THE INTERNATIONAL PONY GIRL SHOW

CONTENTS

1	INTRODUCTORY TOUR	5
2	A VISITOR EXPLORES	12
3	PONY RIDES			22
4	STABLE HANDS			33
5	TORMENT				42
6	SIR TOM				46
7	THE ARENA			59
8	RELIEF ROOMS			69
9	ADVERTISING PONIES	76
10	SHOW-JUMPING		92
11	EPILOGUE				102

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Image 2

CHAPTER 1 

INTRODUCTORY TOUR

"Welcome, Gentlemen! Welcome to the Fifth International Pony Girl Show, and to this magnificent exhibition centre at the heart of one of Europe's busiest cities.

Your entrance ticket entitles you to join a half hour introductory tour by pony wagon. You don't have to, of course - maybe you've been here before and just want to hurry in and start looking round - but it's free, so you may as well come along.

Can I just say, this is the English speaking group. If you'd prefer your tour in French, German, Italian, Spanish, Arabic or Japanese, please wait by the desk. No? Then follow me this way, Gentlemen, and prepare yourselves for the spectacle of a lifetime!

Right, now here's our tour coach, as it were, and this is Frank who'll be driving this magnificent team of four pony girls. Oh, my name's Julian, by the way, and feel free to ask me any questions.

Well, I'm supposed to take ten to a cart, but I see we've got - yes, fourteen. I guess the gates are busier than ever, especially since it's the first day. Anyway, it's no problem to the ponies - it won't hurt them to work a little harder. Just a bit of a squeeze on the seats, I'm afraid.

I'm getting the impression from the way some of you are looking at our lovely team here, that you may be new to this scene. May I ask how many of you have been to the show before? None? No-one? Good heavens, all fourteen of you newcomers-what fun! I am going to enjoy watching your faces as we go through that archway! Well then, climb aboard and settle yourselves down, and we'll be off. Slow ahead, please, Frank!

First of all, let me explain the layout of things to you. There are three exhibition halls A, B and C - which all adjoin. We're just entering Hall A, which is the biggest. This is where the different stables have their stands, and where a lot of the action is. It's also got the bars, restaurants and toilets, over on that side. 

Hall B is off to the left at the far end, and is mainly stabling, but this year has the pony rides in it too. Hall C is on the right. That's where the big arena is, and at the back, the relief rooms. But don't worry, I'll show you all this and go over it so you'll be able to find your way around and be sure not to miss anything. 

So! The tour takes us through the middle of Hall A, which will give you a good idea of what's going on. As you'll probably realise, this show is organised by the International Association of Pony Girl Stables, and it's purpose is to allow stables from around the world to show the public what they're doing and, let's face it, promote their businesses. This year there are 35 different stables exhibiting, and they're all offering holidays or courses, as well as selling harness, and all sorts of things like videos of their ponies in action, training manuals, and pony girl souvenirs.

As you're presumably enthusiasts, you'll know that there are all sorts of ways of harnessing pony girls to pull carriages, and everyone has their favourites. So it's really quite a good idea to come here and have a look at the different styles - and, of course, some of the girls themselves - to decide which stable you'd like to visit. Of course pony girl holidays are pretty expensive, although they're still always booked up months in advance - no wonder it's such a growing industry.

Now this side of the hall mainly features upright ponies, of which there are lots of variations. The four ponies pulling this cart are harnessed very loosely with the emphasis on the glamorous effect of all these coloured feathers and plumes. They have bits in their mouths, but there is no 'bearing rein', pulling their heads up and back for show.

But now look at this pony on display here. This is a German stable and they claim their ponies' heads are pulled back further than anyone else's. Apparently the girls go through months of special exercises so their backs can arch this much, and spend hours and hours on special machines that push back on their shoulders!

See how the bit pulls the head right back and how the arms are stretched backwards along the shafts. Ponies like this can't see where they're going; they have to be completely directed by the driver. And since their backs and buttocks aren't very accessible in this position, they get whipped instead on their tits, from the top, which is really quite an easy and convenient way of whipping. 

Imagine one of these ponies running towards you in fact, they're showing a film of just that angle on the screen there. You just see these tits pointing upwards and flopping about it's quite spectacular!

There's all sorts of things to see here. There are tiptoe ponies, with their feet in specially made hooves. There are ponies strapped in tight tandem, one behind the other, with even their legs tied so they have to move completely together. Not very fast, of course, but quite erotic, with the pony at the back holding up the tits of the one in front with her hands. And I've even seen a pantomime horse trotting round, with bits cut out of it for tits at the front and a bottom at the back!

But on this side we have the 'bent-forward' ponies, which is the most common type, no doubt because it means the cunt and bottom are nicely displayed to the driver, and it's nice and easy to use a strap or a whip on the buttocks. 

Here's a typical example, being kept moving on an automated treadmill. Bent over a bar at the waist, which takes the weight of the carriage, torso kept down by straps from the shoulders to behind the thighs, arms strapped back out of the way, head pulled back, and tits nice and floppy at the front.

Of course, the trouble with bent-forward ponies is that you can't really get them to lift their legs much. That's why lots of people prefer the uprights, which are usually trained to 'high step', making their gait much more pony like and pretty. 

Nicely raised legs at the trot versus sticking up, whippable bottoms. Which is best? That's the sort of debate you'll hear a lot of over the next few days, I'm sure! 

Now as we go round this corner you'll see some 'all-fours' ponies. Some people think this is the closest to the real thing, though of course these ponies can't move very fast. On the other hand they can be kept going for long periods of time at the walk. There's one moving here in the giant hamster wheel. I'm sure it's still hard work, but it's relatively comfortable, so she can probably keep this up for several hours. See how tightly her head is strapped? With those huge blinkers on, she can't even see all the men standing round watching - all she can see is the wheel moving endlessly in front of her.

Image 3

There's always quite a few all-fours ponies on display around here- like these. raised up on a podium - and you're allowed to touch, so it's a good place to have a fondle of a completely immobilised pony.

Well, another thing to point out to you is this area where the mounted stables are displaying. There are only five or six of them worldwide; obviously it's much harder for a pony to actually carry a man than to pull him behind her. The ponies tend to be on the large and bulky side, as they have to be strong, so you may find them less attractive. But of course the actual experience of riding one is so much more exciting, as you have actual contact and a more direct sort of control. 

There'll be mounted ponies displaying in the arena, which is really worth seeing. and also, through here in Hall B, there are the pony rides - which you must've heard about, they've been advertised so much!

To really ride a pony properly, at speed, takes a lot of training, like with any other animal. But the mounted stables have clubbed together to provide some sturdy ponies in a special beginners' harness, which allows anyone to have a little go around the paddock.

And here they are-oh, dear, there's quite a queue already! Probably every visitor to the show is going to want a ride! The poor ponies are going to be exhausted before long, so don't miss at least coming down here for a look.

One thing I'm sure you've heard about which is new to the show this year is the showjumping. There's only a few stables doing it, with specially trained, very strong ponies. If you look in your programs you'll see what time the competitions are.

I understand they're using real spurs as well as studded riding crops. I guess it's pretty difficult to get a pony to actually jump over something with a guy on her back. And I think they fall over quite a bit, and need to be persuaded to get up. I'm certainly looking forward to seeing it myself. Well, as I can see you've already noticed, most of Hall B is taken up with temporary stabling. Just like you've probably seen at agricultural shows, the animals that are going to be on display in the arena or at some event in the stands are tethered up in rows while they're waiting, so people can look at them close up. They're mainly kept in harness, and there's plenty of straw around, which is mucked out when necessary. We'll make our way round the outside and you'll see just how many ponies there are. The four pulling this carriage will be having their afternoon rest here, incidentally, so you can come and have a closer look at them then, if you like.

Visitors are allowed to inspect ponies quite closely after all, they might be considering visiting a particular stable and wanting to see exactly what sort of pony-flesh is going to be on offer. But no public penetration - or any other type of relief for that matter - if you don't mind, Gentlemen. It's one of the rules of the show.

While I think of it, there is a bit of trading going on between the stables, and you might find one or two of the ponies marked up as being for sale. Prices are negotiable, but as you can imagine, very high indeed for a fully trained and experienced pony plus tackle, so please only make an approach if you're a serious bidder.

Well, our little tour's nearly over now. We're just going through to Hall C which houses the main arena. There's a lot of coming and going between Halls B and C, and they've put these extra stands up on both sides of the entrance, so it's a good place to come and sit for a while and see what's going on. I won't go through all the arena events because they're being announced all the time. There are all sorts of displays and competitions and races going on throughout the day. and each evening, at 7 pm, there's the Evening Parade, where you get something like 200 ponies in the arena at once. This morning I think there's an all-fours pony race and then the biggest breasts competition. There's lots of big ponies in the show this year. They're getting very popular - people like to see lots of flesh bouncing around, I suppose. Anyway, I'll leave you to find out about all the events yourselves.

Now the other feature of Hall C is the Relief Rooms. No doubt you're going to get pretty excited walking round this place, and the organisers don't want people to be too uncomfortable.

There are of course plenty of spacious toilets if you're desperate, but your entrance ticket does entitle you to one visit to the relief rooms. Towards evening, you can sometimes queue up to buy another ticket, but it depends on how busy they've been during the day.

Inside there are several dozen bent-forward ponies in private cubicles, just standing there all day getting fucked-or providing relief, I should say. I'm sure you'll agree, when you've been in them, that the relief rooms are quite fantastic. And they have another very interesting feature - but I won't spoil the surprise! Now we're back into the main exhibition area and we'll drop you off near the entrance.

There's one thing that people often ask me at this point, and that's whether there's any chance of seeing or actually doing any whipping.

Well, the answer is yes. There's a lot of encouragement going on in the arena. events, and a lot of the exhibitors have regular training and punishment displays. That's one of the reasons why there are so many ponies in Hall B - so there are plenty of fresh bottoms for the stables to demonstrate on! There's lots of treadmills being used and lots of ponies being kept in motion, and you might if you're lucky get asked to join in with the whipping. After all, they want you to get hooked on the pleasures of pony driving so you'll book yourself a holiday! 

Well, that's about it. We hope you enjoy yourselves, and have a really memorable day. And don't forget to come back next year - the International Pony Girl Show is getting better every time!"

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER 2

A VISITOR EXPLORES

Clive climbed down from the tour carriage, clutching his program and the hat that he'd forgotten to leave in the cloakrooms, and hurried away from the group to a space by the wall where he could be relatively alone. His mind was reeling and he was having difficulty controlling his emotions.

Clive, unlike, it has to be said, most Pony Show visitors, was a poor, unsophisticated young man, whose experience of life in general and things sexual in particular was relatively limited. He was a kind, quiet soul, but had fantasised about tying up and disciplining women for as long as he could remember. Only when he had chanced on an informed article in an upmarket men's magazine had he realised the prevalence of this life position and resolved an inner conflict.

When he had found out about the International Pony Girl Show he knew he just had to come and visit it. Being very poorly paid in his occasional job of plumber's mate, it had taken him two years to save up the cost of the coach fare from his remote home town and the rather exorbitant entrance fee. For those two years he had thought and dreamed and wanked about the show almost constantly, but the reality was even better than his expectations. He had never even seen a pony girl before, except in a few pictures he had collected and one rather poor video. The variety and sophistication of the scene had affected him profoundly, and this only from the introductory tour!

Clive stood by the wall watching a salesman on the nearest stall demonstrating a variety of head harnesses and bits on a real pony girl. His erection actually subsided a little as he calmed down from the initial shock and stimulus of so many new erotic images, but he was still very excited. After a few more moments of reflection he took a deep breath and set off into the maze of exhibition stands with a grin. He had waited a long time for today and was going to enjoy it to the full!

One of the first things he came across was a crowd clustered around a very attractive upright pony, high stepping beautifully on a conveyer, and harnessed to an empty one-man carriage which was trundling along on the belt behind her. Standing nearby on a little podium was her trainer, a tall, stern looking man dressed all in black. He seemed to be in the middle of giving some sort of demonstration.

"Now what you see before you," Clive heard the trainer saying, "is indeed a pony girl, strapped in harness and toiling for your pleasure, but as the connoisseurs among you will realise, as an artistic spectacle, this falls far short of perfection. Perhaps sufficient for some stables, but not for ours."

The man barked a command to the pony girl, telling her to stop running, then stepped down so that he stood beside her. "Now if one of our stable lads brought me out a pony in this state," he continued, "I would be most displeased. Firstly, this waist strap is nowhere near as tight as it could be. Look, I can tighten it by at least two holes! And the strap that passes between the legs - appallingly loose. It needs a good tug, like this - yes, you can tell it's effectiveness by the way the pony winces. This bit strap needs tightening - you should be able to see the bit pulling back severely on the sides of the mouth. And look at the way the arms have been fastened together! They can be pulled back much further by simply raising this strap here a little higher towards the shoulders. Then last but not least, the angle of the torso is not nearly severe enough. Perhaps if a couple of you gentlemen could step forward to help me?"

More than a couple stepped forward, but the trainer didn't seem to object. 

"If you would position yourselves to either side of the pony and push her shoulders back, while I tighten the bearing rein." The spectators, at first hesitant, but soon gleeful, did as they were told. Several male hands pushed at the pony's shoulders and chest, while the trainer took up the slack in the straps that extended from the head harness to the waist. The leather creaked and groaned, while the pony herself was stretched taut - muscles straining, sinews quivering with tension.

"Thank you. Now that's much prettier. And of course," the trainer smiled at his audience, "much more painful." He came and stood in front of the pony, and took something from his pocket. "As a final touch, I will attach these little bells to the pony's nipples. Now this is a bit closer to how we prepare our ponies for driving."

Clive had been watching this little display open mouthed, and was more than a little disconcerted when the stern trainer suddenly looked him straight in the eye and said, "You, Sir."

Blushing, and paralysed with nerves, he wondered what on earth he had done, and could hardly take in the next statement.

"Would you care to sit in the carriage and have a little ride?" 

"Mmm... me?" he stammered eventually.

"Yes, why not. Here, let me help you up."

The trainer was experienced at this sort of thing and knew that to chose the youngest, shyest looking member of the audience created an indulgent, almost humorous atmosphere, and caused the least resentment.

Clive climbed rather clumsily into the pony cart and sat down tentatively. He hoped his huge erection wasn't too obvious to the crowd.

The trainer placed the reins in his hand, and also gave him a long thin instrument with a button at one end and some protruding metal bits at the other.

"This device will give the pony an automated pinch! Use it on her bottom, to get her moving."

Clive pushed the end of the stick against one of the protruding buttock cheeks, and pressed the button. The pony yelped through her bit and sprang into action. She seemed to have a little difficulty getting into stride, with her harness having been so severely and painfully tightened, and so, with more prompting, Clive gave her a few more prods with the pincher until her pace improved. Oblivious now to the crowd, he settled back in the carriage, enjoying his first ever experience of being pulled forward by pony power, and mesmerised by the straining pony's efforts, and the way the tits flopped wildly up and down, their little bells jingling regularly.

It was a very happy Clive who stepped down from that carriage some minutes later, to a round of applause from those who had been watching. He even felt confident enough to pat the pony's bottom before taking his leave.

The worst thing was the painful bulge in his trousers, but that was something Clive would be suffering from for most of that day, and would have to get used to!

On he walked through the stalls, amazed at the sights around him. There were lots of ponies on display, and several training and punishment demonstrations going on. There were also ponies being led through the crowds on their way to or from some event. These ponies progressed through a sea of hands, as all the visitors they passed near reached out for a fondle.

At one stage Clive was almost knocked over by a groom leading a pony quite quickly along an aisle. He turned round suddenly, to be confronted with a bent-forward pony with the most amazing long, pendulous tits coming straight towards him, the huge sacks of flesh swaying from side to side. It was a sight that would feature in his fantasies for some time! 

Another was the pony in a glass case.

She was similar to the German one they had seen on the tour - upright but with her head and torso bent exceptionally far back, and her arms stretched out backwards along a shaft. She was positioned so that the crowds could watch her from the side, from which angle the severity of her posture could be most easily seen and admired.

