tingled. There were just so many wonderful I uses she intended to put it to!

Trying hard not to startle her blinded prisoner, Harriett attempted to grip the tip of that amazing tongue with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand. It didn't work. So she used a third electric shock to explain his mistake and then waited patiently for his tender, prehensile tongue to put in another appearance. This time she was not so gentle and used a pair of pliers to get a proper purchase on that slippery appendage. Stretching the helpless organ to its maximum extension, Harriett dropped the unencumbered end of the miniature ball and chain through Alexander's tongue eyelet.

As soon as the pliers' grip relaxed, Alexander's tongue tried instinctively to retract. It couldn't! Harriett held the bottom end of the chain and a couple were all that were necessary to convince her husband to keep of savage jerks his tongue out in the open. Discarding the pliers, Harriett used that hand to lift the fiendish boob-bar up until she could clip the dangling tongue-ball chain to a provision in the centre of the rod.

"Splendid!" she exclaimed on completion of the project. A mere four inches of tautly snapping chain separated his straining tongue from his suspended, uplifted boobs. A peculiar, gasping, gagging sound bubbled from his lips while a steady gaping stream of tears trickled down from his lidless, lensed eyes. 

"Try to relax, pet. I'm going to change into something more suitable. I'll be back."

Cell 20K had been converted into an annexe and a doorway cut into the common wall. It was here she retired to change her wardrobe, emerging ten minutes later dressed in a bold, sensuous outfit, chosen deliberately for the occasion. A minuscule, gleaming, red patent leather mini-skirt was fastened snugly around her slim waist by a wide, studded, black patent leather belt.A shimmering, white silk blouse, with billowing sleeves buttoned neatly to her wrists, tucked smartly into her belt.  Barely reaching the hem-line of her figure-hugging skirt were a pair of polished, black patent leather boots, their muscular forearms were matching kidskin gloves, hidden away under the stiletto heels boosting her height another five inches. Sheathing her smooth, silky folds of the blouse's ample sleeves.

In keeping with the latest fashion, Harriett wore nothing beneath her blouse and skirt, enjoying the attenuation of her senses this freedom allowed. An amber cameo rested against her throat, tied in place by a black silk ribbon. whalebone cane Some finger jewellery, tear-drop earrings and a snappy, completed her appearance. She admired her reflection for a moment, mischievously wondering whether Alexander would appreciate the trouble she had taken to make this day unforgettable. A glass of fine claret would have capped the moment. Alas, this was one thing she had overlooked. 

Harriett made sure she stood where Alexander couldn't fail to notice her before she touched the pad which switched the polarity of his eye lenses. Like a startled rabbit, he squirmed hopelessly in the suspension frame's iron grip. Accustomed to Stygian blackness for so long, the sudden exposure to light sent slivers of ice stabbing into his brain. Eventually his eyes were able to focus and Harriett knew she would long cherish that first stare of uncomprehending terror. A queer kind of grunt, unintelligible, spluttered from his quivering lips.

"Good evening, pet." she said cheerily. "Are you glad to see me?"

A renewed flood of tears coursed down his cheeks and a series of strange squawks, gurgles and blubberings replaced the grunts. Harriett couldn't resist the temptation. A precursor of things to come. She walked slowly around her defenceless husband until she stood directly behind his trembling carcass. Lining up his lushly feminised buttocks with a practised eye, Harriett administered a lusty cut with the stinging whalebone cane. It had a profound impact upon his soft flesh. The poor thing screeched desperately. Harriett's loins surged with excitement. Oh dear, she would have to exert some self control, as if she didn't know! Flogging Alexander's buns was sure to become a favourite recreation.

Returning to her original position, Harriett resumed the one-way conversation.

"This is a memorable occasion for you, pet. From this moment on you're in to become a very special companion of mine. I guess you know by training now that your new lifestyle won't have much in common with what you remember... but that's your fault! I told you not to... and you didn't listen! Did you really think you could do that to me! Me! You stupid man!" 

Harriett paused in the middle of her tirade. She hadn't meant to bring that up at all. She continued on in a lighter, friendlier tone.

"That's the past. We're going to start afresh.. and I'm sure you not going to make the same mistakes again."

More blubbering, spluttering and tears.

"Are you trying to say something, pet?" Harriett enquired solicitously. At great cost, the frantic thing managed to nod its hairless head. Harriett stepped right up to him and eased the strain on his tongue chain, at last relieving that protruding appendage from the frightful burden of his heavy, barbelled boobs.

... pl... pl... please.... pl... please... put... me... down..."

"Oh dear," Harriett sighed, releasing the chain and moments later unshackling his glittering nipple rings. "What a silly fellow!"

Harriett's last remarks were drowned by screams of acutest agony. Com- pressed boob flesh sprung out to resume its natural shape, only to be ambushed by a couple of dozen needle-tipped spines. Just for a moment, Alexander's tormented titties resisted the diabolical barrier but soft, tender boobs were no match for custom designed steel. More than half the wicked barbs punctured the skin and, making the most of the natural movement of his enormous bosom, drove steadily and remorselessly in until most of them were embedded to the hilt. Indeed, Alexander's desperate, maddened squirming contributed to the deadly effect.

Harriett clapped her hands with glee, delighted by the spectacle she had just every bit as well witnessed. Alexander's tongue-and-boob shackle worked she'd hoped.

"That wasn't a very promising start, pet," she crooned. "I want a as little respect!" Harriett tapped the cane against the palm of her leather gloved hand. "Perhaps I can appeal to you directly."

Alexander realised his appalling predicament as soon as his tormentress twelve full-blooded cuts, spacing their delivery just enough to allow him a began walking around him. The blubbering intensified. She dispensed moment to anticipate the next stroke before he got a good feel of it. Over the years Harriett had whipped a lot of bums but never with the passion she put into this performance.

"Do you understand now, darling?" she enquired.

The poor creature frantically nodded his head, tongue chain snapping and barbelled boobs bouncing.

"That's better - and now I want you to thank me for explaining this to you in such an easy to understand way!" There was glazed disbelief in his eyes as Harriett once again relieved him from the unbearable tension on his tongue.

"...m...m... mis... mistress... pl... please... mis... mistress... th... th... thank... you... mistress..." As a reward for his very satisfying answer, Harriett gently released the fiendish tongue chain rather than dropping it. She rather thought the wretched creature had a few other things he wanted to say so thought it best to curtail the conversation at that point.

Time to get you into your new outfit, pet. I do so hope you like it... because you're going to live it until the sun stops rising in the east!"

Harriett's hands quivered with excitement as she methodically laid out the divers components which made up Alexander's bitch-pet costume. To begin, there was the custom designed rubber chastity corset. The corset strap itself was made of half-inch thick neoprene coated on one side with a thin layer of stretched, glossy white rubber lycra and was some 6" wide at the sides, a little wider in front and back. The inner surface was coated with a forest of stiff rubber barbs varying in length from quarter-inch to half-inch, on location. There were no buckles or laces as such, only a series depending of temporary connectors which would be consumed as soon as the auto-seal mechanism had done its job. Harriett's contribution to the process of wasping Alexander's waist to a dreadful 18" was limited to operating the manual override on the auto-seal as she slowly plotted its course around his helpless body. The seal was permanent and undetectable, and the effect dramatic!

Alexander's waist had been fiendishly crushed, creating a breath-taking contrast between his voluptuous boobs and spongy buttocks.

Not surprisingly, Alexander was beside himself. He twisted and jerked, writhed and shuddered, as the corset strap ground inexorably into his helpless flesh. His screams and moans were music to Harriett's ears. It was nice to know her efforts were so obviously appreciated! The sight of his delicious tits jiggling like beach balls as his tormented head jerked wildly in a forlorn attempt to find relief was an image she would long remember. Harriett couldn't suppress a chuckle at his ridiculous exhibition!

"You don't know what this is, do you pet?" Harriett enquired seriously. His blank expression of total, terrorised funk clearly demonstrated his ignorance.

"Let me explain. There was a time, years ago now, when a woman like myself had the freedom to express her sexuality however she wished. Alas, things have changed for the worse since then and it's no longer possible for you to get the treatment you deserve... at least, not publicly..." Harriett had to smile. Damned if the silly thing wasn't trying to follow what she was saying! She chose her words carefully.

"Don't worry, I've found a way! To all the world this looks just like a regular punishment dildo... no different from the devices every femlon is accustomed to. Only you and I will know differently!"

Harriett had his full attention now. Or as much of it as he could spare from his other little problems. She nodded approvingly.

"I suppose I could spend five minutes explaining how it works but it might be easier for you to understand if I just go ahead and install it." 

Integrally attached to the rear of Alexander's gouging, crushing corset strap was a fiendishly customised saddle strap. Harriett pulled it down between his achingly split legs, slipped the protruding rim of his monstrous dildo through the exact provision made for it, wrenched his lifeless, ringed penis through a second opening, and then brought the nether end of the strap up to meet the front of the corset strap. Again the RAD patented auto-sealer was called into action to produce a permanent, hermetic seal and again the most deadly pressure and compression were applied to the stiff neoprene.

Alexander's defenceless testicles were trapped in the grip of the cutting, grinding rubber strap and crushed agonisingly up into his groin. Their existence was obliterated. The glossy-coated rubber fairly buried itself into his smooth flesh while his predicament was made ever worse by another mass of wicked rubber barbs lining the inner surface of the diabolically de-sexing strap. With malice aforethought, Harriett had paid particular attention to his tender balls - the longest, sharpest, stiffest spikes were stationed in his groin, their sole purpose to inflict as much misery upon their target as possible.

The ingenious pseudo-dildo was hollow. Trapped by the terrible saddle strap, Alexander's hairless, tormented shred of manhood was particularly vulnerable. Harriett capped the defenceless organ with the three-inch long two-inch wide subterfuge. Internal processes within the pseudo-dildo engaged both the serrated ring and the embedded probe, establishing an unbreakable connection. External processes on the rim locked into mating notches in the saddle strap and when Harriett activated the hidden serial key the frightful penis cage became a perpetual token of his mistress' regard.

Harriett didn't keep him in suspense for a moment longer than necessary. Satisfied that everything was exactly right, she touched the appropriate pad on the remote to dispense a taste of the excruciating electrical punishment she could mete out to him whenever the whim to do so came over her. So was his response, she just had to repeat the message, adding to worthwhile it a complimentary discharge from the various electrical terminals festooning the barrel of his bum-distending anal dildo.

By this stage of events, Alexander had totally lost control. He was making a terrific noise. His barbelled boobs bounced. His tongue had turned purple. Tears cascaded down from his bloodshot, lensed eyes. His shrieks and moans, grunts and cries, though completely unintelligible, made a sweet symphony for Harriett's appreciative ear. There was something about the wielding of absolute power that made a girl feel wonderful!

Harriett stared engrossed at the twisting, writhing, jerking carcass. The glossy rubber chastity harness fairly gleamed in the even, artificial light, doing a tremendous job of crushing his slender waist to minuscule proportions and grinding his defenceless, tortured testicles back into his groin. I as a perfect imitation of a deeply implanted punishment dildo, Camouflaged nothing left to contradict the very feminine contours of the there was doomed creature.

"Would you like me to give you a little time to get comfortable?"

Understandably, Harriett got the impression that her pet wasn't paying proper attention to her question. Foolish fellow. So she had to dispense another six cuts with the whippy whalebone cane. She wondered what his dildo-bloated buttocks thought of his irresponsible attitude.

Undaunted, Harriett tried again, in her most reasonable tone.