She was running on a conveyer and surrounded by other gadgetry, the purpose of which Clive couldn't at first work out. As he watched her move, however, he saw that she was high stepping to an amazing extent, and that her knees touched little flexible plates at the top of their trajectory. It was only when the knees didn't quite make it that the purpose of this apparatus became clear. What happened was that a mechanised whip - a five thonged one - lashed down on the pony's chest from above. Every single time she didn't quite step high enough, therefore, she was automatically punished, and thereby driven to make more effort. The case was labelled with the name of the stable and the legend 'Pony Training Machine Model W125'. Wired into the middle of its glass side was a single red button, with the simple instruction 'Push' written just above it. One or two other men were standing by the case, but Clive was the nearest, so, full of curiosity, he pushed the button.

Its effect was to speed up the conveyer on which the pony was running. This obviously made it more difficult for the pony to raise her legs and so she missed the plates more often. The whip thus fell more frequently, which clearly hurt and disconcerted her so much that she forgot about raising her legs - a vicious circle!

After a little while the speed of the conveyer dropped again automatically, but the viewers soon discovered that further presses had the same effect, so the poor pony was repeatedly tormented at the simple press of a button.

Clive tried to imagine what hell it must be to be strapped into such a machine and forced to sweat and strain to try to escape a punishment which was essentially inescapable. And all the time knowing that lustful strangers you couldn't see were standing around enjoying the way your tits bounced up and down, with the automated whip biting into them!

He wondered how long one pony was left in the training machine and how many hours this one had spent in such a contraption back at the stable. 

In fact, as he learned from a leaflet he picked up later, the answer could be as much as four hours a day, when a pony was being trained to high step. The knee plates could be adjusted and started off quite low, but as days of training passed, they were gradually moved higher and higher so that the pony had to work harder and harder to keep her knees up. The machine was such an effective teacher that ponies could be left for hours unsupervised and unseen. If a display case like this one was being used, it would be draped over with thick black cloth so that the pony would not be distracted by anything happening outside, and maybe positioned in line with several others, the ponies within abandoned in their lonely dark worlds of effort and pain!

On Clive wandered through Hall A, eyes all agog, prick straining against his trousers. He browsed at a stall of videos, working out what he could afford, and planning which ones he might buy later in the day.

He bought a few postcards of ponies in different types of harness, and of different events in the show. One showed a team of eight upright ponies on parade, each pair made up of one black and one white pony. Another pictured last year's winner of the 'biggest tits in show' award. These postcards were destined to spend many years on Clive's bedroom walls! The next event he came across in the midst of the exhibition was an endurance competition. Two bent-forward pones, each from a different stable, were set up on treadmills, side by side, and were in competition to see which could cover the greatest distance in the same time - one hour. Apparently the hour was half way through, but looking at the ponies, Clive couldn't believe either of them would make it to the end of the contest. Both were looking very distressed - panting hard and dripping with sweat. Their faces were a picture of misery and panic, and while the eyes of one signalled a desperate appeal for an end to her suffering, those of the other were glazed - this pony was operating on automatic.

As Clive and a crowd of others stood and watched, a commentator explained that each stable was operating a different strategy to get their pony to cover the maximum distance in the hour - and, of course, not collapse unconscious before the time was up.

The pony on the right was being driven forward at a steady, medium pace, thus exhibiting stamina comparable to that of an experienced marathon runner. 

Of course a marathon runner was not running in tight, uncomfortable bondage, nor being whipped on a naked posterior, nor being forced to run against their will, on pain of severe punishment!

The pony on the left, however, was being driven at a much faster pace, but for shorter periods of time. In between sprints she was allowed to walk, in order to get her breath back before the next burst of effort.

These two approaches appeared to be similar in their effects, as, according to a digital display set up in front of each pony, the distance covered seemed to be much the same in each case - about five miles.

Now that the ponies were flagging the whipping was stepped up.

To Clive's further amazement he was one of a handful of spectators given a short whip and asked to help with the ponies' encouragement.

As the pony whose pace was being varied went into a sprint stage, he stood to one side of her and was told to lay in to any area of flesh that was exposed and accessible. He thus had the pleasure of experimenting with both her buttocks and breasts, but ended up concentrating on her legs, bringing the whip down over and over again on her rapidly moving thighs.

The ponies looked so exhausted that it seemed impossible that they wouldn't collapse at any moment. The pain from the whipping obviously worked as an incentive, and a groom occasionally wiped their faces with cold water, but they still seemed to be flagging.

Ten minutes before the end of the time period, the distance was still approximately even, and both trainers decided it was time to increase both the speed and the punishment.

The whips were passed round the audience so that everyone could enjoy the fun of delivering a few strokes, but in addition, the grooms were handed a little gadget which, when pressed against a pony's flesh, imparted a sharp electric shock.

Clive stood transfixed as the two gasping girls were forced to run on faster and faster, being jolted from repeated states of near collapse by harder and harder whipping and more and more frequent electric shocks.

At last, a bell rang to signal that the hour was up, and it transpired that the pony who had been kept at the steadier pace had won - although only just.

Both ponies stood dejectedly legs shaking and chests heaving - while the winning trainer received his congratulations, and the loser scowled and whispered instructions for punishment to his groom.

The crowd dispersed, but Clive stayed for a while, and saw that no effort was being made to release the ponies. In fact, when he passed that area of the hall again a couple of hours later, he saw that they were still there- still looking utterly miserable and exhausted, and intermittently sobbing. They could hardly stand. and their bodies were covered not only with red and blue marks from the whipping, but with streaks of blood, which had mingled with their sweat and trickled down their bodies.

The stables involved knew very well that the sort of men who enjoyed driving pony girls or many of them, at any rate liked to see the creatures in this distraught and overworked state. The fact that this was true was evident from the number of cameras that had come out, as people took souvenir photographs of the aftermath of an endurance competition.

Totally astounded and madly aroused, poor little Clive from the country could stand all this stimulation no longer. He had to relieve himself, and as he didn't feel up to investigating these Relief Rooms as yet, it would have to be the toilets. 

He estimated that it would take him about ten seconds!

Concentrating on following the signs to the Gents, he tried for a moment to avoid getting caught up in all the activity around him. But as he came up to the corner in which the nearest toilets were located, he saw something that took his breath away. Here was an attraction that had a special significance for him, because it brought back certain happy memories from childhood.

It was a carousel! Huge, and beautifully decorated, with music playing from an organ in the centre - just like those he remembered. Only this one was so much better, because in place of the familiar wooden horses were real pony girls, strapped and tethered to the structure of the ride in an amazing variety of ways. 

Some were bent-forward ponies strapped to carriages, and these actually had to run around as the carousel turned, moving along the ground in little cut out areas. It wasn't quite clear whether their efforts were actually turning the whole thing; Clive decided not, from the way they seemed to be rushing to keep up with the speed, rather than looking as though they were pulling. There were also a variety of ponies affixed to the platform; some all-fours, with saddles on their backs, some uprights, standing with one leg hooked over a bar and thus permanently in a 'high step' position, and some, rather strangely, draped horizontally over real models of wooden horses, so that their backs formed a seat for the rider. These latter were actually being moved up and down on poles, to give a real flavour of a conventional carousel.

Clive stood and watched the carousel go round for some time, trying to decide - like a child - which pony he would choose for his ride. He was very tempted by the horizontal ones that you sat on, and had more or less decided to go for this when one bent-forward pony and cart, towards the inside of the roundabout, caught his eye.

The small black carriage was completely enclosed apart from a window high up. through which the head of the occupant could be seen. But it was unusual in that it seemed to be designed so that it enclosed the pony's bottom. While she was clear from the waist forward and from the thighs down, her upthrust rear end was out of sight, jutting through a hole into the carriage.

Clive got himself into position, and when the carousel next stopped, hurried forward and jumped into the enclosed carriage as soon as the previous-broadly grinning-occupant had emerged. Closing the door quickly, he found himself, as he had suspected, with the pony's bottom protruding through the hole right in front of his knees. As the only window faced forwards, he was screened from the watching crowds and thus had some degree of privacy.

As he gleefully began to pat and fondle the pony's rump, he found it all wet and sticky. If there had been any doubt in his mind about the possibilities of this little ride, they were dispelled now. The carriage had obviously been designed specifically for people to be able to wank over the pony's bottom as she ran, in near seclusion.

The music started and the pony moved forward, buttocks bouncing as she kept up with the increasing speed. Clive knew he was so close, he left it a while, then, as the pony seemed to have reached maximum speed, he spanked and squeezed her bum a little, before beginning to pull on his poor, overcharged cock.

So Clive never made it to the toilets after all. He deposited his first load of spunk for the day on the already dripping and slippery arse of the pony in the roundabout, who pounded on, round and round in a little circle, tears running down over one set of cheeks and spunk running down the other!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER 3 

PONY RIDES

Ginger had the misfortune of being a mounted pony, and a tall, sturdy one at that.

She had started her life as a pony pulling carriages, but her particularly long limbs and strong, firm body had come to the attention of one of the mounted stable entrepreneurs a couple of years ago, and since then she had been subjected to the most appalling fitness regime and spent many miserable hours being ridden, until she was trained to perfection.

Her present duties, however, did not call so much on her finely tuned skills of balance and agility rather they depended on her strength and endurance. For Ginger was to spend the entire period of the show (four days) - in sessions of three hours with one hour's rest between them in the Pony Rides paddock, with twenty or so of her fellows.

Three of the other ponies she knew, while the rest were strangers, but there was little opportunity to even exchange a sympathetic glance with her stable mates, because the paddock was so very busy, and because of the automated regime the ponies were subjected to.

This attraction had been carefully planned and functioned as follows. At one end of the paddock were several mounting blocks where visitors to the show, usually after having queued for some time, were assisted onto pony-back by one of a handful of grooms.

But rather than being led all the way around the enclosure by hand, the ponies were taken only a few yards before their leading reins were attached to a moving overhead cable, which weaved a somewhat convoluted path around the paddock, thus providing a ride of standard length and speed to each visitor. In a manner similar to that of a cable car or ski lift, then, a pony was taken to the start of the cable, latched into place, and sent on her way along the same automated route, which took some fifteen minutes to complete. One segment of this clever system had been separated and adjusted to move at a faster speed. During each ride therefore, while a pony would mostly be kept at a brisk but not unmanageable walk, she would for a couple of minutes have to break into a fast trot, to give her riders some idea of what moving at speed on a mounted pony was like.

A groom was generally watching over this faster section, in case a pony should stumble, in which case he would quickly rush to assist her and then give her several short, sharp lashes with a riding crop over her legs, to punish her failure and remind her to be doubly careful next time around!

And so it was with great trepidation that Ginger stood that first morning in the preparation room, trying not to shake with cold and fright as her thick red mane was combed out, and her naked flesh was once more strapped tightly into a harness. A beginners' saddle on an upright pony consists of a basketlike structure made from a number of adjustable leather straps, which is worn on the back and attached most firmly to the waist and shoulders. The arms are affixed together behind the pony's back, at the bottom of the saddle, with careful arrangement of the palms helping to take the weight of the rider.

A series of pouches attached to the front of the waist strap are filled with weights, to help counterbalance the rider's weight, and prevent the pony from having to lean forward too much. Weights can be added if necessary, resulting in the unfortunate rule that the heavier the rider, the greater the pony's overall load. 

With practice, and by adopting a posture whereby the bottom is thrust out backwards as far as possible, a mounted pony will be able to stay upright without tipping over, but this feat in itself is always a struggle. A trained rider can help considerably by leaning forward over the pony's shoulders to a certain extent, and keeping a firm hold on straps around the breasts. In the case of the beginners' harness, special handles are provided through which the wrists can be passed, leaving the hands free to actually grasp the mounds of the bust, which is of course one of the most enjoyable features of riding a pony. Big, heavy breasts are the norm, helping with balance, and providing a good hand hold.

Image 4

The head, in a ridden pony, is usually strapped down forwards rather than pulled back, to keep it out of the rider's way, and, again, assist in keeping the centre of gravity as far forward as possible.

In this way, Ginger was prepared, before being led out to the paddock, one of a string of similarly harnessed, soon to be mounted ponies. Double-checking that her head was firmly strapped down, and that there was no give at all in the straps around her waist and breasts, a groom attached a leading rein to the rings on either side of the large bit that had been pushed into Ginger's mouth, then latched her onto the moving cable for a warm up circuit around the enclosure. He walked beside her for part of the way, slashing her thighs periodically to remind her to lift her legs nicely at every step.

Ginger was now so used to high stepping, even at the walk, that she found it difficult to move normally. It was an incredible strain, especially when struggling to balance the weight of a person on your back, but her trainer insisted on it, as it imparted a particularly flamboyant and disciplined look to a pony's gait.

It was soon clear from the increased noise level that the gates had opened, and the loudspeaker announcements began to draw attention to the availability of pony rides regularly. The moment that Ginger and her comrades had been so dreading had arrived.

Taking a firm grip on her leading rein, the groom backed Ginger up to where the first pony ride customer was already sitting on the edge of a mounting block. and gave out instructions while working his mount into position. 

"Lift your legs for a moment, Sir, and slip them through the saddle to the pony's sides. That's it. Now lean forward and grab hold of the handles above the tits. Good. All you need to do now is slip forward and drop into the saddle. Just a little jump - yes, there we are!"

Ginger had braced herself for the weight, but as always it was still a shock and a surprise. She stood, legs trembling, as the groom adjusted the straps of the saddle basket to make the rider more comfortable, and assisted his feet into the dangling stirrups.

As well as the customary pain from the various straps as they dug into her flesh, and the strain of supporting the weight itself, Ginger was bothered by the dreadful proximity of the elderly stranger. His arms were clutched so tightly over her shoulders, and his legs so firmly squeezed her middle, that she felt she could hardly breathe. The stirrups and his heavy shoes were pressed against her thighs, and his coarse clothing rubbed uncomfortably against her naked back. But worst of all was his hot breath in her ear, and his little giggles of excitement as they moved off and he became used to his position.

The rein was clipped onto the conveyer, and the inexorable march forward began. Struggling to maintain her balance, struggling to keep up the required pace, and to lift her knees with each step, Ginger followed the tug of the rein blindly, trying not to panic at the thought of how she was ever going to keep up this effort for four days. It seemed impossible even to complete one circuit! The visitor was heavier than her usual riders, and kept moving around, not helping her balance at all.

She wanted desperately to collapse on the floor - onto her knees, onto her front - and not move again, but she knew she could not stop. If she fell, the drag on the cable would set off an alarm, and all the grooms would be down on her with whips in an instant.

The pony rides had been very heavily promoted and customers had to pay a hefty fee in addition to their show entrance ticket. Ponies had been warned of the horrendous consequences of falling while being ridden - especially as a number of television companies had been given permission to film the proceedings without warning. Once back in her stable, a disgraced pony would be deprived of food and sleep for three days, and kept moving on a treadmill with extra weights on her back until she fainted from exhaustion, at which point she would be revived and forced to continue until she fainted again. At the end of the punishment period, she would receive one hundred lashes in front of her stable mates, which would remind everyone that the one thing a mounted pony on public display did not do was fall over while carrying a customer!

It was only the months of strenuous training that enabled Ginger to perform her odious duties. So she struggled on - fitter and stronger than she herself realised, but suffering every step of the way.

They soon came to the trotting section, and her rider almost squealed with the fun and excitement of moving so fast, and being jerked up and down by his mount.

As they resumed a walking pace for the home straight, Ginger could feel a huge bulge pressing into the small of her back as the rider wriggled against her to stimulate his hard-on. As she concentrated on keeping her balance and bearing the strain, her burden wrapped himself more firmly around her, mauling her bouncing tits and rubbing himself against her back until he actually came, with little grunts and groans of delight.

Sweating and panting the poor pony at last reached the end of the cable and sighed with relief as her rider was helped to dismount.

A queue had formed, however, and within a couple of minutes her next customer was in place - a younger, lighter man, but one who spent the whole circuit thumping her thighs and bottom with his heels, and squeezing her poor vulnerable tits just as hard as he could with big, heartless hands.