"Pet, I do wish you'd pay more attention. I will be very angry with you if you don't perk up. Things are a little unpleasant at the moment but I'm sure you're going to get used to it. Who knows - perhaps one day you'll learn to enjoy it!"

At least, Harriett reckoned, she had his attention now, even if her assurances had not entirely convinced him.

"That's more like it," she said encouragingly. "It won't help to be petulant. I want you to take a positive approach to your future. By the time I've licked you into shape, darling, you'll be the cutest, cuddliest bitch-pet in the country!"

Harriett wasn't sure how much of this information was being digested but if a renewed flood of tears and another futile, helpless burst of squirming and moaning meant what she thought they did, then poor Alexander was at last beginning to realise the full extent of his misfortune.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" Harriett enquired kindly. "Are you tying to express your gratitude? Is that it? Of course!" How the excited tormentress relished the situation. How she thrived on it! The power! The enormously erotic pleasure she derived from her pet's introduction to endless suffering!

"I know you must be curious to find out why your hands and feet were amputated," she intoned calmly.

Standing by the panel which controlled Alexander's automated disciplineenvironment, Harriett released the manacle which gripped the stump of his right ankle.

"It's simple, really! You don't need them anymore, and I don't want them to get in the way when I change the conformation of your limbs." Harriett shook her head. Alexander wasn't paying any attention at all. He seemed preoccupied with the state of his genitals. Oh well! She would just go ahead and show him what she meant.

A series of four, very thin rubber straps doubled up his twitching right leg. crushing the calf hard into the thigh. The auto-seal unit generated enormous tension before Harriett was satisfied and ordered the straps sealed. The spur- lined rubber gouged ferociously into his flesh, implacably imprisoning his mutilated leg in an inescapable, agonising, vise-like grip. The next step was more delicate so Harriett manually directed the auto-sealer to squeeze a glossy, white rubber sheath over his tortured, shortened hind leg. It was formed from the same coated, stiff neoprene as his murderous genital harness. The pressure generated against his impossibly compressed flesh was so intense that the carefully customised sheath completely homogenised the outline of his hind leg, from his groin down to his knee. One look at the inhumanly tight rubber was enough to know it was never coming off! 

"That's right, pet. I'm about to do your other leg in a moment."

The sturdy suspension frame restricted Alexander's protests to a feeble flailing of his truncated, tormented limb and the frantic moaning and screaming he was so good at. A neatly recessed steel D-ring on the inner face of the terrible sheath, down near his modified knee-joint, provided the means to secure a steel cable and return the tormented limb to its familiar, widespread posture.

Aware of the fate about to befall his left leg, Alexander put up a bit more of fight but this merely amused his tormentress. The result was never in doubt! Harriett checked for symmetry before returning to the control panel and activating the universal mounting which rotated the frame through 180° to suspend Alexander upside down and ready to receive the matching rubber sheaths which would transform his disfigured arms into cropped fore legs. The law of gravity was responsible for the relaxation of the tension on his boob-shackled tongue, allowing him to increase the variety and volume of his hoarse, despairing screams. There was even a garbled word or two lost in the din of his forlorn distress. Viewed from this angle, it was impossible to imagine the rubber coated pole sprouting from his crushed groin as anything other than a regulation punishment dildo.

Harriett wisely decided to dispense a savage electrical shock as a warning for her pet to behave. He must have got the message because Harriett met almost no resistance when she sealed four spiked rubber straps into his hairless flesh, grinding a forearm into a biceps until the rubber disappeared. The auto-seal unit, with Harriett at the helm, laboriously inched the crippling rubber sheath into position, consuming his tortured limb all the way to the shoulder.

Alexander's smoothly streamlined fore leg was clipped to a steel cable and stretched taut before Harriett went to work encasing the remaining limb. It was a very satisfying sight to see her handiwork completed.

"There we go, pet," she said pleasantly, rotating the suspension frame another 180°, and keeping her eye on his voluptuous, barbelled titties as the law of gravity did its work again and dragged his eyeleted, boob-shackled tongue out to its full extension.

Alexander was quite a sight. His tortured torso sprouted four amorphous, truncated, rubber-crushed limbs as well as a shaven, multi-ringed skull. The amazing creature would be able to move its fore and hind legs at their junction with his torso, albeit with a great deal of difficulty, but every other surviving bone, muscle and sinew in his diabolically sheathed limbs had been rendered absolutely and agonisingly lifeless.

Harriett ran her fingers gingerly across the superbly taut rubber, relishing the vibrations emanating from the inhumanly compressed flesh within. The erotic satisfaction was so intense that she needed only the lightest caress of a leather gloved finger to release her pent-up passion. She sighed wantonly, booted legs tingling with excitement.

"Give me a couple of minutes to clean up this mess," she gasped at last, "and then I'll see about getting you out of that frame. I'm sure you can. hardly wait for a chance to stretch those legs!" Try as she might, Harriett couldn't restrain the almost childish giggle which accompanied her friendly invitation. Self control, Colonel, she admonished herself silently. Don't go and spoil the moment.

It took a few minutes to tidy the cell and stow away the auto-seal, and another minute or two for Harriett to freshen up.

"Down you go, darling," she purred, lowering Alexander's achingly strung carcass to the ground. Nimbly dodging his spasming, jerking stumps, Harriett nipped in and released the four steel cables from their mountings on the inside surfaces of his cropped limbs.

Image 20

Flat on his back, Alexander looked like a beetle, his bizarre, rubber crushed limbs flopping frantically in a fruitless, pathetic attempt to lessen his torment. The wicked tongue-and-boob shackle relentlessly punished him, preventing him from saying anything coherent. Harriett placed a booted foot under his rubber wasped torso and flipped the floundering creature onto his belly.

Alexander scrabbled desperately to take the weight from his enormous, completely feminised bosom and relieve some of the horror of the merci- lessly spiked balls piercing his tortured titties. It was a step in the right direction as far as Harriett was concerned. Since she had decided to show Alexander in public as early as next week, it didn't leave him much time to learn not to make a fool of himself!

"I'm going to get a bite to eat, pet," she advised him. "I'll be back in an hour or so and I do hope to see you standing on all fours." Harriett fastened a short steel cable to the embedded ring in the top of his skull on the off chance he might manage to get mobile and decide to wander. 

"Don't go away, will you pet," she chuckled.

On that positive note, Harriett left him to soldier on in her absence, activating the electronic locking system to secure his prison from prying eyes.

Ravenous, Harriett ate in her office, enjoying the 24-hour femlon maid service provided for all senior staff at RADC-61. She topped off the fine meal with the pair of abused femlons pegged to her office wall. It was their second outing for the day. One skilled, nimble tongue after the other did its best to please their dread commandant's demanding, drooling pussy. Somehow, in the warm and comforting glow of complete sexual satisfaction - and with the memory of a desperate bitch-pet vainly trying to ease the agony in its barbelled boobs - her anxiety had evaporated!

܀܀܀

CHAPTER NINE

BELLE

Belle understood there was something odd about her name but she couldn't remember what it was. She didn't like to dwell on the thought because more than a few seconds of concentration made her unhappy. Memories of bygone days were vague and sketchy, and any attempt to focus on them brought on the same brain was heart-breaking dismay. Belle knew that some hidden sense in her warning her to fight the oppressive sadness but, as the warnings became fainter with each passing day, she spent more and more time revelling in the immediate and physical pleasures of her pony-girl world. 

The first days she could remember clearly were very confusing. Her little brain had struggled hard to reconcile the terrible discomfort of living inside a fully equinised body with the soothing, emotional contentment which overwhelmed her the instant a protest was received from a tormented nerve or sinew. The disturbing phenomenon was such a constant muscle, presence in her life that its very familiarity had done more than anything else to gradually readjust her thought patterns towards unquestioning acceptance.

Recollecting her initial impression of the metamorphosis which had trans- formed her into an extraordinary pony-girl was the oldest thought she could sustain without anguish. It was a favourite thought. In spite of the continuous bombardment of her senses from every corner of her starkly restructured body, Belle had been captivated by her reflection in the huge mirror. It didn't seem to matter that she ached everywhere, and that her body had been completely dehumanised in the pursuit of pony-girl excellence. It seemed perfectly reasonable that her armless torso was bent sharply at right angles to her powerful legs. The flowing mane sprouting boldly from the centreline of her otherwise smooth skull, the cute pony-ears, the graceful arch in her elongated neck; all these features did their bit to make her face prettier than ever. Even the jaw splitting thing in her mouth couldn't dim the glow of joy in her heart. Something in her throat stopped her from breathing with her mouth but her nasal passages were clear and air flowed readily through them. Her natural reaction was to primp and preen but she couldn't get the movements right. The urge to clench her huge haunches so she could watch the fluent motion of her magnificent, billowing tail was irresistible. Those terrible spasms pulsing through her bottom were a secondary, if very uncomfortable, consideration.

Her first exploratory trot around the perimeter of the cell helped tremen- dously in developing a revised set of fine motor controls to regulate and co- ordinate the movement of her long legs. There was nothing she could do to influence the flop-slap jiggling of her gigantic pony-tits so she didn't try. The compulsive notion which drove her restlessly in a continual circuit kept her mind from succumbing to the serious complaints emanating, in particular, from her genitals, nipples and mouth and to a lesser extent from just about everywhere else.

Belle had no idea of the number of revolutions she'd completed - it never occurred to her to count them - before her exercise was interrupted by the appearance of two uniformed, unsmiling guardians. Just how she knew they were her guardians escaped the grasp of her dazed, overloaded brain. The instant wave of anxiety flushing her body was followed by an intense desire to please them. Belle shook her head in puzzlement when the words from the nearer guardian reached her only as garbled noise. A distant alarm sounded from the inner depths of her being, warning that her failure to understand speech meant something was seriously wrong. But the warning would not persist in the face of her urgent need to demonstrate a willingness to please. 

The proffered leash was a message she could understand and she immediately trotted towards the outstretched hand and trustingly pushed her ringed nose into it. Elated by the approval of her guardians, Belle diligently trotted along behind, content just to be in their company. Glimpses of dozens of pony-girls in the paddocks and corrals bordering her route reassured her that all was well, although none - she noted with pride - were as fine as herself! The memory of her first gallop still filled her with wonder. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do when the leash was unsnapped. A flick across the haunches and some unmistakable sign language told her to put the to good use. Instinctively, Belle knew she had to gallop. Clumsy at paddock first, the pony-girl persevered for lap after lap until at last her powerful legs caught the rhythm in her mind and she fairly flew across the verdant It wasn't very long at all before the warmth in her straining muscles pasture. turned into the ecstatic radiance of exquisite sexual satisfaction. Belle's heart as wave after wave of rolling orgasm flushed through her loins, her pounded steel disciplined nipples and clitoris the epicentres of her pleasure. She understood now why her pussy and pony-tits were so intricately tormented -how else could they be so wonderfully receptive?

Several laps after getting into stride, Belle realised she did have some control over her bouncing, bounding pony-boobs. It was simply a matter of delicate nudges with her torso. If she got the timing just right, the pendant melons danced about in unison. Such coordination didn't lessen the weighty burden but it did improve her appearance and that made her very happy.

Belle didn't concern herself with time so it seemed only a matter of moments from the start of her exhilarating orgasm cycle until she spotted her guardian, again proffering the nose leash. Belle braked to a halt as quickly as she could, ruefully curtailing the thrilling stream of endless orgasm. Compensating for the physical disappointment was another rush of intense longing to please and obey her guardian.