And so her three hour session dragged on and she traversed the automated circuit eight times. In a sense it got easier, as her muscles got used to the strain and her mind became numbed to the horrors of what she was doing. 

She was given a drink of water occasionally, and received a number of approving pats on the head, arms and buttocks, which perversely made her feel better, for at least it seemed that she was performing her role as a pony satisfactorily. Then, just as she was sure that her hour's rest must be approaching, Ginger caught sight of her next customer, and panicked.

He was huge! A very fat man with bloated cheeks and a massive stomach. He was blushing and laughing, and declaring himself surely too heavy for a ride, but his colleagues were egging him on, eager for some fun, and the manager in charge of the rides, who had been summoned by a groom, was politely assuring the monster of a man that a pony would be found who could carry him.

Image 5

"Ah, yes, Ginger," said the manager, looking at the ponies available. "She's an experienced pony, and a very strong one. Bring her over here."

Ginger lost control, rearing and bucking in an attempt to get away from the two grooms who were now firmly leading her forward, and whipping her tits and thighs in an attempt to calm her down.

"Now come on, pony," one of them was saying. "You can do it!"

"You have no choice," said the other. "We can't let our customers down, you know that."

Sobbing and shaking, Ginger finally stopped struggling, knowing that it was useless, and that she would have to at least try to carry the man, and allowed herself to be pushed back into position.

The manager, the grooms, and the big man's friends were all clustered around her, and behind them a crowd had gathered which included several photographers and a couple of television camera men, eager to get some amusing footage. With much adjustment of straps, the fat man was manoeuvred into position, and with some trepidation, encouraged to let the pony take his weight. Ginger felt her knees buckle as he sunk into the saddle, and automatically changed position, setting her feet further apart, leaning forward, and thrusting her bottom out backwards. Much of the weight was taken by her tied up arms, as his huge bottom settled onto her hands, and she felt as though her shoulders would surely be dislocated.

One groom hurried to add some more weights to the front of her belt, but this didn't seem to help much, only made her task even more difficult. Fighting all the time to remain on her feet, she was led around in a little circle, the rein rugging cruelly at her head, her rider and his friends giggling and laughing madly.

The photographers and cameramen pushed forward, and began to capture the spectacle from all angles. It was an amazing image; like seeing a huge man riding a tiny donkey on the beach - it didn't seem possible that the animal wouldn't collapse beneath him. Lenses were pushed into Ginger's face, to capture the sweat and tears close up, and several photos were taken from behind, where all that could be seen of the pony beneath the huge bulk of the man were two quaking legs. Those with video cameras concentrated on those legs, which were shivering and shaking so obviously with effort. Then someone began to interview the rider.

"How does it feel, Sir? Are you afraid she'll buckle under you?"

"I don't care if she does," the fat man replied. "I'm just never going to forget that I actually rode on a pony - at 22 stone!"

Ginger was sagging. Surely it had to end soon! Surely they would get him off her, and she could have her break! But then she heard someone asking if they could get some shots of her in motion, and suddenly the grooms were whipping her thighs and getting her to move towards the cable!

She couldn't believe it. They couldn't expect her to do the circuit with this grotesque creature on her back! It was like carrying two people. It wasn't possible!

Even the spectators were expressing doubts, but the manager, finding himself in the public spotlight, and remembering his financial interests in one of the mounted stables, began to brag about how amazingly strong the ponies were, and how a pony could be made to do anything with sufficient whipping! 

And so, before she knew it, the cable was pulling on her rein, and Ginger was being forced to struggle around the circuit once more, only this time making far more effort than ever before. Never had she known such torment or distress! It seemed certain that at any moment she would be crushed onto the floor by this man's massive weight. Her body craved relief; it was reaching the limits of endurance!

But everybody was now eager to keep her moving, and whips and riding crops began to fall on any part of her that wasn't hidden by her rider's bulk. Her tits were soon streaked with red weals; her bottom and thighs were getting more and more bruised. Breathing heavily, she struggled on, blinded by the flashes of the photographers, deafened by the roars of encouragement from the crowd of on-lookers, which had grown even bigger. 

Then the dreaded thing happened.

Ginger reached the fast section of the cable, and borne forward by her own momentum, made one final, massive effort to propel herself forward at speed. For a few spectacular moments, captured on film, and subsequently used extensively to promote both mounted stables and the following year's Pony Girl Show, Ginger flew forward at a trot, the huge bulk of a man on her back being thrown up and down and shrieking with glee at the experience. Huge tits bouncing beneath her riders' podgy hands, sweat pouring off her, and every muscle straining with extreme and very visible effort, she surged forward, the perfect advertisement for what could be achieved by strict discipline and training, for the purpose of men's diversion.

Then Ginger fell. Suddenly and heavily, she lost her balance, her legs gave way, and she sprawled forwards onto the trampled sawdust of the paddock. The fat man, trapped by the saddle and kicking his legs in an effort to get free, was nevertheless laughing hilariously, quite unembarrassed by his unflattering position or the fact that lots of people were taking photos of it!

Ginger lay, face down in the dirt, completely crushed by his weight. She couldn't breathe or move, and felt a strange remoteness. Perhaps this was how she was to die, suffocated beneath a giggling pervert, before an audience of uncaring, overexcited lechers. She was almost past caring. At least now her ordeal was over.

But, no! The lechers hadn't finished! The grooms began to whip her thighs and pull on the rein, and she found herself being forced to try to get up, struggling onto all fours, then pushing and heaving in an attempt to get upright, with blows raining down on her all the time! While she suffered in an unimaginable hell, the crowd roared with laughter, and the cameras kept rolling.

She heard the manager assuring everyone that customers were never disappointed, and that the pony would definitely finish the circuit with her rider, while at the same time, a groom was giving an interview to one of the TV men, providing details of how, after her four days at the show were over, Ginger would be punished mercilessly for having fallen over in the pony rides. Never mind that her rider was impossibly heavy, and that most men, never mind a woman, would have been unable to lift him for a few seconds! Never mind that she had previously spent three hours struggling round the paddock and had been exhausted even before he had climbed on her back!

Never mind that she had had nothing to eat since the previous evening, and that she had hardly slept, having spent the night in a special massage machine that was supposed to make her muscles more supple, but in fact just made her feel as though she had spent hours being thumped all over!

Never mind that she had spent months of training in utter misery, with no reward for all her valiant efforts, only punishment when she performed less than perfectly, and that she had nothing- absolutely nothing to look forward to, except more and more suffering and hard work!

Never mind that the whips now landing on her tormented flesh were driving her to distraction, making her existence agony, causing every part of her body and mind to scream with pain, sending her into mindless panic!

The crowd looked on and laughed, the press got some superb photos, and the fat man got his pony ride, as Ginger lurched prettily on to the end of the ride.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER 4 

STABLE HANDS

It was the first afternoon of the show, and Hall B, where rows and rows of the ponies participating in the various events were tethered, was teeming with men, all highly excited and trying hard to hide it. Certainly some newcomers were hard put to prevent their mouths gaping and their eyes bulging at such a huge array of naked breasts and bottoms, many of which were so provocatively displayed by pony harness.

A small crowd had gathered round one particularly massive black pony, whose stupendous mammaries were so huge that in her bent-over position, the nipples actually touched the floor! At the other end, her enormous buttocks and thighs quivered with every small movement, and on one side of her hindquarters, her name had been tattooed in large letters - Blubberbum.

Her arms were strapped to her sides and she was kept in position by a chain stretching from her neck collar to her hobbled feet. Beneath straps, bit and blinkers, her podgy face looked miserable, but none of the men were looking at her face - they were looking at all the rest of her. Several of the spectators were fidgeting, and more than one came away with a damp patch on his trousers, just from standing and looking at this huge monster of a pony.

Wherever you turned in Hall B there were more pendulous breasts, more slender legs and upthrust buttocks. The visitors walked up and down slowly, taking in the details of the ultra-erotic images they were being presented with, and storing them up for later use!

Image 6

Observing all this activity were two nineteen year old boys, Jim and Nick. They were standing at the end of one of the rows of ponies, leaning on brooms and feeling important. When one pony, whose legs were tied particularly far apart, got surrounded by rather too many men keen to explore her pussy with their fingers all at once, Jim stepped forward with authority and told them to take it easy.

He was one of a team of ten or so young men employed to muck out the stables, and patrol the lines, making sure things didn't get too out of hand. There were seldom, in fact, any problems, as visitors had been strictly warned about the consequences of breaking the rules - they would get thrown out and refused re-entry-but Jim and his colleagues enjoyed being in the position of issuing the occasional warning.

The job of stable hand - or Stabling Assistant, as it was formally known - was much sought after, and tended to fall to those with connections. Jim, for example, was the son of one of the exhibition directors, and Nick was his best friend at college. This was their second year at the show and both had spent many an enjoyable evening dreaming about their experiences of last year, and longing for today's date to arrive. Now at last the hour was at hand, and they were just as excited as the visitors about the profusion of naked flesh on show, and perhaps even more so, for they knew themselves to be in a privileged position.

This was because, after the show had been closed to visitors at 9pm, and after even the stable hands who fed and watered the ponies in the evening had departed to their hotel rooms, the stabling assistants were able to sneak back into the exhibition hall and run amok among the exhibits!

Admittedly they had to share with the team of security guards employed to patrol the halls at night, and perhaps a few other privileged employees and visitors, but there was plenty of flesh to go around, and because of their youth and stamina, the boys were looked upon indulgently by the show organisers and stable owners alike.

"Doesn't hurt to let the young lads have some fun," Jim had once overheard his father remark to a colleague. "The ponies are so used to it, they can cope. You never know, some of them might even enjoy it!"

So Jim, Nick and their friends passed the hours doing a little mucking out here and there, but primarily eyeing up the specimens on offer and deciding which ones they would make use of that night.

"I'm going to have Blubberbum," Nick confided at one point.

"No!" Jim giggled. "You'll never find her cunt in all that blubber!"

"Oh, I've just got to have her; those huge tits drive me crazy! It's a superstimulus! You know, like herring gulls sitting on big plastic eggs rather than their own - you react automatically to an extreme image."

Jim gave him a funny look.

"We did it in biology," Nick explained. "Don't you remember?"

"No! But trust you to apply it to your sex life! Anyway, I guess I might try it, but this is more my style." Jim indicated a pair of almost identical ponies strapped together in an upright position, heads pulled back severely and tits pushed proudly forward. They were particularly shapely and their long blonde manes had been stunningly arranged.

"Which one?" Nick enquired.

"Both, of course! Mmm.. Moving from one to the other." Nick was still doubtful. "But you'd have to fuck them from the front! I think a pony should be fucked from behind. That's why I prefer the bent-forward ones, and the higher their arses the better!"

"Don't worry," said Jim, grinning. "I'll be taking all sorts, you'll see. I've been saving up for tonight!"

Dusk came and the boys watched the Evening Parade, where many of the ponies they had been eyeing during the day were brought out and shown off to the crowds. After this they sat in a bar and had a rest, then wandered back down to the stabling area, just as the last of the visitors were tearing themselves away, and the various owners, trainers, drivers, riders and grooms were doing their rounds and settling their charges for the night.

Jim overheard a very strict trainer talking to a pony who was crying.

"Come now," he was saying. "You're used to standing up all night. It's just like at home! You've had your mush, and it's warm and dry. What more do you want?"

The pony carried on sobbing, and the trainer added a cruel edge to his voice. "Okay, maybe a few strangers will fuck you during the night, but that's hardly a new experience either, is it? I suppose your muscles will ache a bit by the time morning comes, but don't worry, we'll give you a little run round the paddock to loosen them up!"

Suddenly the trainer lost his temper. "Lad," he said brusquely to a groom,"cover this one's head up with a hood. We don't want potential customers seeing that smudgy, tearful face!" And with that, he stalked off towards the exit. 

Surprising himself, Jim waited until this pony was alone, then went up to her and began to stroke her bottom, in what was meant to be a calming, non-sexual way. "Don't be scared, pony," he said, patting her like a real horse. "Nobody's going to hurt you."

But the pony, who knew very well that people were going to hurt her (maybe not tonight, but tomorrow on the treadmills, and rather frequently for the rest of her life at the stables) only flinched and panicked and squealed all the more, and Jim gave up his little attempt at comfort with a shrug.

At last the boys were almost alone. With a few of the other stabling assistants, they hid behind some emergency stairs while things quietened down. Finally, the lighting dimmed to night mode and they heard a heavy door slam shut. It was time for the fun to begin.

Jim, who saw himself as a bit of a leader, turned to his colleagues, some of whom were doing this for the first time, and gave a little speech.

"Well, lads, heaven awaits! But remember, the trainers won't be pleased if bottoms that are being saved get whip marks on them, so nothing more than gentle spanking.

Image 6

"Oh, by the way." He had recalled an embarrassing moment last year. "Don't mess about with any of the harness - some of it's so complicated, you'll never get it back together properly! And be nice to the security guards," he added. "They'll be doing the same thing as we are, but remember, they could chuck us out if they wanted to."

Without further ado, the boys scattered into the ranks of tethered ponies, and it wasn't long before trousers were dropped and buttocks were thrusting against helpless bottoms.

Jim and Nick split up.

Nick hurried straight to Blubberbum, who he had been dreaming about all day, and walked around her a few times to have a good look, before getting his tormented cock out and rubbing it against the huge black buttock cheeks he had been feasting his eyes on for so long. Quite beside himself with lust, he knew that he couldn't hold out for much longer; he had to come, urgently! Once he'd got his first orgasm out of the way he could explore a bit and decide how exactly to spend the night, but for now, he had unfinished business with Blubberbum, who was such a magnificent pony that she would surely win a prize in the heavies competition.

Notwithstanding Jim's earlier jibe about not being able to locate the hole for flesh, Nick's cock found its way into Blubberbum's cunt with little assistance, and began to thrust in and out of it madly. He grasped her mountainous rump with both hands and squeezed and kneaded it. Looking down at her breasts he noticed how they were pressed down onto the floor with each of his thrusts, and pumped into her even harder, so he could watch them change shape from long drooping udders to squashed, rounded pumpkins.

He longed - oh, how he longed at that moment - to be rich enough to own a pony like this one, so he could watch her in action and fuck her whenever he wanted. He would feed her and feed her till she was even bigger, he thought. Till she was twice the size and could hardly move! Till her breasts were so huge they reached the floor even when she stood up! So huge that they dragged on the ground when she moved in the bent-over position, and she had to run with her legs wide open to make room for them! With this crazy image in his mind, Nick at last deposited his amassed store of spunk deep within Blubberbum's cunt, then almost collapsed with exhaustion.

"Superstimulus!" he muttered when he'd recovered, and gave the poor over- blown pony a hearty pat on the bottom.

Jim meanwhile was standing at the end of a long line of upthrusting bottoms, wondering how on earth he was going to choose between them. Then he had a brainwave.

Of course, he thought. I'll have them all!

He counted the equally inviting rumps. There were sixteen. What an exercise in self control! Could he make it to the end of the row without coming? Only one way to find out! With a chuckle, he took up position behind the first pony and sank his cock into her. Nice. Very nice. Only two or three thrusts though, before he moved on to the next one. Oh dear, this one was lovely too. What a wonderful, wonderful place this was! He worked his way down the line, fucking each cunt only briefly, but not rushing, enjoying the sensations to the full. He had to admit, though, it was becoming more and more difficult to pull out. When he reached number eight and found it was a particularly tight pussy, he decided he had to admit defeat. Letting himself go, he pumped away hard, and came to the jingling of tack and creaking of leather, for this pony was particularly heavily strapped up. Taking a moment to recover, he regarded the remaining eight ponies and resolved to start fucking again as soon as possible. In fact it was easier this time and he made it to the end of the row with no difficulty. As he took his time with number sixteen, squelching away in ecstasy, he caught sight of Nick fucking something in the far corner of the hall, and waved. He also saw Bob, a rather repulsive but friendly security guard, pumping away at the pony whose face had been covered with a hood. No doubt she was still crying underneath it.

Jim looked down at the line of bottoms he had just enjoyed, and almost shook his head in disbelief. I've just been up every one of those sixteen cunts. Sixteen cunts, one after the other! And with this thought, he spent himself happily again. A long time later, two exhausted nineteen year olds sat opposite each other at a table, drinking coffee from a machine.