Longing became something akin to adoration when her benevolent guardian gently stroked and caressed her skull and pony-tits. Belle was swamped by the feelings of gratitude which washed over her, sublimating even the piercing pain from her many discipline systems. The brevity of those soothing ministrations did not lessen her thankfulness and it was with a spring in her step that she followed happily wherever the tension on her nose leash led.

Belle wished she could understand the strange noise that she knew was speech but the gulf between pony-girls and their guardians must be too wide for that sort of communication. She was led into a huge building, the clip- clop of her metal shoed pony-hoofs on the stone-flagged floor echoing loudly throughout the empty hallways. Secure under the control of her guardian, Belle paid little attention to her surroundings.

When she realised her guardian wanted her to back into the station, Belle obeyed as willingly as she could. The tell-tale click of tight steel manacles around her ankles stopped her progress. Moments later, spring driven cables stretched her pony-tits to the floor and her ringed nose to the ceiling.

The unexpected sears of pain from those tender, tortured organs brought on a moment of fearful panic, followed almost immediately by the comforting warmth of extreme contentment. Belle had been given the first inkling that, for a pony-girl, emotional security could always be found in the embrace of implacable bondage.

Once Belle understood the purpose of the tubes pushed into her mouth and bottom, she waited patiently for them to complete their tasks. If the pulsing motion in her oesophagus was disconcerting, the swirling, broiling action taking place in her bottom was painfully abrasive, to say the least. She did know she wanted to be clean.

It was only a short walk from the maintenance station to her stable. She was urged into the narrow confines until her nose ring touched a waiting snap-latch on the railing at the far end. Her guardian secured the spring-taut connection before bending down to lift up her left ankle until somehow it became locked to her steel disciplined clitoris. Crane as she might, Belle didn't have the flexibility in her neck to see any part of her body without the aid of a mirror. It wasn't until a day later when she was given the leisure to preen in front of a mirror for more than an hour that she realised a steel ring was implanted into the inside of each ankle and this was how her demanding pussy-hobble was enforced.

Forewarned by her experience in the maintenance station, Belle was pre- pared for the inflexible severity of her pony-tit bondage. Stretched agonisingly out to each side, her tensioned, tormented melons kept her perfectly aligned in the centre of the stable. For a while there was stiff competition for the attention of her thoughts between the grotesque burden of pain inflicted on so many parts of her body and the calming knowledge that her terrible bondage and suffering were essential for her development and survival as a proper pony-girl. In the end she chose the comfort of complete submission to her fate. Nor did she forget the treasured memory of the mighty orgasms which had saturated her senses earlier in the day. She could only dream that she would get another chance soon.

Belle slept in fits and starts, the physically distressing nature of her confinement waking her almost before she nodded off. Occasionally she would find fragments of old memories in her mind but any attempt to expand upon them immediately brought on the emotional grieving she dreaded. She infinitely preferred the solace which came to her whenever a positive, pony- girl thought entered her mind.

With the dawn came the surprising revelation that she was hardly tired at all, notwithstanding the pitifully few scraps of sleep she'd snatched. There was also a spark of pride that she had endured the dire ordeal of her gruelling pussy-hobble without any thought of complaint.

The day began with an early morning visit to the maintenance station, under the control of a new guardian. Refreshed and cleansed, Belle found herself taken to a grooming chamber, a room much larger than her tiny stable. To her delight, there were mirrors everywhere and nobody seemed to mind at all that she preened herself in them whenever she got the chance. Her young guardian laughed often at her antics and Belle took this as a sign of approval, To keep her still while her mane and tail were combed, and her dapple-grey pony-hide brushed till it shone, Belle was nose tethered to a waist-high post in the centre of the room. She was very careful not to get in the way while she was groomed. The experience was wonderful, particularly when it came to the massaging of her enormous pony-tits and the vigorous brushing of her curvaceous haunches. There was even temporary relief for her aching jaws and distended tongue when her guardian removed the steel fork from the four eyelets and relaxed the extreme tension on her barbed mouth brace. A previous inspection had confirmed that the cruelly barbed brace was permanently implanted into her gums. Belle loved the all too brief massaging of her pretty head. When the time came, she co-operated as best she could to re-establish her exacting mouth discipline.

Belle wished she was able to understand what her guardian was saying to her but it was not to be. Pony-girls didn't talk, she knew that, so why should they need to understand? Certainly, her guardians didn't seem concerned by her confusion. Grooming complete and her nose tether released, Belle found herself with the luxury of a few minutes to admire her reflection while her guardian looked on, a smile on her face. She revelled in the attention, tossing, her mane and swishing her tail through exaggerated arcs.

When Belle spied the nose leash she guessed it was time to go and so she scurried over and nuzzled her face against her guardian's proffered hand. This time her destination was a sand-strewn, fenced enclosure, empty save only for a central carousel supporting eight hinged arms. A bright, cloudless sky made the sand shimmer. Uncertain what was expected, Belle quietly watched her guardian do something to the nearest carousel arm. A rigid steel cable descended to the height of a pony-girl's head and the device attached to the end was unmistakable. Belle snorted her understanding and inched forward until her disciplined mouth touched the peculiar steel bit. Her trailing nose leash got in the way, to the amusement of her guardian, but that was quickly taken care of. The hellish, barbed steel brace filling Belle's mouth engaged the jaws of the bit, straining back the corners of her lips into a mirthless grimace. The tension steadily increased, stopping only when Belle was sure her tender flesh was about to tear. A reassuring pat on the skull disarmed her fears.

Image 21

With her head immobilised by the grip of the savage bit, Belle could do nothing but stare straight ahead, her field of vision considerably restricted. She didn't see what her guardian did to set the carousel in motion but the sudden jerk on her steel filled mouth was all the encouragement she needed to begin walking in pursuit of the revolving arm.

It was no effort at all to keep up the pace - only a little awkward to avoid putting undue strain on her long, graceful neck - and after completing three or four laps, Belle found herself wishing the machine would go faster. Things did change, but not at all as Belle expected.

A stinging electric shock pulsed through all of her most sensitive tissue, startling her out of her complacency and setting her pony-girl body alight. More shocks followed in rapid succession and, terrified that she had made some dreadful mistake, it was some time and dozens of jolts later that she realised the stimulus was coincident with every hoof-beat. What did it mean? Was she expected to live with incessant electrical agony or was her guardian trying to teach her something? With no guidance to help her, Belle had to resolve the dilemma for herself, all the while contending with the distraction of merciless attack by hidden electrodes.

To her great relief, she eventually solved the problem. The discharging electrodes were vigilant arbiters of her pony-girl gait and anything less than a perfect, high-knee prance earned her another dose of discipline. In no time at all, Belle learned to lift her powerful thighs all the way up to the horizontal before driving them earthward again, always careful to avoid contact between her knees and her enormous, bouncing pony-boobs. Overjoyed that she at last understood the reason for her excruciating punishment, the stunning pony-girl pranced fanatically around the ring, proudly making sure that every step met with the approval of her electronic monitors, and with something to spare!

Neither her exuberance nor her enthusiasm waned as the sun marched steadily. across the sky and morning became noon, then afternoon and finally dusk. In all that time the carousel kept turning with only an occasional change in speed to vary the precision length of each pony-girl prance. Belle required was not to gallop so her muscle tissue was never quite extended to the point where the magic transformation occurred that would propel her into perpetual orgasm. Fortunately, her muscles did do enough work to a maintain steady buzz of sexual stimulation. She marvelled at the exceptional stamina of her long, shapely legs and the tremendous reserves of power and energy she knew were stored there, just waiting to be unleashed.

A very few stumbles were the only occasions she earned the rebuke of the ever-watchful electrodes and by the time Belle had finished that training session on the carousel, she had more than mastered her first lesson. 

Leading her back to the stable was the same young woman who had exercised her the day before. It was almost dusk. Belle was glad to see a friendly face. Knowing how a pony-girl was expected to prance, s she valiantly persisted with the high-stepping gait all the way back, fully aware that her electronic sentinels were stood down. Indeed, from that day on - whenever she could - she moved with a flawless, prancing rhythm.

The visit to the maintenance station presaged the end of her day and, with as little fuss as possible, she was secured in her stable for the night. Pussy- hobbled, pony-tits stretched mercilessly and her ringed nose bolted to the railing, Belle couldn't move an inch, even had she wanted. She reflected on the day's events for while, proud of her ability to prance to perfection for as long as necessary. She wondered expectantly when she would be allowed to gallop.

Belle quickly lost count of the days. Any number larger than three made her brain ache. Some days she was bolted to the carousel, always alone, and required to prance without respite until evening called a halt to her exercise. After her first lesson on the carousel, there were nearly always periods where she was granted the pleasure of prancing at the gallop, with all the wonderful fringe benefits that entailed. On one occasion, her lesson did not end with the onset of dusk and she was kept in motion well into the night. Belle was amazed to find she was only marginally more weary for the extended exercise.

Other days brought different routines and her favourite was to be taken to a broad paddock and given the freedom to rush around wherever her mood took her. Of course, this didn't happen very often which made the pleasure all the sweeter. For some reason, her electronic surveillance system wasn't activated on those occasions, not that she dreamed of relaxing her precision gait while the sentinels were asleep.

Occasionally, a day was taken up with a specific activity. Indelibly imprinted in Belle's mind was the morning they branded her. It happened in the grooming chamber. Brushed and combed, the radiant pony-girl- was immobilised by additional restraints stretched thrummingly to her nipples and ankles. Belle, of course, had no idea of the purpose of the glowing iron. Thrust firmly into a succulent buttock cheek, the terrible pain staggered her for the endless moments the pressure was applied and for long minutes afterwards. A soothing rub helped calm her down so that by the time a matching brand was engraved into her opposite haunch, she accepted the frightful suffering with Stoic resignation.

Her guardians made quite a fuss of her after releasing the nipple and ankle snaps - playing with her sensitive pony-boobs and stroking her head and neck - and Belle responded gratefully to their care. Her own attention was drawn to the throbbing brands in her buttocks. A broad circle enclosed a little mark which she just couldn't identify. That shrinking corner of her brain which stored all the old memories tried to tell her what it was, but she held the thought at bay, unwilling to endure the crushing sadness its revelation would surely bring. Another thought, exquisitely pleasant, told her she belonged and these handsome brands confirmed it. Nurturing that belief did wonders for Belle's temperament and it wasn't long at all before she was back to her frisky best, cavorting and showing off!

Image 22
Image 23

Her least favourite days were those when the men came to do things to her. In particular, there was one man with a beard on his chin who frightened her dreadfully. Just seeing him was enough to start her trembling all over. She knew their job was to hurt her as much as they could. She knew also how important it was to endure their attentions with all the eagerness she could muster. Since her guardians invariably stayed to watch the terrible things done to her, Belle tried her hardest to show willingness and submissiveness no matter how much she was made to suffer.

Strung up for hours on end by her helpless pony-tits, thrashed remorselessly with a wicked, multi-thonged whip on both her haunches and her poor pony-tits, punctured by hundreds of devilish steel spines, burdened by heavy weights clipped to her nose, ear, nipple and clitoris rings, heated to boiling or frozen to ice within oppressive glass chambers, driven through point gauntlets of truncheon wielding men and women; all of these ordeals did she undergo - not once but several times! The man with the beard on his chin took special delight in tricking and teasing her, his booming laughter filling her cute pony-ears whenever, in her confusion, she unwittingly added to her own suffering.

Sometimes her guardians teased her, especially the young ones, making her hop, pussy-hobbled, around the grooming chamber under the goad of a neural gun or spring-chaining her nipple rings to her ankle rings and making her dance on the spot. No matter what they did to her, Belle was unable to resent the mistreatment. She was emotionally incapable of such a thing. So the days of her life unfolded as she became ever a more perfect, a more natural, and a more gifted pony-girl. Her world was a very small one and she consummately content to remain within it forever. One thing was missing, she knew, but what it was escaped her. When the time was right, she would recognise it.

One morning, after her grooming, she was left alone in the chamber, nose ringed to the hitching post. Absorbed in her favourite pastime of admiring her reflection, Belle did not immediately notice the entrance of a wiry, grey-haired man.

Her heart stopped, then raced madly! Belle shook with emotion, an exotic concoction of adoration, elation, excitement, terror and peace-of-mind. Tears filled her eyes as an intense need to worship her visitor overwhelmed her senses. Weak-kneed, Belle watched him approach, in utter awe of his presence. The gentle touch of his hand sent raptures racing through her body. He was the final fulfilment she needed! The mystery was solved! 

Belle's pony-ears pricked in amazement!

"Sweet Belle, I've waited a long time for this moment." 

She understood his voice! Her happiness knew no bounds!

܀܀܀

CHAPTER TEN

THE JUDGE

It took a full week for the Judge to clear the backlog of responsibilities that in his absence. Ten to twelve hour days in the office, more or had built up less glued to the seat of the Ellison ZK-2800, were followed by three or four hour stretches back at Loomis Manor. He did have the fabulous Brenda to keep him company during office hours but such were the demands placed on his time that the only relaxation she afforded him was the comfort of taking the weight from his feet - by placing it squarely upon her leather crushed skull! Nor did Alison and Gloria get much use, other than as exquisitely bound visions decorating his study or bedroom. The Judge was a busy man and, for the moment, his personal pleasures played second fiddle to his official duties. Indeed, even the demoted Pommie officer had been handed over to the tender mercies of his major-domo, with a detailed briefing, and nothing had been heard of her since. Pamela would not let him down.

Debriefing the Prime Minister and selected cabinet ministers had taken a whole day in itself, notwithstanding the convenience of a full holo-vid link up. Unfortunately, no amount of sophisticated technology could stop politicians from talking and the less they had to say, the longer it took them to say it. The Judge did his best to disguise his cynicism but there were moments! For a capable man, there is nothing more nauseating than listening to a gaggle of sycophants scrabbling for credit none of them could ever hope to earn by their own endeavour.

Angus Hill was a cut above most of his cabinet and for that reason the Judge kept his thoughts to himself and cooperated for the common political benefit. After all, the Prime Minister was directly responsible for the original go ahead on his TTA scheme.

Another day was taken up with the Greater Penrith City Council. That august body, headed by the gregarious Jolly Jim Tingey, had invited him in person to attend the re-opening of the light rail system servicing the city centre and its surrounding suburbs. He was the guest of honour. More importantly, representatives from other councils would be present and it was the Judge's plan to convince them all to replace whatever antiquated transport system they relied upon with the very best in efficient PGV commuting.

Twenty 16-girl teams had been delivered already, and in three days of trial operations, demonstrated beyond doubt their ability to deliver a professional, versatile and attractive service to the city's populace. Using the refurbished rail lines and a dozen brand new coaches manufactured for just this purpose, the amazingly attired pony-girls made a splendid sight as they trotted smartly down the main street, crowded coaches hitched behind, all 16 pairs of rubber coated legs pistoning up and down in faultless symmetry. TTA-Dural had provided a skilled cadre of drivers and trainers whose main responsibility was to induct a local crew to eventually take over the operation of the system. A disused hover-jet hangar had been cleaned and refitted to accommodate the PGV teams while a modern, femlon serviced annexe was constructed nearby for the comfort of the support personnel.

The Judge knew how important good public relations were to the future of this enterprise and this was the main reason for his and Gloria's attendance. There were usual complement of parasitic politicians but the Judge humoured them as best he was able, sitting through the pompous speeches with never a hint of the boredom he felt. At least there was the stunning spectacle of a stationary coach and team to ogle, all decked out in their finest.

Prohibited from using the chair provided for her - indeed, unable to use it Gloria stood motionlessly behind her husband, thoughtfully shading his greying head with a colourful parasol.

The Judge pared his own words to the bone before declaring the service open to the public and cracking a bottle of champagne across the rubber-sealed, bitted and bridled skull of the nearest pony-girl. The holo-vid crew captured every moment for posterity and, smiling for their benefit, the Judge ushered the official party into the waiting coach while he took a seat beside the erotically uniformed driver. Someone in the Penrith bureaucracy, thank goodness, had a sense of style!

Sixteen pony-girls, deployed in a 4 by 4 formation, are too many to control with conventional reins so a sophisticated electronic guidance system had been installed by which a single driver had the power and authority to demand whatever was needed to keep the coaches on the road. Every pony-girl was thoroughly trained in her duty and, assisted and encouraged by a diabolical arrangement of flesh crushing steel and leather harnessing, expected to respond instantly and bravely to every command. To better focus their minds and energy, permanent blinker straps blocked their vision. To help them maintain perfect formation, long, thin steel rods extended for the full width of each row to which eight, ringed and collared nipples were permanently locked. Supplementary assistance was provided by similar steel rods, these passing between the four pairs of pony-girl legs which made up each column of the team. The sole attachments to each rod were the four sets of pony-girl pussy-rings!

Just for the cameras, the Judge took temporary charge, wielding the long stock-whip as he set the sensational vehicle in motion. Live action was always a worry, things did go wrong, but on this occasion everything went off according to the script. At a lively trot, the Judge drove the animated pony- girls through the packed streets to the raucous sound of thunderous applause.

Image 24

As arranged, he completed one circuit of the Central Business District before bringing the coach and team to a halt in front of the official rostrum. He waved in Gloria's direction. His Number Two wife hadn't moved an inch in his absence and nor would she without his express permission. A small group of interested spectators had gathered around the superbly bound and handicapped woman, admiring the subtlety of her magnificent, devious costume. Now that the holo-vid crew had finished filming the PGV, the cameras were turned on Gloria for a few moments to add a touch of colour to the report. The Judge's wives were popular holo-vid attractions! For report. public consumption, the Judge had clamped one preposterously huge nipple to a convenient mounting on the dais but it was all for show. They had been married for nearly twenty years and in all that time Gloria had never once dreamed of disobeying her husband. The very thought was an anathema. 

Several of the passengers alighted at the same time and the Judge sought out the company of three influential councillors. The rotund figure of Jolly Jim Tingey joined them. They watched the coach trot smoothly out of sight, then wandered over to the recently replanted garden plaza. Councillor Molloy was accompanied by a very cute assistant, in severe yet tastefully erotic bondage.

"Sam, can I trouble you to ask your secretary to bring my wife over here?" 

"Of course, Judge!" Flattered by the request, Sam turned to his girl, bent down and spoke quietly in her ear.

"You'll need this," added the Judge, producing the tiny Allen key needed to unlock Gloria's grinding nipple clamp.

Clara trembled like a leaf as, at her master's insistence, she approached the Judge to take custody of the key. Bent double at the hips so that her wrists could be bolted directly to her ankles, the helpless creature waddled forward. Were it not for a thrummingly tight leather strap, the amorphous leather ball that was her head would have bumped into her knees. As it was, even with her neck arched back to breaking point, Clara's wide blue eyes could barely see more than a yard or two to the front. Just her eyes escaped the constriction of the crushing leather hood. That her mouth was filled to the brim with gag was obvious to, and approved by, everyone in the audience.

A glisteningly taut skin of black leather crushed the voluptuous contours of the young girl while a series of murderously buckled, studded leather straps reinforced her total submission. Perched on slender heels nearly nine inches high, her toes twisted and cramped into an exacting pointe, the lifelessly clawed, leather sheathed fingers of Sam Molloy's secretary twitched in time to her mincing gait.

Clara's prodigious boobs, their pulchritude emphasised by the gouging leather straps embedded around their bases, were included in the leather embrace, as were her stiffened nipples. The Judge smiled. Here was a young man with a refreshing ingenuity. Solid steel shackles were locked through each pierced nipple and, it appeared, each pierced labial fold. Clara's agonisingly contorted bondage posture made it possible for these four shackles to be communally linked by a single steel ring, albeit one about three inches long.

"Allow me," Jolly Jim volunteered, sensing the Judge's uncertainty. "Thank you, Mr. Mayor."

Jim Tingey took the proffered key but rather than stooping down to push it into a clawed grip-difficult for a fellow of his bulk- he placed it on his palm and extended his arm in Clara's direction, never letting his hand get nearer than two feet from the ground. He winked in Sam's direction.

Clara understood the invitation. She manoeuvred carefully into position before making the supreme effort necessary to lift one cripplingly bound leg. all the while balancing precariously on the other. Of course, she had no choice but to inflict searing pain on her fiendishly shackled pussy and nipples. In slow motion, her desperately twitching fingers inched closer to their goal. More amazing still, Clara returned her booted foot to the ground with the same painstaking precision. She clutched the little Allen key with all her might.

Sam Molloy acknowledged the appreciative applause from the small group of bondage connoisseurs. His Clara was irreplaceable. If only they knew! He betted her shining skull with affection.

Image 25

"If you don't mind my asking," piped up Carl Redding, the senior Council. lor for the inland shire of Bathurst, "just how is your girl going to release the Judge's wife?"

"She'll think of something," Sam replied, grinning.

The Judge understood. Clara's ripe bum was the highest point of her bent and bowed figure. Spongy buttock flesh oozed through a pair of prettily framed apertures in her clinging leather costume. Mottling the smooth surface of her soft flesh was the unmistakable evidence of her regular and thorough acquaintance with the cane. Sam and the Judge exchanged a look.
 
"She's still learning," Sam added.

"I hope so," joked the Judge. "Come on, gentlemen. Let's make ourselves comfortable and get down to business. I've got another one hundred big rigs to sell!"

A day later the Judge found the time to inquire after the young Councillor from Muswellbrook. There was always a job in the TTA for that calibre of boy!

Problems came in all shapes and sizes. TTA-2 at Armidale and TTA-3 at Ballina were up and running now while TTA-4 at Ulladulla was ready to open its doors any day. The biggest headache caused by rapid expansion was the loss of experienced personnel, drafted out to establish the new centres. 

Then there was the tricky matter of turning a political promise into reality. He had the authority to build a pilot plant for the production of puppy-girls but, typically, there was no funding. Nor did the TTA charter authorise that kind of expenditure, or not officially. Why were politicians so congenitally incapable of understanding the value of long term capital investment? Congenitally incapable of anything useful, more likely! The temptation to fund the project from his own resources - and those of a select band of trustworthy friends - was compelling. It was either that or another personal appeal to Angus Hill.

Still, not everything was a problem. TTA-1 was a month shy of celebrating its first anniversary and the Judge was determined to make the occasion a memorable one. Loomis Manor was the ideal location, not least because the use of his private residence would reinforce his premier role in the creation, development and expansion of the TTA scheme. Invitations would have to go out shortly, and the guest list prepared with care. Friends, certainly, but it wouldn't do to forget some others. What about that young Molloy? And Smart? Even Callan? There was a women who needed watching!

He would invite D. G. Gord as well, and his entourage. A personal invitation. Not an official one. The Judge was not about to offend ancient political sensibilities!

At last that hectic week came to an end and with it the worst of his backlog. Captain Delany reported to him each day, keeping him abreast of Belle's progress, and very pleased he was with it. Additional reports from the Bell- Dixon research team confirmed his own officers' assessments. It was three weeks since the gorgeous creature had been revived and every indication pointed toward the complete success of the revolutionary induction process. Mentally and physically, Isobel, or KJJ-646, and now Belle, was perfectly prepared to be the Judge's personal pony-girl!