"Christ, I'm shattered," said Nick. "We've got to go back to work in two hours, mucking out before the show opens!"

"I've got to sleep somewhere," Jim groaned. "That corner will do." 

Nick rubbed his bleary eyes. "So how many have you had then?" 

"Of what? Orgasms or ponies?"

"Both!"

Jim reflected. "Well, I make it seven orgasms, which I have to admit is a record. But God knows how many cunts! I lost count." 

"There's two more nights of this!" said Nick.

"Not complaining, are you?"

"Well no, but I'm so tired! We'll never make it!" 

"We'll make it! We made it last year."

"I guess you're right. All this fucking sure takes it out of you though." 

The two friends thought back over the last few hours and grinned at each other. 

"Two more nights! Two more glorious nights!"

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER 5 

TORMENT

Image 8

This is torment, I can't bear it a moment longer, my whole existence is pain and panic and disbelief, interspersed with resignation and despair, oh, so many of them around me now, why can't they leave me alone, they're all touching me and grinning and enjoying themselves, and I just have to exist and suffer, this bondage is so awful, I can't move, or at least the only part of me I can move is my bottom, which is what they want to see, no doubt, and now someone's spanking me, quite hard, and I wish he'd stop, why can't he stop, stop, stop and go away, I want to get away from him and from them all, but I'm strapped down tight to this display stand, with chains, can you believe, chains over my ankles and the backs of my knees, and round my wrists, so I'm pinned down, and though I still struggle and strain to try to free myself, it's all no use, I'm completely held fast, and of course, they have to have my legs spread wide, so they can look at me, oh, why do they have to be so wide, if only I could close them a bit I'd feel better, but my knees are held so far apart I'm completely exposed, and it's so painful, the strain of this position, but the worst bit of the pain is my jaw and my neck, oh, God, how can I stand this, they've shoved such a huge gag in my mouth I couldn't believe it, they had to push and push because it wouldn't go in, it was hell, and I know at last year's show I was getting beaten all the time for being too vocal in my objections, but how can you help it if you're in pain and all you can think of is begging for mercy, but they just told me I ought to be able to control myself, but they needn't have made it such a huge gag, a smaller one would've stopped me talking, this one is murder the way it's pushing my mouth open so wide, and it keeps making me want to retch, and then the way they've yanked back my head, with chains again, pulling back from the sides of my mouth and the strap around my head, back to the heavy collar thing around my waist, and then down taut to the stand again, so I can't even change position by dropping my front forward, in fact my head's pulled back so far, my arms feel stretched and I just can't bear this not being able to move, so every so often I get in such a panic I twist and shake in frustration, but the only bit of me that will move is my arse, from side to side a bit, and they all think this is great fun because it makes my tits shake, and they just laugh at my frustration and try to get me to do it again, oh no, I don't believe it, somebody's spanking me again, and now this guy's spanking my tits at the same time, and nobody cares or makes any effort to stop him hurting me, it's just been so many hours that I've been here like this, and I don't think they're going to release me till the end of the day, and there's all people, men, milling around and chatting and music playing, and people eating chips and sandwiches, like it's all normal and good fun and a good day out, and I'm here so alone and ignored, like an object, like a piece of artwork they can just glance at and admire, and I'm so humiliated as they come and stare at me, and look me in the eye, like they're mocking me, I've tried closing my eyes but then it's worse, and I'm scared and don't know what's going to happen, so I just have to look and look at all the leering faces, and feel the shame and the humiliation and the anger over and over again, listening to them talking about me, and talking at me, knowing I can't respond, deliberately offending and infuriating me with their comments, about how much I'm enjoying myself really, and how much I must want to be fucked, when they must know that they and every single man looking at me and touching me fills me with loathing and I want nothing, nothing more than to be alone, alone and not in pain, but they don't care, and the worst thing is that I am getting aroused, against my will, because so many of them are playing with me, squeezing my tits and pinching my nipples, which I hate, but also probing and rubbing at my sex, and making me wet in spite of myself, oh, most of them are clumsy and just hurt me with their fumbling, but occasionally someone who knows what he's doing will rub me or caress me gently in just the right way, and I can't help the way my body reacts, I don't want it to happen, but of course they ignore this and continue to joke about how I'm loving it, except they can't feel my pain, can they, and of course none of them is actually interested enough to rub me for long enough so I actually come, so on top of everything else there's this endless frustration of being so aroused, and having someone shove their fingers up me briefly, but not do it right, not do it long enough, so I'm left in this endless, endless state of utter torment!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER 6 

SIR TOM

The man known to his employees only as Sir Tom stood to one side of his display stand and drew on an expensive cigar with relish. He was the owner of the world's biggest pony girl stable, and he was proud of what he had achieved over the last ten years. Over a hundred ponies and thirty staff at three different locations, and growing all the time, with the money rolling in and ensuring that his lifestyle was very comfortable. Sir Tom was onto a good thing, and he had no intention of making any changes - except to expand his operations. His success was based on the fact that he understood what it was the customers wanted to see and experience - because he wanted the same things himself. 

Selectiveness and severity, he always thought, were the keys. Selectiveness in that his ponies were always of the highest standard when it came to facial beauty and perfection of figure, and severity-extreme severity-in the way they were treated. There were no compromises, and that was what had made his operation such a success.

He stood quietly watching how his carefully trained sales staff smiled politely at potential buyers and showed them the most carefully chosen, enticing pictures of life at the stables. The show was always good for business. In four days they would take several months worth of bookings, and every year things seemed to be getting better. He was pleased. Very pleased. His stand was a big one, carefully arranged with lots going on, including live ponies presented in prominent positions for customers to fondle and admire, and several showings of excellent videos which made clear what could be achieved, and what visitors to the stables might expect. He watched as Shadow, one of his best black ponies, raced along on a treadmill, torso bent severely forward, head pulled cruelly back, and, despite being very used to such sights, felt a pleasant stirring in his loins. 

He thought about how the novel Black Beauty had aroused and inspired him as a child. Over and over again he had read and thought about the descriptions of a pony's head being pulled cruelly back with a bearing rein, and now, over and over again, he had himself had the pleasure of applying just such a piece of harness to his own pony girls. Strangely, perhaps, he had never been interested in real horses. The image had always been very sexual to him, and sex meant women. Strapped up and subjugated women, forced both to exert themselves and spend long periods of time standing motionless in tight, uncomfortable harness.

He looked on approvingly as one of his trainers increased the speed of the treadmill, judging correctly that the pony could be driven a little harder. He watched Shadow's heaving chest and pounding thighs. He could hear her rasping breath and the creaking of leather above the noise of the conveyer. Wonderful sounds! A crowd had gathered, which obscured his view slightly, but he decided not to move. The more the pony got in a state, the more aroused he would get, and he didn't feel like finishing off right now. That was perhaps the one thing this show didn't provide; somewhere for the staff of the stables to relieve themselves with a pony in privacy. Although here in a professional capacity, the men concerned were still men, and their work would inevitably arouse them.

There were the relief rooms, of course, but staff were only entitled to one visit a day like everyone else. And there was a bit of activity in Hall B, when the show closed, but there was a long day to be got through before that. Back at home the ponies could be fucked whenever and wherever anyone wanted, and everyone, including Sir Tom, was rather used to relieving themselves up a pony's cunt whenever they chose. So some restraint had to be exercised at the show, because, there was no doubt, it would look a trifle off if trainers were to use a pony publicly after every presentation or thrashing, while not letting onlookers do the same.

Image 9

Perhaps he would have a word with the organisers, Sir Tom decided. And arrange for some sort of little cubicles to be set up in the stands area. So that, for example, he could have Shadow led into one after she'd been kept running for half an hour or so, and fuck her brains out before leading her back for another session! He did so like ponies when they were really, really exhausted. Dripping with sweat and shaking with exertion, like a spent racehorse. He would have to make up for some lost fucking when the show was over. Only three days away from home, and he was already missing the real experience of driving a pony over his own grounds-up and down the familiar, trying hills-which was something he did every day, whatever the weather. In fact, just before coming away to the show, the weather had been atrocious and he'd really enjoyed taking out some of his newest additions and giving them a good hard run, naked of course, in the driving wind and pouring rain. It added a certain dimension of suffering which he much enjoyed. He only wished it would snow more often. Driving naked, barefoot ponies in the snow was one of his greatest pleasures. 

Stubbing out his cigar, Sir Tom announced to his second in command that he was going for a little wander, and set off in the direction of the arena. Nodding to several acquaintances, he found a seat near the front and watched a couple of chariot races, pleased to see that both of his own teams of four did well - winning on one occasion and coming second on the other. He leant forward on the rail as all the pony chariots did a lap of honour, passing right in front of him, each team perfectly aligned and displayed, with four pairs of carefully chosen tits, all of a very similar size, flopping up and down in unison in a row. 

The next event was a sort of comical dressage, with spritely little ponies whizzing around in pretty formations, but since they seemed mainly to be small breasted they didn't interest him as much. Some of their antics were intriguing though. He was impressed at how one was made to go backwards at quite a pace, and resolved to experiment with that idea once they got back. A bit of a strange concept, maybe, but deliciously humiliating. He decided to move on, and wandered through to Hall B, stopping for a while to watch the ponies in the pony rides enclosure. He had tried this on the first day of the show, but somehow it wasn't his thing. He was a driving man - he wanted to see arse! It certainly wasn't easy on the ponies, though. They positively staggered round their little circuit, bottoms and thighs all bruised from kicking, and bodies tilted precariously forwards as they tried to retain their balance.

He joined the crowds milling around the rows of tethered ponies, and headed in the general direction of where his own spare ponies were tied. There was one particular pony he was particularly interested in visiting, a pony called Mrs. Mare, who was always singled out for his special attention.

Although he had lots of ponies to abuse and play with, and while his favourites changed, this one always amused him, and he took special care to know where she was and what she was doing at any time. He had told his staff to leave her in Hall B all day today, because he knew how embarrassed and humiliated she felt at being treated like an animal, tethered up to a post on a bed of straw. Hours of standing under the lights, getting patted and fondled and commented on by scores of visitors, and becoming progressively more hungry, thirsty and tired, was just the thing for her. Besides, it would make a change from the more strenuous occupations she might usually have to endure during the course of a day.

He came upon his ponies - there seemed to be only four tethered in the row at the moment - from behind, and to his delight he saw that he had arrived at an excellent moment. Mrs. Mare's bottom, which was rather jutting and full, was presented to him nicely by her bent forward posture, and as he watched, he could see that, just like a real pony might, she was actually in the process of creating some droppings which were gathering in the straw at her feet. Quickly, he hurried round to her front end, and saw the jolt of recognition and horror in her eyes as she saw him.

This pony was always, always gagged when unattended, with a huge, jaw stretching ball of rubber which didn't let a single sound pass her lips, and so she could not respond when he began to deliberately taunt her.

"Hello, my dear? Having a nice little poo-poo in public, are we? All that smelly brown stuff popping out of your arsehole and dropping onto the nice clean straw? Couldn't wait any longer, then? Just had to have a little push and get rid of it, even though all these strangers are watching you get yourself all dirty?"

The pony's face got redder and redder as he spoke, all the more so because she was in the middle of the act, and had to continue, even as he drew her attention so cruelly to the awful situation she was in.

"Well, you're a naughty pony," Sir Tom continued. "I don't think I should let them clean it up for a while, do you? I think you should have to think about it lying there for a bit, between your feet, and maybe have a good sniff of it, to discourage you from doing such a dirty thing again!!"

He began to giggle, delighted by her discomfort, and amused by the hatred in her eyes.

"Oh, Mrs. Mare," he exclaimed. "You never cease to bring me such great pleasure!"

Mrs. Mare battled with the gag, grunting and groaning as she tried to voice her hatred and humiliation. But it was no use; she had learnt, finally, that she was completely in this man's control, and that all she had left to do to show him how she felt was glower at him with those piercing, hateful eyes. In any other pony, Sir Tom would not have tolerated even this much defiance, and would have had it beaten out of the pony concerned, to the extent that all he saw in her eyes was obedience - or at least resignation. But he liked to see the hatred and frustration in this particular case; he positively delighted in it.

Because Mrs. Mare wasn't just any pony. Mrs. Mare had once been his wife!

Yes, for years she had nagged him and scolded him and criticized him, until finally he could stand it no more. One day he had bundled her into the car and taken her to see his place of work - which was not the City office she had expected, but his first pony girl stable, which he had been building up in secret. Wide eyed and open mouthed, his poor wife had been given a tour of the whole establishment the actual stables, the paddocks, the training equipment, and the grounds - and forced to watch pony girls being trained, the sight of their naked breasts and private parts causing her great embarrassment and enormous anger.

So this was what he had been up to! The lecher! The pervert! She would demand a divorce immediately and expose this scandal to the world!

Image 10

But of course she never did any such thing, as Sir Tom had plans of his own. Whether he had intended it when he first brought her there, he could never say, but watching her rant and rave against a backdrop of submissive and obedient womanhood, there was suddenly no doubt in his mind about what course of action he should take. Summoning a couple of his impressively built male assistants, he commanded that they immediately take this woman, strip her, and get her into a bent-forward pony harness while he watched.

He would never forget the expressions that passed over her face as he made his announcement and watched his instructions being carried out. Outrage, confusion, hatred, and, mainly, disbelief. Surely this was a joke? Surely he couldn't do this to his own wife?

This disbelief was to last a long time. After a few hours trussed up as a pony, the poor lady was ready to admit with humility that she had been rather difficult lately and would promise to change her ways. After a few days, she was annoyed that her 'lesson' had gone on so long. She was ready to be released now! 

After a few weeks, she was in a state of utter panic, and it was to be several months before she finally realised that her husband didn't ever mean to release her! She would never go back to her lovely home, never see her friends again. She would spend the rest of her life being treated like an animal - condemned by her own heartless husband to a despicable, humiliating slavery!

In Hall B of the International Pony Girl Show, Sir Tom stood and looked at his wife for a few more minutes. He had never regretted his decision - she had been more of a challenge to train than any other pony he owned and it gave him great pleasure to see that she still had a spark of defiance in her eyes, after all these years. 

Yes, he had put her in her place and she was going to stay there, the silly old nag! 

"Goodbye, darling," he said, patting her on the head. "Have a nice afternoon." And left her to fume in smelly silence. Strolling along the lines of stabled ponies, with half an eye out for a prospective purchase, Sir Tom bumped into a good friend of his, General Black.

"Hello, old chum," he said in greeting. "Having a good time?"

Image 11

"Oh yes!" said the General, and added slyly, "How's the wife?"

The General was one of the few people in whom Sir Tom had confided. 

"Oh." he replied, turning back towards where he could see her naked posterior in the distance. "Probably not too well at this moment!"

The two men walked back towards the main hall together, chatting about what was on show this year and discussing business. The General (who Sir Tom happened to know was no such thing really) was a supremely rich eccentric who kepe ponies mainly for his own pleasure- although he sometimes sold a few- on a huge isolated estate in Scotland. He and Sir Tom had occasionally swapped ponies in the past and frequently visited each others' establishments. 

"How's the project going, by the way," Sir Tom asked the General as they stood watching a rather fat pony being whipped. "Come and see for yourself!" 

"What, you haven't got her here?"

"Yes, why not? Time to let the world see my achievement!"

"But - "Sir Tom hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Well, you have to admit, Piggy isn't really a pony any more. I mean, she's not exactly pulling carts around nowadays, is she?"

"I know she isn't - which is why she's not entered for any of the competitions. But the visitors gawping at her aren't being fussy! Flesh is flesh. Come on!" He led the way to a relatively isolated stand with several ponies on display and a big crowd gathered around something at the back. The two men pushed their way through to the front of it, and Sir Tom caught his breath at the sight which greeted them.

"Wow!" he exclaimed.

The General was pleased with his friend's reaction.

"She's ten stone heavier than that Blubberbum, you know," he commented proudly. "As you say, though, she can't exactly move about much."