As ordered, Delany and Major Sylvia Andrews reported to him at 8 am precisely.

"Good morning, ladies," he welcomed them, accepting their snappy salutes. "Good morning, Judge," they replied in unison.

"I won't beat about the bush. You're here because I want to tell you personally how much I appreciate the efforts you have put into this prototype project."

"Thank you, Judge!"

The Judge allowed himself a secret smile at the relief spreading across the rosy cheeks of his devoted officers. It must have something to do with his reputation!

"Is there anything I should know, Sylvia?"

"No, Judge! Belle is waiting for you now. I have assigned two very capable cadets to assist you."

"Then what are we waiting for! Let's go, ladies!"

Sending his officers on ahead, the Judge took a moment to relax before his long anticipated introduction to Belle. He went on a brief, informal tour of the nearer outdoor facilities. Overhead, a K Class Hover-jet idled in the landing pattern while another touched down at the receiving station, its transport racks chock-a-block with a full complement of Ringer'd femlons. 

It calmed and reassured him to observe how smoothly the training and conditioning programs ran, notwithstanding the large numbers of pony-girls involved. The smiling faces of his officers and cadets were a sure sign of the high morale within his organisation. Nervous, hard-working pony-girls, with their ringed noses to the grindstone were likewise proof positive that the systems he had developed for their benefit were more than adequate. He acknowledged dozens of smart salutes with a carefree wave before turning away and walking purposefully toward his reunion with Belle.

Jennifer and Sylvia met him outside the entrance to the spacious grooming chamber, in company with a pair of fresh-faced youngsters so awed by their close proximity to him they could scarcely stand up straight.

"At ease, ladies." He looked straight at the youthful, anxious faces. "Who do we have here?"

"Cadets Dorothy Timmins and Emily Jones, Judge." Major Andrews made the introduction.

"Well, Dorothy and Emily, I hear you two are the experts on my Belle." 

The Judge held up his hand to halt the stream of stuttering denials.  

"Don't be modest. I've heard good reports. I know what all my girls get up to!" The stuttering was replaced by a pair of very red faces.

The Judge turned his attention upon the senior officers.

"Thank you, Sylvia. Thank you, Jennifer. I'm sure these girls can look after me. I will call if there are any problems." There was just the faintest trace of steel in the last sentence, enough to warn the officers that there would be the devil to pay if anything untoward occurred to interfere with the Judge's schedule.

The Judge waited until Delany and Andrews had disappeared from view before resuming his conversation with the young cadets.

"I want a few minutes alone with my pony-girl. I shall call you when I'm ready. Please bring Belle's trappings with you."

"Yes! Yes, Judge!" they blurted.

The Judge smiled, appreciating their eager enthusiasm.

Obeying the Judge's order to the letter, the cadets turned smartly about, facing away from the one-way mirrors and standing at strict attention. They were good girls, the Judge thought, as he entered the grooming chamber. Just to be sure, he would examine the concealed vid record at a later date.

Belle did not notice his entrance so the Judge paused near the door, the better to admire her extraordinary, graceful lines. She was balm for his tired, old eyes. Vanity was the only vice her conditioning was not designed to eradicate and the Judge was delighted to observe how much Belle seemed to enjoy the sight of her reflection. Nose-hobbled to the hitching post, the magnificent creature danced delicately to and fro, every lithe step a flawless prance. Those incredible boobs! They were quite the largest growths he had ever seen, capped by astonishing nipples. For once, he had excelled even himself! 

There was a captivating coquettishness in the way Belle flaunted herself in the mirror, swishing her billowing tail and flicking her long mane. Every step hinted at the tremendous power stored in those long, long smooth legs. The rising excitement in his groin expressed his satisfaction. The thought of sitting astride those mighty haunches, spurring those rippling flanks and whipping that delectable, branded bottom played havoc with his senses. 

The Judge was startled to find himself staring into a pair of huge, wide-open eyes. He walked towards her, everything about the non-plussed creature's response to his presence as he hoped it would be. There was no mistaking the poignant glow of adoration in her soft, pretty face, nor the trembling skittishness which betrayed her abject horror of disappointing him. What point was there in keeping an unwilling or unhappy pony-girl? The commercial value of such an animal was negligible!

To calm and reassure her, the Judge caressed her gleaming skull and spoke kindly, quietly into her pretty ear. How her ears pricked at the sound of his voice! Proprietorially, he traced the outline of the brand on one haunch. The Circle-L brand was destined to get a lot more use in the coming months! Belle would never know that her hearing had been deliberately modified restrict her comprehension of speech to the Judge's voice pattern, and his alone. Every other human sound would be so much gibberish.

"My staff tell me you are ready to be ridden. Is that true, pony-girl?" Belle's head nodded frantically, her steel disciplined mouth straining against the obstinate refusal of its oppressor to relax the cruel tension between her jaws. Her excitement at the prospect was palpable!

The Judge called in his assistants. Old man that he was, he was becoming impatient.

Between them, Emily and Dorothy wheeled in a tall trolley, festooned with all the remarkable paraphernalia which would make up Belle's astonishing pony-girl harness.

"Please proceed, girls," the Judge instructed. "I shall be keeping my eye on developments from the vid-links in my office. Use a code-1 override, if necessary, to contact me."

The Judge gave his pony-girl a farewell petting, rubbing her ears and stroking her mane. Belle kept her doe-like eyes on him the whole time, her expression of devotion never wavering for an instant.

By the time the Judge had himself ensconced in the comfort of the Ellison, and the main monitor beaming a detailed view of the activity within the grooming chamber, the cadets were busy securing Belle for her coming ordeal. The Judge grinned. The cadets were more nervous than his pony- girl! The little brunette was it Emily - nudged Belle gently until the beautiful, dapple-grey pony-girl split her powerful legs at a drastic angle so the blonde cadet, Dorothy, could clip her implanted ankle rings to spring- driven floor bolts. Immobilised by the three-point restraint, the cadets added to her helplessness and discomfort by affixing longer spring-snaps to her nipple-rings and stretching out her massive pony-tits as far as they would go. Belle's juicy, ripe melons quivered deliciously.

Eyes avidly glued to the screen, the Judge's fingers groped blindly for the console controls to activate his Brenda. The steel cylinder in which she was squashed rose noiselessly from its silo until her glossy leather head snuggled into his groin.

"Poor Brenda," he whispered, giving her shiny skull an affectionate caress before extracting the brutal penis-gag from her gaping maw. "There hasn't been much fun for you in the last month. Perhaps this will help."

The Judge thrust his lukewarm manhood into his favourite thermidor and was not disappointed. Brenda's fantastic tongue exploded into action, passionately licking her beloved lollipop. At that intensity, the Judge knew he would be dead in an hour! He opened the pussy-talk channel.

Darling, I've got all morning! I want you to keep me going for two hours! A request to the environment control software muted the light, enhancing the stark clarity of the 3-D monitor.

Belle was ready to be ridden and the Judge did not intend to miss a moment of her preparation. By day's end, the stunning pony-girl would know what it meant to be in his personal service. Never one to hurry events that were best savoured at leisure, the Judge had scheduled this session to get Belle into the proper frame of mind for the big day tomorrow. If the preliminaries went well, his Amazonian pony-girl would begin her first lesson with the Judge in the saddle. Both his own very high standards and his national reputation demanded that his personal pony-girl be an exceptional specimen in every way, but in particular as regards the severity, originality and erotic appeal of her bondage. Of course, the commercial value of another popular use- if exclusive and expensive-for the mounting femlon excess was never far from the forefront of the Judge's Machiavellian mind!

The Judge was resolved that Belle would make an indelible impression on all who saw her. It was to that end the two cadets in the grooming chamber were busily imprisoning her soft, voluptuous flesh in the fiendish grip of an incredible, appalling and permanent confection of leather straps and steel. The colour scheme appealed to the Judge. Belle's dapple-grey pony-skin looked lovely in the implacable embrace of deep, maroon leather, all the more so because of the gouging depth to which every precisely aligned strap bit and cut into her body. Every separate, segmented part of her anatomy throbbed with the insidious agony of cruelly compressed flesh unable to find relief.

Intuitively aware of her adored master's sexual needs, Brenda sensed his readiness to fill her throat with precious elixir. The ardour of her passionate tongue stroking upped tempo as her experienced muscles lured the pounding warhead down into her larynx where a delicious milking action stimulated the explosion she desperately desired. The Judge bucked like a boy but the experienced Brenda hung on grimly, tongue flicking frenziedly to prolong the Judge's ecstasy for as long as humanly possible.

Recognising the moment, Brenda released the trapped weapon, took a moment to gulp down every drop, then resumed the patient, tender, gentle licking that would keep her beloved on the slow boil until he was ready for an encore. With luck, she might get as many as four curtain calls!

By the Judge's count, it took a full hour for the cadets to get Belle fully harnessed and another whole hour for the chemically treated leather to shrink to the desired shape. The aromatic astringent permeating Belle's harness leather was identical to the substance used on Brenda's costume. To the Judge's discerning eye, leather looked its best when it all but disappeared into its victim's flesh!

The array of wickedly spiked straps which made up the harness for Belle's armless torso was cruelly oppressive. The thick, stiff cinch which crushed her eye-popping wasp-waist was profusely lined with half-inch long, needle-sharp, glinting steel barbs. The Judge could see Belle shudder as they punctured her flesh to the hilt while the steel rimmed edges ground into her lovely, dapple-grey skin. The cinch buckled creakingly tight.

Image 26

The crotch strap began as a single strip of matching leather riveted to the front of the cinch strap. It divided in two above Belle's widely stretched and superbly disciplined pony-pussy, passed either side of her steel riveted labia and twitching pony-tail, and then travelled separately across the broad expanses of her lush, branded haunches to buckle with merciless severity once again to her cinch strap, this time at the point of each remodelled hip. The cruel, gouging leather sprouted the same density of wicked steel spines, ranging in length from as much as three full inches over her ripe buttocks to a minimum of half an inch in her groin and abdomen. Belle continued to shudder, in desperate agony, pony-tail swishing frantically from side to side, as every barb pressed remorselessly into her body until buried there.

A ventral harness strap linked her waist cinch to her posture collar, itself a masterpiece of fiendish design. Belle's choking, gouging collar was actually four separate strips of gleaming, spiked leather, each one barely half an inch wide and reinforced by six high-tensile steel tongues riveted vertically between them. The extra length of her elongated neck allowed for plenty of spacing.

A dorsal harness strap completed the vicious circle, linking the collar and waist cinch along Belle's spine. The tormented creature's torso had become a veritable pin-cushion! Varying in length from half an inch to more than three inches, hundreds of excruciating, needle-tipped barbs were buried out of sight in Belle's tender flesh.

Conscientious to the end, the cadets checked their handiwork carefully before moving on to their next task. While her prodigious pony-boobs were harnessed for the Judge's pleasure, Belle's torso - crushed and wasped, rwisted and bent, brim-full of shiny steel barbs - was left to its own devices while the chemically active leather went to work, squeezing ever more compression, and cutting ever more deeply. The Judge was fascinated by the tireless, frantic swishing of Belle's long pony-tail.

Indeed, the Judge's fascination was the signal for Brenda to prepare for a second show. A little thrill of delight coursed through her leather embondaged, rubber crushed limbs as the stiffening manhood in her welcoming mouth informed her it was ready to be taken on another journey to paradise! 

The Judge's concentration lapsed as he took time out to relish his Brenda's consummate skill on the subject of penis worship. She was one of a kind! 