Piggy lay sprawled on her front in a little enclosure with railings around it, on which a number of men were leaning as they had a good look. On one side was a hoarding over which were plastered photos of Piggy taken at various stages of the General's project.

The first was of an averagely slim woman harnessed as an upright pony. In the second, a slight increase in the size of her tummy and thighs was evident, while those in the subsequent progression showed how her once normal proportions had been turned into the spectacular ones now on show.

Everything about her was huge. Her bottom was massively wide, her legs - and arms - were like tree trunks. Her tits and stomach were so big that when she lay on her front - as she was doing now - it looked like she was draped over some huge cushion; even when she got onto all fours, the massive stomach and breasts were still squashed firmly against the floor.

Piggy was being fed by one of the General's staff. An assortment of unidentifiable items were being placed on a little platform in front of her face, and she was guzzling them up with gusto. Occasionally, when a plate of anonymous mush looked particularly unpalatable, she hesitated, and at such moments her feeder would prod her with a sharp pole, or give her a lash with a thick whip. This was the part the audience was enjoying most, and they were joining in with the encouragement-leaning over the railing and prodding her, and saying things like, "Come on, Piggy, eat up!" and "Get that grub down your gullet, you greedy sow!"

It was clear from the many marks and scars covering Piggy's huge body that she had suffered a lot of coercion in the eating department. She had evidently been forced into getting this fat, against her will.

Sir Tom was very impressed with the whole idea, and told the General so. 

"The trouble is," he added, "it's got me ridiculously horny, just looking at her!" 

"Me too," said the General. "It's a common reaction!" Then suddenly he got a twinkle in his eye.

"Come round here," he whispered, giving Sir Tom a nudge. He led the way behind a little curtain which turned out to be where Piggy's food was being prepared. Then he got his cock out.

Image 12

"Would it turn you on to spunk onto her food?"

Sir Tom was so aroused by this suggestion that he only just got his cock out of his trousers in time. They both stood over a plate of cold rice pudding and aimed their pricks at it.

"I often do this as she's eating," the General confided.

"What," said Sir Tom, breathless, "you actually spunk all over her food, just as she's about to eat it?"

The General nodded. "And her face and mouth, of course. Get her to lick it all up together!"

In quick succession the General and Sir Tom shot their sticky loads onto the surface of the rice pudding. Then having put himself away, the General picked up the plate and carried it out to the pen.

"Here we are," he said, placing it in front of Piggy. "A little treat for you." The crowd leered, guessing what had happened, and wondering if they might possibly be allowed to do the same thing.

Piggy looked at the plate in front of her with resignation, closed her eyes, and tucked in.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER 7 

THE ARENA

Phil Stewart was a reporter - or rather freelance journalist, ever since he'd been chucked out of his last job for describing, in print of course, a certain politician's daughter as being "a rare combination of bimbo and prude, and exhibiting that affected snootiness for which the only cure is a good hard caning on the fanny and I mean fanny!"

He wasn't complaining, though. Things had gone quite well, considering, and now he'd landed this commission to write up the show. And write it up properly - not just a few words for a local rag. A series of three articles giving as much uncensored detail as possible, mainly to be translated and published in overpriced specialist magazines on the other side of the world. He sat half way up one of the stands which surrounded the arena, legs crossed untidily and pencil in hand, wondering quite what slant to give his writing. Not too funny, definitely-he had often seen what translations could do to humour! But not too serious, either. There was no telling how other cultures might be responding to the scene - one had to be a bit careful. It was best, after all, to just be descriptive, he decided. Try to make the reader see what was happening for himself, and not try to be too clever. He opened his notepad and began to write.

"The arena is the hub of the show, and there never seems to be a moment when it's not being put to good use.

Image 13

This afternoon's events began with an auction at which ponies up for sale were put through their paces, so that prospective buyers could have a good look at them and judge their stamina as they were driven round, demonstrating a variety of manoeuvres and being carefully observed for their speed and movement. Most of the buyers were from established stables, but a growing number of rich individuals around the world are keeping ponies, and the prices this year were apparently higher than ever. There was some intense bidding, made more amusing in one case when the pony concerned was kept running around the track at top speed the whole time, no doubt desperate for an outcome to be reached. After a prolonged period, one of the rival buyers finally dropped out, and the exhausted but obviously very valuable pony was virtually dragged off for a personal inspection by her new owner.

Next in the arena were the Hilarious Bucking Broncos. This is a team of particularly fiery mounted ponies - well, not mounted for very long! In a wonderful parody of a real rodeo, and accompanied by suitable Western music, a number of untamed ponies are released into the ring - their heads encased in halters with bits, and their arms strapped up behind them, but otherwise 'bareback' along with some caricature cowboys, complete with hats and holsters.

Initially the ponies were allowed to run free, and provided some interesting entertainment as they tore around wildly, trying their best to escape capture by their adversaries. Lassos were then employed to get the ponies under control, and the crowd undoubtedly enjoyed watching the flying ropes settle around a pony's waist, or catch her leg, usually bringing her to the ground with a jerk, whereupon the cowboys pinned her down while they struggled to put a halter or breast harness on her, which would help them when it came to trying to ride. 

A few times the loop of a lasso settled around a pair of breasts and was quickly pulled tight, much to the amusement of the crowd, which was generally quite impressed by the actions of the cowboys.

A succession of these booted, tasselled hopefuls then tried their luck, jumping onto the 'wild' ponies' backs and attempting to stay there while their mounts bucked and kicked and rolled in order to dislodge them. While at first the ponies seemed to be winning their encounters, they gradually grew tired, and eventu- ally found it easier to stand still and obey, than to throw themselves once more against the railings, or onto the floor, in an effort to get free. One by one their spirit was broken, publicly, and they were ridden out of the ring in misery. But my personal favourite today was the load-pulling competition.

Image 14
Image 15

Picture this! Three relatively petite ponies (heavier ones can be seen on other days) enter the arena, each encased in a harness of broad, heavy duty straps, and each pulling a huge, four wheeled wagon, fitted with wooden benches and railings. A man with a long whip sits on each front bench, holding onto a long set of reins.

Straining hard, the ponies pull their wagons once around the arena. The wagons are so huge they look as though they should be pulled by a couple of real horses, or at least a team of pony girls, not just one. Even while empty, the girls have to struggle to keep them moving. And it is clear that they are not to be empty for long.

The three contenders line up at one end of the arena, and a commentator with a microphone approaches sections of the stands and invites members of the audience to step into the ring and take a seat in one of the wagons.

There is a sea of raised hands and a scramble to be selected, but numbers are carefully controlled. When ten men have seated themselves in each wagon, the commentator asks the crowd if they think ten is enough. An almighty no echoes around the hall, and another five men are allowed to climb onto each A few more moments of build up, and then a starting gun is fired. carriage. 

The ponies throw themselves forward and begin to strain against their harnesses in earnest. At first nothing happens - none of the wagons move at all. There is a moment when the crowd begins to boo, thinking that the numbers have been misjudged. But they have forgotten about the power of the whip. As cruel lashes begin to fall on each pony's straining flesh, the wagons creak and the wheels begin to turn. Slowly but surely the heavily laden carriages inch forward, their occupants shouting encouragement and squabbling for a better view.

One wagon surges ahead with increased momentum, then comes to a halt as the brave little pony is overcome with exhaustion. The driver raises his arm high and whips her with all his might, over and over, until he is close to being exhausted himself. The wagon moves forward again, but it is another pony who has taken the lead and goes on to cross the finishing line first.

Image 16

When all three ponies have made it to the line, they are given a few minutes' rest before the commentator announces that there will be one further competition. 

Another five members of the audience are invited to squeeze into each wagon, and it is explained that the prize-winner will be the pony who manages to complete a distance of some 20 yards first - or the one that gets the furthest before collapsing.

The starting pistol is fired again, but this time it takes longer for any of the already exhausted ponies to get their wagons moving. The onslaught of the whips doesn't even seem to help - but without any pain at all to remind them to keep trying, the ponies would undoubtedly give up completely.

The men in the carriages begin to get annoyed and abusive, jeering at their own pony, and even, in some cases, throwing things like cigarette packets and programs at her in frustration. The poor ponies' ears are assailed with verbal abuse from all directions, as they try and try their best, but still fail to get the wagons moving. Finally, with supreme effort, one pony makes a start, and the others, in mounting panic, manage to do the same. Painfully slowly the wagons inch forward and the audience is in a frenzy of excitement. Will any of them make it to the line? It looks unlikely. Unable to stand any more torment, one pony faints in her harness, dropping onto the floor between the shafts, and remaining unconscious despite further whipping and prodding from the driver. She is disqualified, and the men in her wagon have to be restrained from descending on her in an angry mob.

The competition is now between the two remaining ponies, each struggling horrendously to keep up with the effort, but prevented from fainting by the ceaseless lashes to her flesh. They heave and strain, hardly aware of each other's existence, thinking only of the huge weight they must continue to move forward, and driven on in panic and pain to perform in this barbarous way for the entertainment of the men behind and all around them.

Finally, though, it is too much. The pony who was marginally in the lead feels the hall begin to spin around her and collapses insensible in the dirt. The remaining pony is declared the winner, but she too drops unconscious just a few moments later.

The men return to their seats to await the next event, and soothing music is played through the speakers while the arena is cleared. It was expected that the ponies would pull their loads right out of the ring, so there is a moment's confusion as the organisers try to decide what to do. They decide on the simplest option - to do nothing. The three unconscious ponies continue to lie sprawled on the floor, still strapped to their wagons, in the centre of the arena, while the evening's entertainment is concluded around them. They can be dealt with later."

Phil now just sat for a while and listened to the announcements preceding the Evening Parade. Half an hour later, having been regaled by stupendous music and breathtaking images, his assortment of emotions included a definite streak of depression. The written word is the wrong medium, he was thinking. You can't describe this, you have to see it! Who's going to read about it when they can buy the video?

He would have to at least make sure that his articles were well illustrated, he concluded.

"What strikes you most about the Evening Parade," he wrote, "is first of all the sheer number of ponies in one place. Literally dozens and dozens; just about literally, hundreds! The event is very effectively staged to emphasise the build up of numbers.

Each pony and the stable from which she comes is announced, like a guest arriving at a ball, and video monitors throw up huge images of each new arrival, showing the incredible variety of ponies and harnessing on show. The erotic effect of this build up in numbers is cumulative-believe me! As the loudspeakers announce one pony after another - yet another huge pair of breasts, yet another new idea and the arena fills up with naked flesh, the excitement in the thousands watching grows more palpable.

There is so much to see and enjoy, so many ponies to gawp at and lust over, and yet there are still more of them coming in - a seemingly endless stream of tits, bottoms and straps. This spectacle is surely many an enthusiast's dream come true!"

Phil stopped writing and pocketed his pen.

That will have to do for now, he decided. I think it's relief room time!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER 8

THE RELIEF ROOMS

Trixie was about to begin her third day in the relief rooms at the International Pony Girl Show.

She had sprained an ankle rather badly in a work-out a couple of weeks earlier and so it had been decided that she could form part of her stable's contribution to the relief services which comprised one of the major attractions of the event. At first she had almost been relieved that she wouldn't be put through any more strenuous activity - but that was before she had experienced two days of utter despair in the cubicle in which she now stood.

Trixie (this, incidentally, was now her real and only name - her owners had had it legally changed) was a bent-forward pony, and she was fixed in an extensive, very tight harness, just as if she was out on hire. A thick weighted leather band pinched and pulled at her waist, while a complicated series of straps pinned her arms behind her back and encircled her breasts. A thick bit rested in her mouth and her head was held in a bridle to which reins were attached. A major feature of the bridle were the blinkers, which were huge and stiff, and ensured she could only see a small area of the cubicle directly ahead of her.

Waiting for the relief room doors to open, she could hardly believe the horror of the past two days.

The men could take up to 20 minutes each, depending on the queues, and were unsupervised while they were in the cubicles. Nobody seemed to care too much what was happening to a pony, just so long as she was alive and awake, and ready for her next visitor!

Now although, after some argument, the show organisers had decided not to allow any instruments of punishment into the cubicles, on the grounds that the ponies would surely become unconscious if they were whipped non-stop all day, they appeared to have forgotten that most men wear belts, and so a large proportion of visitors couldn't resist taking their belts off and laying into the bottom presented to them in such comfortable privacy.

This meant that Trixie and her fellow ponies had to suffer not only virtually ceaseless, often frenzied, fucking, but also a considerable amount of pain from a variety of straps, not to mention indiscriminate spanking, pinching, squeezing and scratching.

So Trixie stood in the bent-forward position she had been in all night - and had in fact not been released from since the start of the show - and waited, helpless, for the day's unpleasantness to begin.

There was one element of the morning that she did welcome, and that was that she would get cleaned up by one of the relief room assistants. During the night she had been forced to soil herself, and was actually standing in a puddle of her own piss. She also felt unbearably thirsty and knew that she would at least get a drink of water and some sustenance tablets, if not real food.

Grateful for small mercies, therefore, she shuffled welcomingly as her morning service began, allowing the assistant to give her a good wash down, and feed her the pitiful refreshment, which had to be consumed with the bit in place. She was then unhitched from the bar to which she was clamped and led around the little room a few times, which, while painful because of her general stiffness and soreness from innumerable beatings, at least gave her poor, seized muscles a little relief.

After locking her once more in place, the assistant proceeded to fuck her himself, which was only to be expected, and she sighed to herself, realising for the hundredth time that there was nothing to be done about her fate. She had merely to tolerate it, and strive to remain calm, rather than succumbing entirely to panic and despair.

Image 17

The morning was actually quieter than she had expected, for which she was grateful. The reason for this was that a few extra ponies had been brought in to help cope with the demand, but of course no-one bothered to tell Trixie. 

She was fucked by only five men before lunchtime. She tried not to count them - she didn't really want to keep score of how may people were ravaging her - but it was difficult not to when their coming and going was the only thing that changed in her environment.

This relatively low number meant she actually had the occasional few minutes of privacy, which was more than could be said for the previous two days, when the onslaught had been virtually ceaseless all day long. Also, this morning's visitors seemed better behaved - only one chose to use the tighter of her two holes, and none of them did more than spank her, by way of causing pain. 

Her good fortune, however, was not to last. Trixie was in store for an unbelievably hideous afternoon.

She was serviced again in the middle of the day - given a drink and some meagre food, then made to urinate into a bowl before having her intimate parts cleaned up. And then the thing happened that she had been dreading. It had happened on the first day, but not the second, and she had hoped she would escape it, though it seemed that was not to be.

A large device was wheeled into the cubicle, and Trixie repositioned so that she stood on top of it. It was a treadmill. Not automated, but enabling her to walk or run on the spot, thus allowing the visitors to watch, spank, belt, and fuck her while she moved.

It did occur to Trixie to be grateful that she hadn't been on the treadmill for her whole time in the relief rooms; standing still and getting fucked was preferable to being forced to walk or run and getting fucked in the process! Perhaps this was a small concession to her still painful ankle.

Now a particular feature of pony harness in the relief rooms was a short set of reins, which could be held and pulled on by a visitor while fucking, in order to create a more horsy feel.

Image 18

Trixie's first visitor of the afternoon seemed to particularly enjoy the reins, and contrived to jerk them up and down so violently that they acted like a whip on her back, leaving broad red marks. Her head was wrenched around painfully and the ever tender corners of her mouth suffered especially badly as the reins pulled on the bit that was thrust across her mouth.

But this was not all, for now she had a treadmill beneath her, the temptation for visitors to see her in motion was too great to resist, and the morning of standing still soon seemed an age away.

The rein fanatic had her racing along at full stretch in no time, slapping her bottom all the time with a huge, callused hand. He worked first Trixie and then himself into a frenzy. Hers, however, was of pain and panic, while his was of excitement and lust! Finally, still shouting at her to keep moving, he positioned his cock at the opening of her cunt and slipped it in between her juddering buttocks and pounding thighs.

Not everyone could fuck a pony in motion - it needed a certain length of cock and a certain amount of skill - but this guy had done it before, and found it his greatest thrill. All he had to do was stand still, crotch thrust forward, while the regular movements of the pony brought him quickly to the heights of ecstasy and milked him dry.