The cadets toiled on, unashamedly revelling in the task to hand. They laboured with fanatical zeal to realise the Judge's vision. In the same way that Belle's throat was collared by separate leather strips, so too was each gigantic pony-boob collared with a series of maroon leather strips, eight in all, and every one sporting a forest of needle tipped barbs. Working on one torpedo- sized melon each, Dorothy and Emily started at the top and worked their way down, buckling each strap to the sole position provided and making sure both an equal spacing and a precise symmetry were maintained.

That done, and left to cure, Belle's thighs were subjected to a similar attack. Six more of the spiked torture strips were buckled cruelly tight into each powerful thigh, the highest just below her groin and the lowest just above her knee.

The cadets were finished with Belle for now. The Judge approved of the way the girls sidled up to the shuddering, shaking creature and tried to soothe her with a variety of erotic caresses. Better yet, it seemed their affections had some effect.

Belle staggered when her nipples and ankles were unsprung but reassuring assistance from Dorothy and Emily steadied her for the minute or two she needed to adjust to the terrible bondage burden she must ever endure. Confident that Belle could manage on her own, the girls left the grooming chamber taking with them a much lighter trolley.

The Judge had his pony-girl to himself, or at least her image.

Engrossed by her antics, a third signal went down to Brenda, this one barely ten minutes since the second sonata.

An hour sped by in an instant, or so it appeared to the Judge, and were it not for a high priority incoming com, the single hour could just as easily have been two. Transfixed by the incredible spectacle on the vid-screen, the Judge had eyes and ears for nothing else. With just a nose hobble to keep her under control, he was able to study the fluid beauty of Belle's body movements and admire the stunningly erotic effect of all that creaking, compressing leather. Ballooned segments of dapple-grey flesh blossomed everywhere, creating an effect so awesome that it would be remembered for generations to come. 

Watching his exquisite pony-girl come to terms with her debilitating, deadly handicaps was a pleasure in its own right. Unable to ameliorate her dire predicament in any way whatsoever, the dehumanised creature's only choice was to make the most of her ghastly circumstances. Convinced of the efficacy of Belle's induction program, the Judge was sure his remarkable pony-girl was equal to the task.

He was not disappointed. Within ten minutes of the last leather strap completing its inexorable constriction, there were unmistakable signs that Belle had accepted her lot and was determined to carry on as best she could in spite of it. In appreciation of her Herculean effort, the Judge's manhood roused itself from a state of exhaustion for a final fling inside Brenda's ever-obliging mouth.

"What do you want, Slick?" the Judge gasped feebly. I'm busy!"

"I've got those projections you asked for, Judge."

Drained dry by fevered, non-stop fellatio, the Judge could only curse himself. He had ordered young Smart to get those figures to him as soon as they were available. The timing couldn't have been worse.

"Thank you, son. Bring them up. I want your personal opinion as well." 

The Judge tidied up so that by the time Graeme reached his office the lighting was back to normal and Brenda slotted back into her silo, her throat distending penis-gag replacing the softer flesh-and-blood model. No sooner had Graeme downloaded the data than his eyes fell upon the fantastic, wide- screen image of the Judge's pony-girl. His jaw dropped in amazement.

"Is... is that Belle?"

"Well... it's not Brenda," replied the Judge in a weak attempt at humour, his heel tapping fondly on the gleaming leather head at his feet.

"Is it real? I never thought..."

"Only the best will do, Slick! And besides, as you should know, it's Bell- Dixon technology that's responsible for the anatomical modifications that made it possible. I'm sure there's a bad pun in there, somewhere," he added lamely.

"I have to have one, Judge! I can't believe the body language!" The Judge noted a sudden stiffening in his protege's body language, but thought it prudent not to say so.

"Vanity is an amazing thing!"

"When are you going to ride her?"

"Tomorrow, I think. I'll see how she scrubs up in the morning." 

"May I watch?"

"A busy executive like you?"

"Just for an hour, Judge."

"Be there at 2 pm. Training Corral Eight, if I'm not mistaken."

"Thank you Judge! Thank you very much."

The Judge smiled warmly. "Not at all!"

Both men stared silently at the screen for a few minutes more, absorbed by the electrifying sight of a monstrously mistreated pony-girl prancing prettily for her own benefit - and clearly liking what she saw!

The Judge dimmed the screen.

"About these figures..."

܀܀܀

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CARAFE

The pungent air of expectancy in the halls of Loomis Manor informed Pamela Carlisle's attentive senses that the Judge was expected home at any minute. Everywhere, nervous bondage maids scurried about, checking for the umpteenth time that the great man's standards for the state of his residence were met in full. Striding imperiously from room to room, Pamela oversaw the frenzied activities of the exactingly bound and disciplined girls who laboured without relief or relaxation in their master's service. In the main house alone, thirty fiendishly uniformed femlons voluptuous contours bizarrely enhanced to provide the Judge with a constant vista of preposterously huge, agonisingly bound boobs and breathlessly wasped waists - toiled with faithful, devoted zeal at their demanding chores, all the while aware that the slightest misstep of their pointe twisted toes would earn them an immediate and salutary rebuke from their implanted electrical punishment systems.

Satisfied that the master of the house would receive a warm welcome at a moment's notice, Pamela left the main house by the canopy covered path leading down to the cluster of quaint buildings which accommodated the Judge's past and present horticultural experiments. It had been many years since a civilised person had depended on naturally grown food for sustenance - indeed, Pamela had never seen anything but ornamental trees, shrubs and flowers, and domestic farm animals were bygone historical phenomena. The Judge had some peculiar ideas about the past, and what could be salvaged from it. Of course, he didn't actually grow the grapes he used in Bin 28, the name stencilled on the door of the newest building.

Pamela entered the low-roofed, circular building, took a step across the narrow cat-walk, and looked down into the pit. The parapet extended around the full circumference of the wall, a waist high railing providing security for any spectators standing on it.

"I see you're getting the hang of it, Carafe," Pamela chuckled quietly. The comment was a non-sequitur. Brigette Sommes couldn't hear a thing. She didn't even know her name had changed!

Pamela stared avidly at the creature in the pit, her face mirroring her excitement and amusement. What an imagination! The things the Judge dreamed up! A central pylon stretched to the roof and provided support for a single arm extending out half-way to the wall. A steel cable linked the end of the arm to- of all things - an old fashioned oak barrel! There was tension in the cable, but it was caused by the mobile wooden barrel moving steadily around the beaten track and dragging the arm in its wake. A second look revealed a long, shapely pair of rubber-sheathed legs trudging patiently beneath the barrel, the top of Carafe's lissome thighs marking the junction between seasoned oak and straining limbs.

With the eye-popping exception of a pair of enormous boobs, the only features to break the smooth lines of the barrel were three wooden bungs. At least they appeared wooden. Closer examination revealed the bungs screwed into place and their internal extensions were stiff neoprene rubber, encasing sophisticated sexual discipline and stimulation equipment. The positioning of the bungs made it plain that Carafe's mouth, pussy and bum were plugged to capacity.

A skin of deep purple rubber, only shade darker than the pool of wine grapes filling the pit to her knees, covered her bloated boobs. It was the same shade of rubber that sheathed her straining legs. The pitilessly narrow apertures in the cask through which her ripened melons extruded were responsible for the agonising pressure which brought them to the point of imminent rupture. Aesthetically, the terrible constriction had reshaped her isolated boobs into ludicrous caricatures of giant, fleshy grapes. To extend the analogy further, Carafe's nipples had been collared and trained to resemble sturdy grape stalks, capped at the tips with stylised, wooden spigots. A steady drip of red wine fell from the partially open taps.

"You've filled the barrel already, Carafe!" Pamela exclaimed, a little surprised that the Judge's wine cask had adapted so quickly to its bizarre, exigent lifestyle.

During the day, Carafe tramped unceasingly in a clockwise circle around the pit, her feet mashing through a twelve-inch deep layer of fresh, succulent grapes. A modified Kelvin Porta-6 ensured a regular supply of raw material, dumping ten kilos at a time in response to hydraulic demand. Early in Carafe's training, Pamela had thoroughly enjoyed the sight of those ten kilos raining down on the wine cask, quite by chance, and splattering all over her. It motivated her to adjust the timing so as to hit the trudging prisoner without fail. Pamela could see the humour in her handiwork every time! 

Traps in the floor collected the juice of the vine, funnelling the tart nectar through a small pump into a flexible rubber hose. The hose fed into the pylon and out along the supporting arm from where it ran coaxially with the steel cable down to the barrel. A tiny valve controlled the rate of flow into the barrel. Failure to produce an adequate supply of grape juice, as detected by the valve, incurred an immediate penalty. Boobs, tongue, throat and pussy and particularly her clamped and stretched clitoris - all earned a painful electric shock. Furthermore, these jolts persisted unabated until the flow was re-established to the valve's satisfaction. On a positive note, if Carafe could maintain an uninterrupted stream for two hours, the sophisticated circuitry housed in all three bungs combined to stroke, tease, tingle and caress her, parking an intense and compulsory orgasm! To prolong the electrical stimulation indefinitely, all the mobile wine cask had to do was run. Indeed, on one memorable occasion, the Judge and Pamela had looked on, flabbergasted, while Carafe ran round and round the pit for nearly half an hour! Wine had spurted from the spigots on her tormented nipples! The delighted audience could only guess what was going on inside the barrel.

In addition to the squashed and twisted head and torso of a despairing Carafe, the barrel had room for fifty litres of wine. Fifty litres weigh near enough to fifty kilos and this was the staggering burden she bore with Stoic resignation. Inside the barrel, Carafe writhed naked in a black sea of maturing wine, its flavour inextricably linked to the secretions of her tormented flesh. Oxygen reached her gasping lungs through a micropore down the centre of her mouth bung while a slightly larger channel provided access to her stomach for her once-daily sustenance. Extensive rearrangements to her plumbing allowed a similar channel in her rear-end bung to take care of the messy business.

Making excellent use of Carafe's frantic breathing, a set of pseudo-bellows implanted in her torso pumped wine under low pressure into a tubing system beginning in her armpits and extending through her grossly bloated boob flesh to the flow regulating spigots. The dripping taps were both a signal that the barrel was full and a safety precaution to keep the pressure within below a fatal level.

Pamela used the control panel mounted on the railing to lock the rotating arm to the pylon. Snagged to a sudden halt, Carafe stumbled awkwardly but recovered to stand patiently, the heavy barrel swaying ever so slightly atop the long, lovely legs of its occupant. A second instruction severed the connection between the wine tube and the barrel valve. Pamela engaged the crane which lifted the cable - and the barrel dangling from it - until Carafe was clear of the pit and suspended inside a compact cleansing station. Washed and dried to bring her up to the pristine condition demanded of all femlons inside the main house, Pamela closed the spigots welded around Carafe's remodelled nipples. The pressurised, bulging boobs could only shudder as their terrible suffering was heightened. Pamela removed the extensions locked to Carafe's feet. These perforated plates were the practical reason behind the wine cask's ability to process such a large volume of grapes.

Free of the heavy handicaps, Carafe's feet - twisted into the same, acute line so loved by the Judge and so dreaded by its victims - were called upon to support all of her weight, barrel and contents included. Pamela snapped a control leash to a provision at the tip of Carafe's pussy-bung, gave it a shake, then led the tottering wine cask back up the garden path and into Loomis Manor's private dining room.