Trixie had a succession of visitors that afternoon who were particularly rough with her. She was driven to her limits on the treadmill, and whipped and spanked until she felt she couldn't bear another minute of this dreadful existence.

She was also spunked on rather a lot, and had to tolerate the fact that her face, hair and bottom were plastered with the stuff, and there was nothing she could do to wipe it away. But absolutely the worst thing for poor Trixie was not the pain, not the soreness, not the aches and frustration caused by the tight, uncomfortable bondage, not even all the spunk dripping from her, but the humiliation due to another factor of the relief room service. This was the surprise the tour guides often referred to.

For on the wall of her cubicle, not two feet from her nose, a film was being shown continuously for the entertainment of the men using her. It was film of a pony being given a variety of stringent work-outs, and much of it was shot from the carriage, looking down on the juddering, jolting form of the pony running at full stretch, bottom bouncing, and a strap or whip being laid on liberally, with the number of welts increasing rapidly. And it was not just any pony, it was Trixie!

Yes, it was film of herself being humiliated and brutalised that she had to watch hour after hour, while a succession of men enjoyed themselves watching a pony in action - properly in action, out in the fields, pulling a carriage, being driven to the limit - and knowing it was that very pony they were at present fucking! 

When that hateful day finally ended, Trixie, still in her harness, was allowed to collapse onto the floor to sleep off her exhaustion. Tears streamed from her eyes at the thought of yet another day of torment ahead. 

There was no relief for a poor relief room pony!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER 9 

ADVERTISING PONIES

The International Pony Girl Show was a high profile event. It attracted large numbers of people (men) from all walks of life who were united by their interest in this particular fetish, and motivated to attend, or be involved, by sexual urges. Those who ran stalls or participated in the organisation of the event, were drawn to this line of business by their personal inclinations. They were part of a fraternity based on lust a particularly cruel variety of lust.

But there are always those people who are more interested in money than sex, and the show also caught the eye of men whose greatest thrill was counting zeros and flaunting the advantages granted them by wealth. It was inevitable that of the men wandering around those exhibition halls, there would be a few who were not so exited by the female flesh on display as by the opportunities presented to cash in on the scene. Lance Wallace was one such man. Wallace was an entrepreneur - priding himself on having refrained from anything criminal, but in reality, close to the edge. In his teens he had fixed and flogged second hand cars, in his twenties sold slightly suspect insurance, and in his thirties was dealing in property and antiques. Now in his forties, he owned nightclubs, bought shares and made secret deals with politicians. He often made money, but often lost it. He was rich, but not as rich as he wanted to be. And though most of his successes now revolved around financial wheeler-dealing, he still retained the entrepreneurial spirit, and always had an eye open for new opportunities. 

At the first International Pony Girl Show, five years ago, Wallace had paced around doing sums in his head and making plans. Yes, he had used the relief rooms and done a little whipping, but he was more interested in watching the enthusiasts, talking to stable owners with a view to making investments, and looking for niches in the market.

He had in fact supported two budding stables which were making him a nice return, and also had an arrangement with a video producer, whose worldwide sales had been growing exponentially. But Wallace still had the feeling that he was missing something big; that there was a gold mine here just waiting to be exploited. Lots of people were financing stables and he wasn't rich enough to buy them all. He was looking for a different angle - something unique. 

And he found it on a pony's bottom!

Wandering up and down the lines of tethered ponies, waiting for inspiration, he noticed that all the men passing one particular pony in the next aisle did a double take and stopped to have a look. He couldn't see what was causing this interest, and stood watching for a while, trying to guess. The pony was the same size as her neighbours, and in the same sort of tackle. Perhaps she had a dildo up her, he thought, or was pierced. But these options weren't that unusual. Finally, he walked around to have a look, and found that on the pony's buttocks, two words appeared to have been tattooed.

"Fuck me."

Wallace stood and looked at this wording for some time. Then he did something which, if anyone had been watching him, might have seemed unfathomable. He looked up and around him, slowly scanning the whole hall, looking at everything carefully and in a new light. Then he broke into a wide grin, and stepped forward to pat the tattooed pony's bum.

"Thank you, my dear," he said quietly. "You've given me an idea."

It was not what Wallace had seen at the show that day which had inspired him, but what he had not seen. And that was - advertising.

Yes, there were some adverts for particular stables or pony related products, but no-one had thought of what he had thought of. He almost couldn't believe this, and left the show in a state of excitement and urgency. This was his idea and he was eager to put it into effect as soon as possible.

Image 19

After a night's thought and note taking, Wallace tried the idea out on his sidekick, Sam.

"Where do companies advertise?" he posed, as they drank coffee and smoked in his office.

"Well, in papers, on hoardings. On telly."

"Where else?"

"At sporting events. On sports cars."

"On cars. Right. And what's the main feature of a lot of advertising nowadays?"

"I suppose you mean sex," said Sam. "Naked women draped all over things. What are you getting at, Lance?"

Wallace picked up a folder from the side of his desk and showed Sam a photo. "What's this?"

"A pretty gorgeous pony girl."

Wallace then flipped a transparency down over the picture and held it up for Sam to view. It had the desired effect.

"Wow!" said Sam after a while. "What a brilliant idea-advertising on pony girls! Why hasn't anyone thought of it before?"

"Let's hope they haven't," said Wallace, looking again at how he'd achieved the effect of having written a variety of slogans over virtually every part of the pony girl's anatomy and transformed her into a walking billboard. "Do you think it'll work?" he asked his friend.

"You bet I do! People are always looking for new ideas in advertising-something unusual to catch the eye. And the pony girl thing is just taking off. It's the perfect way to use sex to sell things." Sam gushed on. "People aren't going to be able to take their eyes off that sort of spectacle! Get her trotting down the high street and no-one can ignore it! There's got to be money in it. Especially while it's a new idea."

"Exactly! Now here's what I want you to do. Get me information on what people are paying for advertising nowadays-some sample figures for the various media. Then get me some stuff on tattooing, and other ways you can paint skin, without it being permanent. Tattoos would look good, but what if a company goes out of business, or can't afford to keep paying? We've got to find the best way to do this thing - find me some experts."

Wallace carried on thinking aloud. "Check as far as you can that no-one's done anything like this before. If they have, I want to know who they are and all the details. Find out if we can make an idea like this proprietorial. And get me some data on pony girl prices and availability. We're going to have to buy some of our own."

And so it was that Wallace Pony Girl Advertising Ltd. was born.

After just three weeks expenditure of time and money, Wallace had sold every inch of space on his first pony girl, and was standing, arms crossed, admiring her transformation into an advertising medium. He was finding it hard to contain his excitement.

"Wait till the world sees this," he was thinking to himself.

This pony's name had been Trottina, but she'd been re-christened Wallace 1. She was one of four he had bought outright as soon as his initial enquiries had confirmed that he could easily and lucratively sell the advertising space. He had specially chosen smooth, pale skinned ponies who were tall and busty, and not too thin. The tits and buttocks were premium rate areas!

Together with the ponies, he had purchased all the necessary equipment for their continued training and display, along with the services of a groom and a trainer, and an old warehouse which had rapidly been converted into a stable. After some thought, he had decided that the markings which were to be made on the ponies couldn't be permanent, as his selling had to be based on a time period. But he had managed to find an oriental gentleman with a secret method of producing fake tattoos - they looked like the real thing, but were in fact done with a type of paint which wouldn't smudge or run, but came off with a special solvent- and had signed him up immediately as an employee. Then he had locked himself in his office for a few days and worked up a phone bill, using all his skill and charm to do business in the way he liked best.

Image 20

This is an example of one of the conversations he had during that time. 

"Hi. I understand you're selling advertising space on ponies." 

"That's right, how can I help you?"

"How much for a tit?"

Wallace quoted the caller a weekly rate. "Minimum one month," he added. 

"Phew, that's a bit too steep for us. What else have you got?"

"Well, let me explain. Tits, buttocks and face are top rate." 

"Face?"

"Yeah four spots, forehead, each cheek and chin."

"Wow. Go on."

"Next down are chest, neck, stomach, sides, upper arms and front of thighs - those are Level 2. Level 3 is the rest - lower legs and any other bits that are visible. I'm prepared to negotiate a price though - what were you thinking of?" The caller gave an indication.

"What are you advertising?" Wallace asked.

"Menswear. But I really don't fancy a legs position, somehow."

"Don't forget ponies high step. Lower leg is quite prominent. I'll tell you what, though," said Wallace, making up policy as he went along. "If I cut the pony's hair short we'll have an extra spot on her back, above where her arms are tied. How about that? Some shirt or jacket slogan would look good there." The caller agreed, and a deal was done.

"Just one thing," the new customer asked before ringing off. "Who else is advertising on that pony? Just so there's no clash, you know." Wallace checked his records.

"Well, she's not full yet, but we've got an orange drink on one tit and a bowling alley on the other, hamburgers on her belly, a leading brand of cola on her chest and neck, and a recruitment agency on her bum - you know, Don't get left behind. Sports shoes on one leg and the other still free. I'm sure you'll be pleased with the results - she looks very striking."

It was that same pony he had described which Wallace was looking at now, as the finishing touches were put to her commercial make up. Demand was so great that lots of additional little ads had been squeezed on here and there, so that she really was covered in a variety of colourful slogans and logos all over.

Her face had been sold for six months to a condom manufacturer, and Wallace wondered briefly how humiliated she must feel to be used in this fashion. What an intrusion of privacy and erosion of identity it must be to have lewd slogans and drawings covering your cheeks and chin! It made him laugh. A little while earlier, Sam had come running in with bad news.

"The bowling alley has gone bust - hey, there's a pun! Just had a call from the receivers telling us to cancel if possible." Wallace had fumed as he watched the erasing fluid being applied to the breast in question. This substance obviously caused the pony some discomfort - in fact it burned awfully - but she was fixed so firmly in the special painting frame that only the groans and stifled squeals through her huge gag gave this away.

"Couldn't we give her a sedative?" Sam suggested.

"I'm not wasting money like that," said Wallace angrily. "Let her suffer!" They now had an empty tit, though, which was annoying because the pony had been ready to go into action.

"No problem," said Wallace to the oriental. "Put- To advertise here, phone... and our number. Then on the underside of the breast a big now, which will show when it flops up and down."

"Brilliant!"

Wallace and Sam left, and after finishing this final bit of artwork, so did the artist. Before he did, though, he wheeled the whole assembly of tightly strapped, newly painted pony girl and rigid painting frame into a special little room, and without a word, shut the door on her, and turned up a thermostat which would raise the temperature of the room to a baking 100 degrees F.

The temporary tattooing method needed this as part of the fixing process. The pony would stand and sweat in the heat for a minimum of twelve hours, while the chemicals in the paint bonded to her skin, making her itch madly all over. In the morning she would undergo the final stage, which was to be immersed in a tank of special fluid for a further six hours, this time at near freezing temperatures. This whole procedure would be repeated every time even one advertisement needed to be changed, and was therefore a regular horror to be endured.

Trotting was used to horrors. Since being pursued and captured by a professional pony trapper two years ago, she had gone through hell, her pride as injured as her frequently whipped buttocks and breasts. But this final humiliation of having writing scrawled all over your body was more than she could bear - except that she had, somehow, to bear it. Being a pony was bad enough, but also having been turned into an object of the lowliest kind - equivalent to a sheet of newspaper or a display board - was crushing.

As she shivered and panicked in the cold fixing tank that day, Trottina, or Priscilla Humphreys-Trollope, as she had once been known, tried to switch off her conscious mind. It was difficult, but it would be the only way to cope. She remembered what she had once read about meditation and tried to use some of the techniques now-focusing on her breathing, repeating a single world over and over. She succeeded for short periods of time, but always the awareness of her predicament, not to mention the pain and discomfort, would jolt her back to reality and cause her to despair. In the weeks and months that followed, Trottina tried again, when she could, to still her anguish with meditation, but in fact she had little opportunity to do so, because of the many demands which were made upon her in her new life.

As the first advertising pony, an intensive program had been drawn up to exhibit and display her in as many places and at as many events as possible. Virtually every day she would be roused, fed and cleaned early, and then find herself strapped up tightly in a windowless horsebox for transportation to another part of the country. She was a pony girl on tour!

Sam, who often followed behind the horsebox in his car, found it amusing to imagine that the back of the unremarkable trailer was transparent, and that he could see the pony's rump and sex thrust towards him. (Wallace had decided on a sort of half bent-forward position; still upright enough to high step, and with the tits leading, but with a kink at the waist and the bum pushed suggestively backwards.) Little did they know, all these aggressive motorists sailing by or cutting him up, how close they were to an image of such extreme eroticism!

Trottina's days usually consisted of being harnessed to a light carriage and made to trot daintily up and down a shopping street, or around the grounds of some historic monument where there was a fete, or in front of the stands at a football stadium. Sometimes she wouldn't be required to move around too much, such as during the three days she stood in the foyer of a massive conference centre, or the week she spent touring supermarkets and railway stations. 

Wallace was often around, showing her to someone, or talking to the press, or charming potential customers. Though he was always strict about her harness being tight and her gait being perfect when she moved, he wasn't actually cruel to her. True, he saw her as little more than an object which he could use to make money out of, and humiliated her with his occasional wordless fucking of her at the end of the day, but he didn't go out of his way to torment her. 

Although life seemed hard, after a few weeks on the road as an advertising pony, Trottina finally realised and accepted that she was better off now than she had been in the training stable.

She still had no privacy, freedom, or chance to express herself - she always wore a heavy bit which acted as a gag, and was cautioned severely at any attempt to speak - and she was still spending her life in painful, humiliating restraint, and being made to spend long periods in stressful, exhausting motion. She was still having to tolerate her most intimate regions being prodded and probed by dozens of strange men everywhere, and being used sexually quite frequently. always with no thought for her own feelings or release.

But she was not being whipped! Sam or the trainer would sometimes use a soft paddle on her, to keep her going, but of course the advertising couldn't be defaced by bruises or cuts or weals, so she escaped that severe pain which had so much been a part of daily life at the stables. She was also housed in better conditions - because a customer might at any time ask to see an advertising pony in the flesh - and was fed quite well, because it was important that she stayed healthy and looked good. She was also seldom made to run very fast - certainly not pushed to her limits as she had often been during her training - because this conflicted with her purpose. People had to be able to see the advertising slogans and text clearly, and there was no benefit in a pony looking sweaty and dishevelled.

So Trottina settled down to her existence, secretly considering herself lucky. Occasionally, in future, she would suffer a little more at the hands of a sadistic handler, but Wallace, even as his advertising empire grew, liked to keep an eye on his ponies, and was harsh on any of his staff found abusing them to excess. Although Trottina never knew it, he did retain a special interest in her, because she had been the first, and continued to be able to recognise her personally as time went on, which was more than he could do for most of his other pony girl units, which, as the organisation grew, became distinguishable only by the code number branded onto the side of their necks.

WI remained in service for ten years, after which she was finally deemed too old, facially, to be a sufficiently attractive billboard, and was sold to an elderly pony enthusiast for use as a workhorse in the grounds of his mansion. Towards the end of her years of service she was seeing advertising ponies with W numbers as high as 3,000 plus, and experienced something akin to pride when an observer commented on her number and wondered aloud whether she could possibly have been the first ever.

She never forgot the cut of the whip she had experienced so often when she had first become a pony and never ceased to feel lucky that she had subsequently felt it so seldom. At the International Pony Girl Show, which she attended each year, she was reminded of this fact by the severe cruelty in evidence all around her, and always came away reflecting that she must see her glass, as it were, as half full and not half empty.

By the time of the 5th International Pony Girl Show, Wallace was well established on the scene and was enjoying a monopoly on pony girl advertising. In the early years, he had displayed his ponies at the show by having staff drive them round gently in one-man carriages. Now, however, having made a sufficiently generous financial contribution, he had come to an arrangement with the organisers which maximised pony girl exposure, but minimised staffing costs. The operation had become mechanised.

Temporarily bolted onto the floor of the exhibition hall, and weaving a convoluted, unobstructing route around the perimeter of the halls, and in between and around some of the stands and walkways, was a metal rail in which was embedded a moving cable. In a similar manner to the conveyer used in the pony rides enclosure, but leading from below rather than above, ponies were hitched up to this assembly and transported along their route without further human assistance. They were evenly spaced and kept moving at a steady but very reasonable trot, interspersed by occasional rest periods. At one point the track led into a servicing booth where they could unobtrusively be purged of wastes, watered and tidied up, one at a time.

This whole arrangement meant that ponies could be kept on the circuit almost indefinitely, and it was only the fact that there were lots of different ponies carrying lots of different adverts that resulted in their stints in action being kept down to about 4 hours.

As the years went on, Wallace used the advertising track more and more creatively. For example, a row of ponies were sometimes hooked up to it close together, with individual letters on each of them spelling out a product name. Such little trains of advertising ponies were very eye-catching, and for some reason humorous. He exploited the humour element by occasionally decorating them in some comic fashion, for example making them wear red noses when advertising a circus (which incidentally featured pony girls - this was another form of adult entertainment which was catching on), or attaching balloons carrying further advertising to their nipples, or exaggerating their buttocks with big plastic orbs that bounced up and down, or giving them little piggy tails with slogans streaming from their tips.

The track itself become more imaginative every year as more and more advertisers paid more and more money to have their name or logo sail round and round the pony show halls on the luscious body of a naked woman.

Sometimes the route deliberately crossed one of the main walkways and a sort of level crossing was set up at which the men had to wait briefly while a pony or ponies went by. A little bell would sound and the men would lean on the barrier, waiting to see the pony come puffing speedily towards them, just like a train!

Imagine the repeated humiliation of a woman forced to trot through such a crossing, her naked tits and crotch on display, her body covered with lewd advertising for condoms and beer and girlie magazines, perhaps with a huge balloon attached by a string to the end of her nose, and the men jeering at her, and making choo-choo-puff noises, and comparing her looks and figure to that of other ponies who had just passed through. Then, in several places, the track became raised on special ramps so that the ponies could be more easily seen. This meant frequent severe little slopes for them to climb, and increased their sense of exposure.

They might have to trot across little bridges, with visitors passing beneath and looking upwards for flashes of naughty bits, or over the top of cafes and bars, with dozens of men glancing up at them as they ate or drank. There were extended elevated sections around the edges of the halls and over some of the training and presentation areas, and in later years, the track was laid so that it led out into the entrance hall, above the ticket offices, and even out of the building, as an additional advertisement for the show. Like figures on a fancy clock, therefore, the pony girls would emerge from the side of the exhibition centre on little loops, at the mercy, for a few moments, of the weather, and briefly visible to traffic and pedestrians passing by.

There was some opposition to this arrangement, incidentally, by the local residents, but the culture of the day being so sex and money orientated, it had no effect whatsoever.

Men used the spectacle to keep their wives and secretaries in order.

"If you don't show me a bit more respect," they would say, pointing up at the pony girls popping into view like clockwork dolls, "you'll end up doing that for the rest of your life."

Once the track with the outdoor loops had been set up, the organisers decided to keep parts of it as a permanent feature, and Wallace was allowed to run his advertising ponies when the centre was being used for other events. Ponies might find themselves pounding round the same track while the halls were in use for a motor show, or an agricultural show, with pig pens and rows of tethered cattle taking the place of human ponies.

In these cases the advertising was often show related, so a pony's haunches might read Quality British Pork, her thighs For faster piston action, buy..., and the space above her shaven crotch, For all your lubrication needs, use...

But it was at the Pony Show that an incident occurred that stayed particularly in Trottina's mind. It was the first time the mechanised rail had been used, and while Wallace and Sam had gone out for a long celebratory lunch with the show organisers and a few key customers, the computer controlling the advertising circuit developed a fault. Suddenly, the cable accelerated to nearly three times the proper speed, dragging some twenty five ponies with it. Instead of trotting along sedately, the ponies suddenly found themselves careering forward at breakneck speed. Jolted this way and that as they went round corners, legs desperately pounding to keep up the impossible pace, they raced around the show, panting and gasping, and trying to indicate their distress by futile screams and whimpers through their effectively gagged mouths.

Of course none of the show's visitors realised there was anything wrong. They merely stood and admired this extra display of tormented female flesh, some even applauding as the panic-stricken ponies thundered past.

The two lads from Wallace's team had no idea how to stop the cable, and instead of finding the computer and pulling the plug, concentrated on trying to determine which restaurant their boss had gone to. Meanwhile the ponies' torment went on, for one hour, then two, then into the third. Half dragged along, so severely strapped up and firmly attached to the cable that they had no choice but to continue to try to put one leg in front of the other, they raced around the show like crazy, suffering as they had never suffered before. 

Image 21

When Wallace finally returned, he couldn't decide whether to be angry or amused. Having brought the circuit to a stop, he sauntered up to the heaving. panting, shaking form of Trottins, who felt more utterly broken, physically and emotionally, than ever before. For an instant, he was moved to be sympathetic, but then he saw the excited faces of the men who had gathered round her for a closer look and a fondle, and experienced a moment of self knowledge. 

He was exploiting the ponies, and exploiting the men, and he didn't care. 

Only one thing mattered to Lance Wallace - making money!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER 10 

SHOW-JUMPING

It was nearly five o'clock on the last evening of the show, and the final of the showjumping competition was about to begin. Three previous heats had brought the total number of competitors down to six. These six ponies and riders had gone through months of training to reach this point, and each was fired up with desire to win tonight's event and be acclaimed as this year's Pony Girl Showjumping Champion.

Of course the riders' and the ponies' motivations were somewhat different. The riders all lightly built young men in their early twenties - knew that success meant personal acclaim, a handsome sum of prize money, and possible career advancement - perhaps to coach or trainer in another stable. The ponies knew from bitter experience that they must spare no effort, and do their utmost to win tonight, because the consequences of losing didn't bear thinking about. Each of the six had been warned extensively that only first place was acceptable, and that if she failed to achieve it, she would suffer a succession of punishments worse than any she had previously encountered. So the ponies approached the evening with dread in their hearts, for they knew that there could only be one winner, and that however high the standard, however close the marks, five of them would face days if not weeks of heartless punishment if they failed to reach first place tonight.

The six contenders entered the warm up paddock where their riders waited to mount them and the press congregated, cameras rolling. Each pony was super fit and beautifully turned out - hair glossy, tack carefully polished and naked skin shining. Each was also heavily marked on the breasts, belly, buttocks and thighs with scars, weals and bruises old and new, for showjumping was the pony sport in which most encouragement was used. There was no way to get a pony -laden down with the weight of a man, and possibly already exhausted - to jump like a horse over a fence by gentle coaxing. She had to be whipped over. Driven on by pain to perform the impossible.

This was why being trained for showjumping was the ultimate hell for a pony, and why the showjumping competition was the most popular event of the show. The riders perched high on a pony's back so that they could lean over her shoulders a little to help with balance. They were strapped into their saddle very tightly so that there was no danger of them falling out, and so that they could move as one with their mount. The riding crop or whip which they invariably carried could be used on the buttocks or breasts. In addition they could jerk on the pony's bit if they wanted to cause her a little more pain, or use the specially designed spurs which adorned their boots. These were usually not actually sharp enough to draw blood, but served to prod the fleshy bits of a pony's bottom or thighs, giving her a painful reminder to work a little harder, and leaving nasty bruises and scratches which made subsequent prods all the more unpleasant and hence effective.

The ponies were led around the paddock on leading reins for a little while, then one by one pushed onto their knees for their riders to mount. 

Once they had been pulled up onto their feet again, it was quite clear how much the rider was in charge. The pony might be the one doing the moving around, but every step, every change of direction was very carefully controlled. A little kick from spurred boots, and the pony moved into a nice, balanced trot. A subtle tug on the reins and she turned immediately in the direction her rider wanted her to go. A different sort of tug, and she stopped dead. It was evident that all these showjumping ponies were superbly trained, and making absolutely sure they did exactly what they were told. The concentration was clear on their faces, tinged with fear and a certain jumpiness - they were so tensed up and worried that they might make the slightest mistake.

The loudspeakers announced that the competition was about to start, and accompanied by a spectacular fanfare, all six ponies trotted into the arena for a warm up lap. The crowd applauded and the riders waved, but the ponies could only look with horror at the jumps they would be expected to negotiate, and shudder inwardly.

The order in which these finalists would appear had been drawn at random, and the riders disagreed as to whether it was best to go early or late. Because of the way things were arranged, ponies yet to jump would see those returning from the ring, and as the latter were always in a relatively dismal state, it was argued that those waiting would get more scared and distressed, and tend to panic when they saw what they themselves would soon be reduced to. On the other hand, a rider could make his mount look at an abused pony and point out that the better she performed, and the less mistakes she made, the fewer weals and bruises she would come out of the ring with.

The first contender was a tall pony with huge breasts called Double Everest, or Peaky for short. She was strong and obedient, and one of the favourites. Quite a bit of money was riding on her winning this competition. She trotted into the ring, knees lifting high, and her rider whispering last minute threats into her ear. The bell went and she got her first stroke of the riding crop as her rider urged her towards the first of the ten jumps which made up the course.

Long ago when Peaky had first seen a jump such as this one loom up in front of her, she had panicked, not believing it possible that she could ever jump it. Repeated attempts had taught her, however, that it was possible. True, for every success, particularly in the early days, there were ten or so failures, which involved smacking into assorted railings at high speed, or tripping over in mid flight and landing in a painful heap on the floor with the rider on top of you, but after a while, with increased fitness and increased motivation to avoid yet more injury, the hateful obstacles could be conquered regularly.

A huge thwack of riding crop on naked flesh echoed around the arena, and Peaky leaped off the ground and covered the coloured poles with an inch to spare. stumbling on landing, but quickly recovering her balance. She felt a surge of confidence. Maybe she would manage it, maybe she would win after all! But then she saw jump number two and her spirits sunk. It was a huge hedge, three feet high, and at least three feet deep, and all of a sudden she knew she would never clear it. She daren't even try. She would get caught on top of it, scratched and floundering among the sharp twigs! She couldn't- she would have to refuse it, whatever the consequences!

Image 22

But her rider, who had worked with her for months, could tell what she was thinking by the change in her gait, and knew that this was exactly where his skills were called for. Jerking painfully on the reins, he pulled her into position, and began both to strike at her bottom with the crop, and pound his heels into her thighs.

"Jump it, you bitch!" he muttered into her ear. "Don't you dare think of refusing. Just keep going and jump it. It's only the second jump-I'm not letting you embarrass me by failing so early!"

The generally increased level of pain cleared Peaky's mind, and she learnt, as she had learnt over and over again, that she had no option. Summoning up all her strength and resolve as the hedge rushed towards her, she launched herself up and over the threatening twigs, scraping her feet, but landing safely. The audience applauded, unaware of the huge swings of emotion that the pony was experiencing as the round progressed, but seeing only her sweat covered flesh and bouncing curves, as she struggled over the ten obstacles, getting increasingly exhausted and dishevelled. As they watched her strain and struggle to make each leap, most felt jealous of the rider. How wonderful it would be to feel that naked body straining beneath you! What a dream to actually be the one using the whip and the spurs!

Peaky, charged with adrenalin, and responding to the rider's taunting and punishment on automatic, cleared every one of the ten jumps without once knocking over a pole or falling. She had achieved a clear round, which was relatively unusual, and really the most amazing feat, but was past caring. All she wanted was for the pain to stop, as she staggered into the enclosure, and stood shaking while her rider dismounted and was congratulated by the stable's owner.

It has to be said, however, that though the crowd had enjoyed Peaky's clear round, their applause and appreciation for it was not so great as for the next contender, who did rather less well. For we mustn't forget that it was failure that the watchers were more interested in, because more failure meant more punishment.

Next Thrashing seemed too small a pony to be any good at showjumping, and although she had done well in previous rounds, she went all to pieces this time. She refused the first three fences completely, crashing painfully into two of them, and had to be whipped and whipped to struggle across them at all. At the fourth jump, which involved running up a little hill and then negotiating a steep bank, she fell headlong, and almost didn't get up, and at the water jump, she kept ploughing right into the pool of water and getting wetter and wetter as her rider brought her around for another try. This was what the audience really wanted to see, and they roared with laughter as she struggled on, falling at every few paces, her jockey getting knocked about and angry but refusing to give up. In any case, retiring was against the rules, so the unfortunate pony was driven on until, just before the final jump, she fell flat on her face, and wouldn't budge, even though her rider laid into her with all his might. He wouldn't stop whipping her even when his colleagues ran into the arena to drag the pony off, he was so angry at having been humiliated by her hopeless performance. The crowd loved every minute though. This was what they really wanted to see! The next three ponies did equally poorly. They couldn't help being affected by the roars and jeers of the crowd, and seeing their fellow competitors stagger into the paddock upset them so much that they forgot all the threats of punishment and tended to panic and completely forget all their training. Very few fences were being negotiated successfully, and the event degenerated into a frenzied fiasco of active whips and spurs, and struggling, sweating, screaming womanhood. The stables participating were disappointed, but it has to be said that the organisers of the show weren't too upset. As they had anticipated, showjumping ponies had become a major talking point, and something that most of the audience would be more than happy to pay to see again.

And so, with only one clear round, it looked as though Double Everest was set to be the winner, if the final pony could do no better than the others. Everyone thought the competition must surely be over, and so were surprised when Independent Beauty trotted coolly into the ring, and began leaping over fences without much apparent effort, and with the whip hardly being used at all. There was stunned silence as this lovely blonde pony pounded around the course, and when she cleared the final gate successfully, a massive round of applause. Suddenly everyone was trying to remember who this contender was, and what stable she came from. While she had certainly been under the control of her rider, and had felt his whip and spurs occasionally, there was something different about her. Something which implied a greater motivation and will to succeed than any of the other ponies had exhibited. As the against-the-clock jump-off between Peaky and Beauty was announced, the crowd shuffled and muttered. How had she been so well trained, this mystery pony? What was the secret?

The truth of the matter was rather surprising, and doubtless the crowd wouldn't have believed it had they known. Roger, Beauty's rider, hadn't believed it at first, but now there was no doubt, and he marvelled at the situation in which he found himself.

Because, alone among all the pony girls in existence, Beauty was not living this barbarous lifestyle against her will. She was a voluntary pony, something seemingly impossible, yet true. She was an extreme masochist and had aban- doned a conventional lifestyle to live the life of a suffering, abused beast of burden for one reason only, which was that it turned her on. Not only did she exist in an almost constant state of erotic arousal, she found her role deeply emotionally satisfying. She had found the perfect niche for herself, and intended to stay in it. Beauty adored being a pony girl, and the more abused she was the better! Roger, leading her round the paddock by the halter, reflected on the road that had brought them to this point. He would always remember, as a committed and strict but reclusive pony enthusiast, he had been taken aback when this smart young woman had come to him, and begged to be made into a pony. It was so unusual that he had been convinced it was some sort of trick, but all the checks he did on her supported her story. She had left her job, sold her house, and decided to put her whole life behind her. She had discovered as a teenager that she got exceptionally turned on by being tied up and whipped, and with the advent of the pony girl scene, she had become obsessed with the idea of abandoning herself to a masochistic hell for ever! She had thrown herself at Roger, accepting all his testing and ill-treatment as he tried to substantiate whether she was legitimate, and while he gave her opportunities to change her mind and withdraw, she never regretted her decision and continued to take whatever extreme training and punishment he chose to put her through with apparent delight.

For a year he had played with her, trying out every possible harness, and flogging her surely more than any other pony had been flogged before. But rather than ever complain, she thanked him profusely (before he had forbidden her to talk, a few months into her new regime), and seemed to spend herself in endless orgasms at the merest touch of leather whip or strap (before he had decided to take this into his control as well, and limit the amount of pleasure he allowed her).