Carafe's addition to the Judge's household was still enough of a novelty to inspire stares of amazement from the eyes of diligent bondage maids. It was a meaningful reminder that things could always get worse! Pamela parked Carafe in the station designed to hold her, just behind the Judge's faintly squirming dining chair. The leash was detached, replaced by a single link to a wooden pole rising from the floor to terminate directly below the bottom of the barrel. Similar links locked her ankles to the base of the pole, gluing her to the spot. The pole was oak, matching the timber of the barrel. 

The minuscule gap between the top of the pole and the bottom of the barrel was deliberate. The instant Carafe made the mistake of trying to relieve any of her monstrous burden by resting the oppressive barrel on the pole, a shocking burst of electrical punishment flooded into her pussy, mouth and bum. That lesson took no time at all to learn! The almost motionless posture of the remarkable wine cask did no justice at all to the helpless, futile writhing of the tormented creature within.

The Judge returned home in a high humour. This was the first time since his visit to that benighted land of Poms that he had the leisure to relax in the comfort of his private domain. Notified of his impending arrival as soon as his PGV entered the Loomis private road, Pamela hurried into the driveway to greet him. A serried rank of trembling bondage maids were lined up ready for whatever might be required of them. The loyal major-domo cast an appreciative glance over the assembled throng to make sure the Judge would get a proper reception. Anything less would reflect badly on her and then there would be hell to pay for the foolhardy miscreant!

Image 27
Image 28

The Judge hove in sight before the sound of his approach reached the welcoming party. The beautifully turfed surface of the ribbon-like driveway absorbed the clip-clopping hoof-beats of the prancing PGV. The intake of bated breath was audible as the Judge reined in the exuberant team, bringing them to a halt outside the pillared doorway of the front entrance.

At a nod from Pamela, bondage maids sprang into action. One pair minced to the rear of the carriage and began detaching the faithful Brenda from her dolorous pose. Another rushed forward to offer her agonisingly ballooned boobs to support the Judge as he alighted. Yet another clipped a trailing rein to the offside pony-girl's bridled and bitted head, ready to stable the PGV as soon as the Judge was finished with it. A single bondage maid stood stiffly in reserve.

Pamela greeted the Judge with dignified affection. She could tell at a glimpse his day had gone according to plan.

"It's all set for tomorrow, Pam," he beamed. "Belle is raring to go!" 

Pamela clapped her gloved hands in approval.

"Well... when are you going to bring her home?"

"Soon - I promise!"

"You've got me all excited!"

The Judge smiled disarmingly.

"Then you'll have to make do with that Molly." 

"Judge!"

"I'm starving Pam! What's for dinner?"

"Anything you like, Judge."

"And the wine list?"

Pamela smiled knowingly. The Judge and his wicked sense of humour.

"Bin 28, Judge! Aged in oak, a little on the rough side but with an original flavour I'm sure you'll enjoy!"

"Sounds wonderful! Perhaps you'll join me for dinner?"

"I'd love to."

Side by side the Judge and his trusted aide strolled through the door. Behind them came two bondage maids with a glowing Brenda in tow, en route to the cramped drawer she would occupy until next called for. Disappearing in the direction of the stable was the PGV and its attendant while the Judge's boob- cushion and the reserve took up station as rigid sentinels each side of the double doorway.

All was well at Loomis Manor!

܀܀܀

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE JUDGE

Dorothy awoke to the titillating touch of Twinkle's ring-pierced lips caressing an appreciative nipple. She groaned wantonly, wriggling around to better push more of her boob into her cheeky femlon's mouth. Her squirming soon woke Emily who rolled off the edge of their bed and struggled to her feet.

"Up you get lazy-bones!"

"Where's the sun, Em? It's not up yet! Why should I be?"

"You know! Get that sexy butt into motion. I'll get breakfast. You get dressed. Stop messing about!"

Emily strode into the living room and dialled up a light, tasty breakfast for both of them. She ordered a not so tasty bowl of mush for Twinkle. Taking the mug of steaming coffee which appeared instantly, Emily logged on to the official channel to double check their schedule. She breathed a sigh of relief. No last minute panic!

Dorothy had showered briskly and returned to the bedroom by the time Emily brought in a coffee for her. Twinkle was busy rubbing her dry with a soft, fluffy towel. Twinkle's eagerness to please was manifestly greater since her return from a two day stint as a bonk and bondage toy for Major Hannan and friends. Worn out and exhausted from non-stop abuse, the cadets had allowed their pretty femlon the rare privilege of sleeping between them, unfettered except for a thick double-dildo gag. The grateful femlon had used the pussy pleaser to sterling effect, bringing both cadets to slow and passionate orgasms. In the early hours of the morning, Emily extracted the gag and gave permission for the thankful femlon to wank away to her heart's content. Twinkle had never had it so good - and wouldn't again for quite some time!

Gulping the last of her coffee, Emily ducked into the shower, washing away the residue of another erotically satisfying evening. A willing Twinkle was waiting to dry her off, and start something else if given half a chance. Brushing aside the diversion with a resounding slap to its ample buttocks, the TTA cadet slipped into her smart, slinky rubber uniform and joined her sweet- heart at the breakfast table.

The table and the two accompanying chairs were the first instalment of the FDF designs they had volunteered to trial. Less elaborate than some of the bizarre models found at the Bitch Pit, the pieces were functional and aesthetically pleasing, in a modest way. More remarkable was their conven- ience and projected low cost. The table and chairs were zero maintenance designs, delivered complete with Interlink's patented Serv-Sync system which needed only a connection to a domestic combined services outlet. Of course, an annual inspection of all FDFs was recommended, particularly if the unit had sustained heavy wear and tear. These pre-production chair models were upholstered in shiny black rubber. On commercial release, there would be a choice between leather, rubber or a softer material such as satin or silk. A wide range of colours would be offered to suit any decor.

Emily plonked her bottom on the boob cushion and adjusted the back rest - in the form of a pair of stiff, rubber coated legs banded tightly together - up to the vertical for support.

"Are you nervous?"

Dorothy swallowed a tasty morsel before replying. "Are you?"

Tense smiles confirmed their anxiety.

"We did alright yesterday, Dot... I think?"

"Keep your fingers crossed. At least we've got plenty of time to get Belle bridled and saddled."

"The earlier we start the better."

"Another coffee before we leave?"

"Sure."

Dorothy took the coffee pot from the tray balanced on the rubber hooded skull protruding up through the centre of the table. Taut cables slung between the femlon's gagged mouth and collared neck kept the coffee pot holder safe. Visible through the clear syn-glass of the table's surface were extensions of the cables, several of them, all ensuring the stability of the living table. The femlon squatted awkwardly, knees bent, her twisted toes sharing the burden of the heavy table-top with the dual-pronged dildo filling her pussy and bum and extending down and rearwards to make a third point of contact with the floor.

Emily's eyes strayed to Twinkle's delicious, naked body. The cute little femlon had done her best to be inconspicuous, lapping up her bowl of tasteless gunk in a far corner out of the way. Emily grinned. 

"The cage," she instructed sultrily.

Dorothy nodded approvingly.

"Honeymoon's over Twinkle!"

With a look that would bring tears to the eyes of a blind man, the lithe femlon rose to her feet, wiped her face fastidiously, and dragged herself into the bedroom to return a moment later with two handfuls of brutal steel devices. 

It was a practised team effort that got Twinkle's mouth full of steel and the mating bolts pushed through her pierced lips. Emily locked the cruel nuts on the horror gag while Dorothy plugged the tender cavities of her pussy and bum with steel punishment dildos and riveted them closed. Jaws of toothed steel were bolted around Twinkle's elbows, knees, wrists and ankles, the better to contort her lush body into the dolorous ball it had to be to fit within the Jay-El sphere's forbidding interior. With the help of a whalebone cane, Twinkle was encouraged to hop unsteadily into the bedroom.

Hinged on its vertical axis, the grim steel cage opened its maw to admit the unhappy victim. Another team effort saw Twinkle's slender throat crushed in the egregious grip of the choking steel collar mounted flush with the sphere's rim. Her lifeless limbs were bent and squashed until they conformed to the requirements of the implacable prison.

The Jay-El machine took over. The hinged hemispheres closed gradually, notwithstanding the creaking protest of punished flesh and bone. Oozing through the apertures in the studded steel bands were divers expanses of tormented Twinkle flesh - by erotic design concentrating on the voluptuous expanses of her boobs and bum.

The machine cared not at all for the misery of its prisoner and continued squeezing until its integrity was secured and its supporting arms realigned to permit full, universal flexibility.

Emily gave the ball a spin as a precaution. It was working perfectly. Twinkle's eyes - made enormous by the size of her gag and the contrast with her bald skull - looked beseechingly at her mistresses. Emily responded by blowing her a kiss.

Dorothy gave her a cut with the cane!

It was barely daylight as the excited cadets strutted between the dormitory and the training complex but already there were signs of activity. Teams of pony-girls were hard at work, mostly the popular 2-girl PGV that had put the TTA project on the map. The sprinkling of larger teams was evidence of the increasing demand for all models.

The sole occupant of the vast stable complex waited patiently in her stall, pussy-hobbled, tit-sprung and nose clamped in place. Both girls stared long and hard at the impossible apparition before Dorothy shook the wonder from her eyes and got down to business. Belle's rich maroon harness leather was absolutely buried in her dapple-grey flesh, adding a bizarre and stunning aura to her Amazonian stature.

She had survived the night - logically implausible - and seemed none the worse for wear. Her prance was more precise, no doubt a result of the spiked leather's deadly bite, and there was a skittish feel to her. Nose leashed to Emily's hand, she followed meekly to the maintenance station. She shuddered a lot as the various tubes pulsed into her grossly plugged orifices. Looking on, Emily and Dorothy shuddered in sympathy. Imagining Belle's plight was not something a sane girl would want to do!

A fascination with the gigantic creature's extraordinary, segmented pony- boobs lured Dorothy to caress and play with the massive mammaries, relishing the feel of the throbbing flesh.

She looked at her colleague, shaking her head in amazement.

Refreshed, if that was the word for it, Belle was led into the grooming chamber, the scene of yesterday's dramatic events. Using their discretion, the cadets clipped Belle's nose-ring to the hitching post but otherwise left her unfettered. While Dorothy assembled the paraphernalia they would need, Emily passed the time scratching Belle's ears, stroking her mane and telling her what a pretty pony-girl she was.

"Well! Pony-girl! Do you want the good news or the bad news?" Dorothy asked mischievously.

"Let's get the bad news over with, Dot," Emily suggested, petting the mighty haunches which towered almost over her shoulders.

"If Twinkle could see this bridle," Dorothy whispered in awe, "she'd stop complaining about the Jay-El!"

"So would I!"

The cadets extracted the cruel tongue rod and unlocked the studded steel brace embedded in the pony-girl's toothless gums. Belle flexed her jaws with obvious discomfort. Her nature was just as gentle and co-operative as it had always been.

As soon as the lovely creature saw the bridle in Dorothy's hand, she instinctively opened her mouth as wide as she could to accommodate it. A four-pronged steel pin slotted into Belle's eyeleted tongue, pressing a pair of frightfully large, spiked steel wheels against it - one above and one below. ensuring that, come what may, the pony-girl was going to keep her mouth wide open.

Metals bits deep in the corners of Belle's lips snapped into the discipline wheels and into mountings in the brace. With these in place, a team effort ensnared the pony-girl's twitching head in a complex network of maroon leather bridle straps. It was hard work to get the leather buckled. Only one adjustment was provided for each strap and the cadets had to strain mightily to secure them. Belle's bridle was not a permanent part of her harness so that precluded the use of chemically impregnated leather. It did not lessen the Judge's intention to bridle his pony-girl's head to the limit!

Tooled leather blinkers restricted her vision to line ahead and flexible snap catches added the option to blind the amazing creature at a moment's notice. Shaped steel extensions snapped to the bits in Belle's mouth, projecting down some six inches from her gaping jaws. Corded leather reins clipped to the lower ends of the projections and looped loosely over Belle's streaming mane.

The brutally bridled creature studied her reflection while the cadets fixed heavy, chastened steel stirrups to her tortured pony-boobs. Steadying guy wires distributed some of the burden to the nearest leather boob collars, but most of the weight was borne directly by Belle's elaborately ringed nipples. 

The addition of a saddle to the pony-girl's leather ground torso completed her preparation. The contoured seat snapped securely to a variety of mountings in her harness, positioning it mid-way along her spine. Emily wrapped the reins around the saddle horn.

"What a sight," Emily gasped, stepping back to view their handiwork from a different perspective. "We've done it! And not a single cock up!"

"Not quite," Dorothy cautioned. "Remember what Major Andrews said about the finishing touches!"

"Okay... no premature congratulations."

Dorothy spoke kindly to the stunning pony-girl.

"We do have some good news for you."

The cadets noticed the change immediately. Belle perked up visibly as her grooms plaited dozens of very petty maroon and white satin ribbons through her mane and pony-tail. Spherical silver bells were clipped to her clit-ring and nipple-rings, to both sets of ear-rings, and to her nose-ring. She seemed to like these too, pirouetting as best she could around the hitching post and prancing coquettishly to set the little baubles tinkling. Her pony-tail swished deliberately, setting the satin ribbons to fluttering in its wake. 

"Have we forgotten anything?"

"Not that I can think of," Emily answered.

"Then we call Major Andrews?"

"Tidy up first."

Dorothy and Emily waited for their superior outside the grooming chamber. There was plenty to interest them within.

Belle was absorbed in the Narcissistic pleasure of staring at her reflection and revelling in her beauty. At least this was the only interpretation which agreed with the facts as far as the cadets were concerned. She moved with a beguiling grace, lithe legs prancing. Mouths agog with admiration, pussies damp with desire, the mesmerised girls could not take their bulging eyes from the Judge's precious pony-girl.

"Well done cadets!"

The startled girls jumped to attention.

"I'll inform the Judge that Belle is waiting for him. Wait here. You two will provide whatever assistance is required."

"Yes ma'am!" they replied in unison.

Unbeknownst to the cadets, the Judge had witnessed most of what had gone on. With Brenda egging him on, nuzzled comfortably between his thighs, he had two reasons already to thank for his contentment.

The Judge acknowledged the incoming vid-com.

"Thank you, Sylvia. Take Belle to the corral. I shall be there presently."

Reluctantly, the Judge dislodged the limpet from his dick. A young cadet was part of the show leading a frisky Belle from the grooming chamber and this was over.

No one dared say a word as the Judge strode purposefully from the admin building to the training corrals. An uncouth soul might have thought he looked ridiculous, dressed to the nines as his own idea of the Edwardian gentleman from days long gone. White doeskin breeches tucked into polished, black leather riding boots. A warm red jacket covered a loose, white silk shirt and waistcoat, the shirt gathered at the neck by a ruffled white kerchief. A black top-hat, tilted at a rakish angle, covered his greying scalp. Jingling as he walked were chastened steel spurs, projecting behind his heels into a pair of gleaming, sharp spur-wheels. A sturdy leather riding crop was tucked under his arm.

The Judge was not concerned with the opinion of others. In his own mind's eye, he cut a gallant figure, and that was all that mattered. Reaching his destination, he stopped to admire the scene in Training Corral Eight. The blonde cadet - he had forgotten her name already - stood in the centre of the grassy square, holding a twelve-foot length of leather lariat. The other end snapped to the pony-girl's bridle. Prancing lightly around the circle de- scribed by the length of the lariat, Belle was clearly showing off! There was an unmistakable spring in her step! The stab of affection in his heart matched the rush of blood to his groin.

It was moments like these that made all the effort worthwhile. Here was the living epitome of a thoroughbred pony-girl; a testament to his imagination and enterprise. To what better use, to what greater service, could a creature such as this be put? None - of course!

Entering the corral by the open gate, the Judge walked slowly towards the centre. The cadet snagged the lariat, bringing the beautiful, branded pony- girl to a smart halt. A hand signal from the Judge instructed the girl to release the lariat and leave the corral. Standing alone, Belle kept her powerful, dapple-grey legs quite still and stiff, and squeezed tightly together. She'd learned some good manners already.

Even at a distance, the Judge observed the thrill of delight which surged through his thoroughbred the very instant she detected his approach. Her bright eyes positively popped from her bitted and bridled head. Savouring the moment, the Judge stood at his pony-girl's side and gently stroked one throbbing, taut-skinned haunch. Belle tried to turn her head but a single tap with the riding crop changed her mind. Her blinkered eyes stared straight ahead.

Later the Judge would speak to his pony-girl but for now there was serious business to attend to. Belle's training would be directed by bit, rein, spur and whip. It was a new experience for both of them so the Judge intended to take it easy until they got their bearings. He had studied hours of old vid footage to get the general idea, even had tech services construct a simulator, but there was nothing to compare with the real thing.

Glancing in the direction of the open gate, the Judge noticed the cadets standing at attention there, watching every minute. He waved politely in their direction and received a smart salute in return. Just for a moment, the Judge had a vision of flying clear across the saddle and ending up in the dirt - as he had seen once or twice in old holos - but that sort of things happened to boys and buffoons. Dignified gentlemen like himself were exempt! Nonetheless, he resolved not to get too carried away.

Slipping a booted foot into the nearside stirrup, the Judge swung smoothly into the saddle, relieved to know the simulator had served him well. Designed for comfort since the Judge hoped to spend hours at a time astride his pony-girl when circumstances permitted, the fancy saddle lived up to his expectations. He thrust his feet further into stirrups.

Belle flinched a little at the sudden stretching of her tortured pony-tits, but there was no indication she found his weight too heavy. She kept her pony- hoofs perfectly still the whole time, a sure sign she was coping famously with her burden.

The Judge unlooped the reins from the saddle-horn and tested the tension. He pulled back gently until Belle's bridled head could arch no further. At that point, the intricate components of the steel bit took up the challenge. The mechanical advantage generated by the projecting bit arms magnified the strain on the reins ten-fold. The embedded brace tried to close the gaping chasm between her jacked jaws, only to meet cold steel in the form of the bit- wheels pinned above and below her tongue. The Judge felt the shudder of agony coursing down Belle's neck and into her torso. Curiosity satisfied, he relaxed the tension. The means at hand were more than adequate. He was in no doubt he had the power to insist on, and enforce, instant obedience. 

It was time to get moving. The Judge gripped the reins in his left hand and the riding crop in his right. He steadied in the saddle. Belle knew something was about to happen and the Judge felt her come alive beneath him. He clenched his thighs, pushed down in the stirrups, flicked Belle's haunch and dropped the reins.

A sedate pace was set for the first dozen laps, the Judge concentrating more on staying upright in the saddle himself than worrying about the style and beauty of his mount's performance. He didn't want to send incorrect signals! Familiarity and confidence came quickly so that it wasn't long before the Judge set about explaining to his gorgeous pony-girl exactly what it was he expected from her.

In particular, the Judge used the whip with vigour, certain that a lesson from such a proven teacher would ensure the best results. He was right! Belle understood perfectly and responded by extending her stride into an extreme and graceful prance. There was in no hurry. Ribbons flashing, bells tinkling sweetly, rider and mount walked steadily around the corral, getting used to each other.

Belle pranced tirelessly, well within herself, and before long she was unconsciously showing signs of impatience. She pulled on the bit, shook her mane and swished her pony-tail skittishly. As it happened, the Judge was ready to move on as well and used reins and riding crop to up the pace to a regular trot.

Belle got the hang of it before he did. Gauging by her spirited exuberance, this gait was much more to her liking than a boring walk and she demonstrated as much by her enthusiastic commitment. Eventually, the Judge stopped bouncing in the saddle and went with his pony-girl's fluid, faultless stride. That was much better. He expected a lot from Belle, but a sore bum wasn't in his calculations!

One simple lesson at a time, the Judge taught Belle to start and stop, to prance on the spot, and to switch between a walk and trot without disturbing her rider's equilibrium. Like a champion thoroughbred, she learned quickly, needing only an occasional cut with the whip. Not that the Judge squandered his opportunity. Belle soon understood the difference between an instructive cut with the riding crop and an incidental one, inflicted solely at her master's whim. Similarly, she learned that the Judge enjoying using the reins, the stirrups and his spurs as much for his own amusement as for her education. 

When the Judge spied young Graeme Smart standing in the open gateway behind the pretty cadets, his first thought was to wonder what brought him out so early. A quick glance at the period timepiece across his waistcoat told him it was after three. In all likelihood, Smart had been there for over an hour! How the time had flown!

He trotted his pony-girl over to the audience, reining Belle in with a theatrical flourish a scant two feet away from the awe-struck trio. He dismounted, handing the reins to the closest girl.

"I think that's enough for one day - at least, it's enough for me. Riding is hard work!" The grin on his beaming face belied his words.

"Give my gal a good rub down! She's earned it! Off you go!"

Somewhat stiffly, the two cadets took a docile, proudly prancing Belle away to her stable. After all, they'd been standing there at attention the whole time. 

"Well, Slick? What did you think?"

"Judge! I'm green with envy!"

"I thought you might be. Come on, I'll show you something."

The Judge had that mysterious gleam in his eye that Graeme remembered so well.

Major Catherine Hannan met the Judge at the entrance to the newest processing facility. It had been modified to handle the Amazonian proportions of the Judge's thoroughbreds, his pony-girl elite.

"How many have we got now?"

"Forty-five, Judge. As soon as the fiftieth arrives, we'll go into production. But only forty are imprinted."

"Forty-one Major," the Judge contradicted, "unless this young man refuses my gift of a thoroughbred for himself?"

Shocked into silence by the Judge's pronouncement, Graeme gulped open-mouthed.

"I am inviting fifty of my friends to trial the first batch of production models. Are you interested?"

"Oh God, "Graeme spluttered. "Thank you Judge!"

"My pleasure, Slick. Now for the reason I brought you down here. The induction treatment for these pony-girls is very sophisticated and includes, among other things, an indelible imprint of her intended owner. It takes about an hour of your time and I can assure you the result is worth every minute."

"Whatever you say, Judge! Point me in the right direction!"

"Catherine will look after you. Drop by when you're finished. I have a favour to ask in return."

"Of course, Judge. I still can't believe it!"

Watching the young man walk away with the curvaceous Major Hannan, the Judge could only shake his head.

"Youth," he whispered sadly. "How wasted it is on the young."

It was almost dusk when Graeme called in on the Judge. His innocent face was flushed with excitement.

"I take it you found one you liked?"

"Did I!"

"Splendid. I want you to download a composite holo-vid I have made from archival footage. It describes and displays just about every historical use for which the horse was employed. I need imaginative minds to develop a wide range of different pony-girl sports and amusements. The novelty will wear off without a worthwhile infrastructure to support it."

"Never!"

"I know better!"

Graeme wasn't about to argue with the Judge.

"Get on it right away, Slick. I want something spectacular in time for our first anniversary. Guests are coming in from everywhere - including those Poms - and I intend to make this celebration an experience they will never forget!"

"You really can count on me Judge! I won't let you down!"

"I know that."

Graeme opened a channel to his personal database and zipped the file safely. "Can I do anything else?"

"I'll let you know."

܀܀܀