But one thing Independent Beauty had always been afraid of, and that was that the world would find out that she was a voluntary pony. There was no telling how this would be taken, but there was a fair chance that it would mean stardom of a sort - and she had no desire for certain individuals from her past to learn of her fate (for example her husband, whom she had abandoned), nor to be hounded for exclusive interviews, or treated as some sort of freak. She just wanted to be a pony, and treated as any other, that is with extreme cruelty by a large number of heartless men. This was the state of affairs which aroused her so much, and with which she was so happy.

But Roger had other plans. He was after all a strict, cruel master, and therefore by definition self-interested and greedy. He could see the potential for exploit- ing Beauty to make himself lots of money, and had his own hidden agenda. First win a high profile event such as this one, and then, in the full public eye, announce the truth of Beauty's motivation to the world, supported by the extensive proof (mainly in the form of video tapes) which he had been collecting. Those videos alone could make him so much money, he could live in luxury for the rest of his life. Beauty was pretty spectacular, thrashing around in orgasmic rapture as he laid into her arse repeatedly with a studded strap!

And so, as he mounted for the jump off, Roger was grinning to himself at the thought of what was to come, and what a nice little surprise his special little pony  was going to get. She still had to win, though, and with this sobering thought, he squeezed her tightly with his spur-carrying boots and whispered into her ear. 

"You've proved you can do it up to now, but in this round I can't take any risks. I intend to whip you hard, use these spurs, and yank on the reins just as much as I want, because we have to do it perfectly, and also cut every possible corner to get the winning time. I don't think Peaky's any match for us, but we mustn't be complacent. So I want your absolute best, do you understand?" 

Beauty nodded, and Roger noticed that she was trembling with emotion. 

"You're not going to enjoy this round one little bit - I'll make sure of that." 

Beauty nodded again, and, a little more quietly, Roger added one more piece of information.

"If we lose, you won't see an orgasm for six months! But if we win, I'll give you one out there - in front of all those men!"

Cunt juice flowing down her naked thighs, Beauty turned towards the arena and awaited her master's command.

Peaky was first in the ring, appalled that she would have to face the same dreadful circuit for a second time, this time against the clock! Yet again, she tried her very best; yet again, she experienced those awful conflicting emotions of fear and triumph, as she approached and sailed across the fences. She did well - very well - but not well enough to secure a clear round. Two railings down and a foot in the water gave her twelve faults, and she left the ring sobbing, sure that this had not been a winning performance.

Now Roger was faced with a dilemma which he was often to describe in later life. With his only other jump-off competitor having left the ring with twelve faults, it would be a common and accepted strategy to ignore the time factor and go for a clear round. He could go as slowly as he wanted, and could still knock over two fences to win! It was the obvious, less risky, option.

On the other hand, considering the revelation he was about to make to the world about how independent Independent Beauty really was, this round had to be a showpiece. She had to be brilliant, but she also had to be in a sweaty, masochistic frenzy, or his story might not ring true. It was a big gamble, but Roger was feeling confident. He knew what this pony could do, and decided to give the papers something to marvel at. With a mighty whoop he sunk his spurs into Beauty's sides and whipped her at full speed towards the first fence.

Never would anyone forget that historical round. How she tore around the course, taking risks, throwing herself into the air, screaming with pain as the spurs and whip urged her on again and again. She was magnificent, spectacular, unbelievable! Especially when, as people watched the video after Roger's imminent revelation, they realised that she was in a sexual frenzy throughout it, and was enjoying every pain filled minute. As she cleared the last jump with inches to spare and raced towards the finish and a record-breaking time, the crowd was ecstatic, and Roger knew that his moment had come. If not by the whip, by exposure and embarrassment he would see that Beauty did not enjoy the rest of her life as a pony.

For voluntary ponies were all very well, but involuntary ones were best!

As they stood, waiting to receive the winner's rosette, Roger placed the tip of his riding crop at that sensitive spot between his pony's legs, and began to rub. 

Sweating, bleeding, exhausted, but, amazingly, happy, Beauty spent herself in the middle of the International Pony Girl Show arena, with thousands of men looking on - and a future more hellish than even she had ever imagined looming.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

CHAPTER 11

 EPILOGUE

INTERVIEWER: Ladies and Gentlemen! Well, I don't know if there'll be any ladies watching - all of our studio audience here appear to be male - but anyway. Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to thank you for joining us on this momentous occasion! As you'll have noticed, there's been a lot of build up to tonight in the pony girl world and in the press generally, and viewing figures are expected to break all records. We have simultaneous radio broadcast and satellite links to all parts of the world, and we don't intend to let you down! We have a program of events planned and quite a few surprises, so stay with us for a superb evening of entertainment.

Yes, tonight is the night the world has been waiting for - the first ever interview with that crazy lady Independent Beauty, the world's only voluntary pony girl. Broadcast live and uncensored, this should be a fascinating insight into the life and mind of this beautiful woman, who since being exposed at the Fifth International Pony Girl Show three months ago as voluntarily having commit- ted herself to a life of pain and servitude, has become the most famous woman - or should I say pony - in the world. And tonight, she'll be here with us, talking about what it feels like to be a pony, and demonstrating, I hope, just what she's prepared to go through, and just how voluntary a pony she really is.

And now, here she comes! It is my very great personal pleasure to welcome onto this show - Independent Beauty!

Thank you, Gentlemen! What a reception! Good evening, my dear.

BEAUTY: Good evening.

INTERVIEWER: Come and sit down here.

Image 23

BEAUTY: Thank you.

INTERVIEWER: May I call you Beauty? BEAUTY: Please do.

INTERVIEWER: Okay. Now for the benefit of our radio listeners, I have to explain that Beauty is not actually being a pony at the moment, but she's wearing a sort of brief black outfit made of leather straps that reminds us of her real status. Also, she has on hoof shaped high heels - looks like she's right on tiptoe - and a halter around her head, although there is of course, um, no bit, so she can talk to us like a normal woman.

Now Beauty, there is so much that I want to ask you, I hardly know where to begin, but then we have all evening. Perhaps, to start with, you could tell us in your own words, what happened at the International Pony Girl Show, and what has happened to you since then?

BEAUTY: Of course, I'll be happy to tell you all I can.

INTERVIEWER: You're so polite! Go ahead, then.

BEAUTY: Right. Well, after we'd won the showjumping competition on the last day of the show, my master exposed me to the press as having come to him of my own will and asked to be made into a pony girl.

INTERVIEWER: How did you feel about that?

BEAUTY: I felt very upset and betrayed. I didn't want any of this to happen. 

INTERVIEWER: So what exactly happened when he made the statement. 

BEAUTY: Well, at first no-one believed him, but he handed over a pile of videos.

INTERVIEWER: Are those the videos that show you being trained in private? 

BEAUTY: Yes.

INTERVIEWER: Well, you must know that a lot of the men watching this program have seen those films - I certainly have - and there can be no doubt about your feelings and reactions from them.

BEAUTY: No.

INTERVIEWER: You genuinely wanted to become a pony, and enjoyed your training?

BEAUTY: I don't deny it.

INTERVIEWER: And then they asked you, didn't they? At the press confer- ence, when you were still all cut up and exhausted from the showjumping. 

BEAUTY: Yes. One of the journalists suggested I was asked directly, so they took out my bit and got all the cameras on me while they asked the question. 

INTERVIEWER: And what exactly did they ask?

BEAUTY: "Is it true you are a pony girl by choice?" 

INTERVIEWER: And how did you answer?

BEAUTY: Well, I knew from that moment that I had no choice. There was no use denying it, because my training had been documented in such detail. So I said 'yes'.

INTERVIEWER: And it's that 'yes' which has put you in the public eye. Now your old master then sold you, is that right?

BEAUTY: He did, yes. I haven't seen him since that day - except when he's been interviewed on TV.

INTERVIEWER: Do you resent him abandoning you?

BEAUTY: Well, I was happy with him. I thought we had a very special relationship. But he obviously wanted the money more.

INTERVIEWER: And who bought you?

BEAUTY: Well, apparently I've changed hands frequently, as one syndicate or another offers more and more money for the exclusive rights to exploit me. 

INTERVIEWER: So someone's making a lot of money out of you? 

BEAUTY: Of course.

INTERVIEWER: And you won't be seeing any of it?

BEAUTY: No.

INTERVIEWER: You must realise that there are those who accuse you of being a fraud, and say that you're just a highly paid prostitute who will soon back out and disappear with a massive lump sum.

BEAUTY: I suppose that'll only be disproved if I carry on being a pony girl. 

INTERVIEWER: If? You mean you might not?

BEAUTY: Well, it is supposed to be voluntary - that's the whole point. 

INTERVIEWER: But what about those who 'own' you? Would they ever really let you get away from it now? Is it just that you went into it voluntarily, but now you're a captive just like all the others?

BEAUTY: I think you know the answer to that question.

INTERVIEWER: Well, maybe. But I want you to explain to the viewers. 

BEAUTY: This has become the very essence of my existence. It's what I always foresaw and wanted to avoid. You see, I'm only valuable and of interest to anyone if I really am in it voluntarily. There are far too many ponies around nowadays for anyone to be interested otherwise. So I have to keep proving myself, over and over again. I have to keep being driven to a point where I have great reason to abandon it, and then be forced to restate my commitment to it. This is what makes life particularly hard.

INTERVIEWER: And you do keep saying yes. When you could escape? 

BEAUTY: It seems that way.

INTERVIEWER: Okay, Beauty, you've been very frank and maybe we'll come back to this crucial issue later. But first, perhaps you could tell our audience a little more about the detail of what the last few months have been like. I can't help noticing that you're covered with whip marks and scars all over. How have you come by these recent ones here, for example?

BEAUTY: Well, since the show I've been kept very busy as a working pony. Apparently, there's a great demand for me, so I've been touring various stables and being hired out to people.

INTERVIEWER: You mean people who want to drive or ride you as a pony? 

BEAUTY: Yes.

INTERVIEWER: Which does it tend to be?

BEAUTY: About half 'n' half. People seem to like to experiment with me, and I've been put into all sorts of positions for driving. But because I've been trained as a ridden pony, there's a lot of that too. 

INTERVIEWER: And showjumping?

BEAUTY: Yes. But of course people don't realise that you have to know what you're doing as a jockey, so some of them get disappointed with me. 

INTERVIEWER: You mean they can't get you to jump for them? 

BEAUTY: Well, I try, but it's so difficult if someone really heavy is on me, and is sitting and leaning all wrong. That's what happened yesterday. A gentleman got furious when I kept crashing into the various obstacles he was asking me to jump, but I just couldn't keep my balance, and he was whipping me in such a frenzy, it just got more and more difficult to concentrate.

INTERVIEWER: Wow! A day in the life of a pony doesn't sound like much fun, does it chaps? But tell me, how much are you hired out for? 

BEAUTY: I'm not sure exactly, but I gather it's a few hundred per hour, and a few thousand per day.

INTERVIEWER: Do people also - I mean, does hire include sexual services? 

BEAUTY: Yes.

INTERVIEWER: So lots of people have, er, screwed you in the last few months?

BEAUTY: Oh, yes. Several per day. More and more all the time, it seems, because they keep squeezing extra hire periods in. Not everyone does, though. Some are only bothered about the whipping and driving. But then some only want to screw. It varies.

INTERVIEWER: So did you realise this would happen to you when you first became a pony?

BEAUTY: The sex, you mean?

INTERVIEWER: Yes.

BEAUTY: Well, I was more interested in the bondage and training element initially, but of course I realised it meant being available. Anyway, I was always submissive, so I'm used to it.

INTERVIEWER: So would you say you've fucked - hundreds of men in your life time?

BEAUTY: Easily.

INTERVIEWER: Thousands?

BEAUTY: Definitely.

INTERVIEWER: Tens of thousands?

BEAUTY: Well, I've lost count, but it wouldn't surprise me if it reaches that. 

INTERVIEWER: So that's a very well used pussy you've got there, Beauty. I don't suppose you'd care to show it to us? You say you're submissive.

BEAUTY: I will if you want me to.

INTERVIEWER: I think it's within our remit. Split your legs towards the camera.

BEAUTY: Like this?

INTERVIEWER: Lovely! Perhaps a bit wider so we can get in for a close up. Óh, yes! There we are, for all you viewers around the world, a close up of Independent Beauty's frequently used pussy. Those only listening will just have to imagine her sitting with her long, weal covered legs wide apart, the leather straps of her makeshift skirt pulled up to her hips, and the camera lens just inches away from her juicy sex! How does it feel, Beauty to have your private parts exposed to the world like this?

BEAUTY: I don't see them as private.

INTERVIEWER: So they're anybody's, are they? BEAUTY: Of course. I'm a pony.

Image 24

INTERVIEWER: Wow, this is some woman, ladies and gentlemen! Anyway, I think that's enough pussy for the moment. We've got some other entertain- ment lined up for you all out there! Beauty, I take it you won't object to us showing a few bits of film of you in action?

BEAUTY: Would it matter if I did?

INTERVIEWER: Well, um, good point. Anyway. We've managed to find some rare clips of some rather unusual pony girl positions. You were right when you said that people enjoyed experimenting with you.

BEAUTY: All sorts have tried me, yes.

INTERVIEWER: Do you remember this? Ooh, listen to those gasps from our audience here. This back view is particularly revealing, isn't it?

BEAUTY: Yes, it's a show position really. Very difficult to move in it much. 

INTERVIEWER: He's making you try though, isn't he? Let me just make clear; this is a video of Independent Beauty in a very severely bent forward position. She's bent about double at the waist, and her front end is held down by a very short chain from her neck to the hobble between her feet. She's being whipped on the bottom - and cunt, I have to say - and she's moving forward rapidly on the conveyor, despite the hobble. Taking little short steps with almost straight legs, seeming to yank her own head down with every rapid step, and by the look of it, hitting her calves against her drooping tits. It looks like you could trip over your own tits, Beauty, running like that!

BEAUTY: It can happen. That's why my arms are stretched out sideways and fixed to stationary bars to make it more stable.

INTERVIEWER: But the chain pulling on your neck must be terrible! 

BEAUTY: Yes, it's a very difficult position. But the worst thing is the strain on the backs of your legs, from being bent over so far.

INTERVIEWER: Absolutely amazing what you put yourself through! How long did you get kept like this?

BEAUTY: I think it was a couple of hours.

INTERVIEWER: And did you get a fucking at the end of it?

BEAUTY: Probably - didn't he film that far?

INTERVIEWER: I don't think we have that part. But we do have a couple more unusual pony positions. Here's one from your training days. 

BEAUTY: Oh, no! This is so embarrassing.

INTERVIEWER: But isn't it all embarrassing, watching yourself sweat in humiliating positions, along with millions of viewers? 

BEAUTY: Yes, it is. But this particular thing is so silly.

INTERVIEWER: Isn't it just. This is Beauty pulling a heavily laden carriage with her ankles tied together. In fact her legs are held together all the way up by a rubber sleeve, with extra rope making sure they stay firmly like that. There's only one way to move in these circumstances - jump! Beauty is jumping forwards like some demented frog - I must say, it's quite funny.

BEAUTY: Please!

INTERVIEWER: It sounds like you're squealing quite a bit as your master drives you forward. Why is that, Beauty?

BEAUTY: It's those awful clamps and weights he's put on my nipples. They pull and jerk at them so badly every time my tits flop up and down. 

INTERVIEWER: And what about your arms? They're tied above your head somehow.

BEAUTY: They're fixed to a bar that comes up from my back. He had this idea about whipping my armpits.

INTERVIEWER: I see. So all in all, not very comfortable, having to jump forwards with your legs tied like that, and pull the cart at the same time. 

BEAUTY: No. It was particularly tiring.

INTERVIEWER: And now look at this clip. How's this for unusual?! 

BEAUTY: Oh, dear. I'm surprised you've got film of that.

INTERVIEWER: I'm glad we have! Here Beauty is draped backwards -yes, on her back - over a little rounded contraption with wheels, with her hands and feet touching the floor. Each wrist is attached by a chain to the corresponding ankle, which ensures her legs are kept nicely spread and her cunt is pointing upwards, ready to receive a whipping. Her head's almost touching the floor, so she can see where she's going, albeit upside down, and her tits are nice and prominent, falling forwards towards her face slightly.

There's a thick strap keeping her fixed down to the moving block, and a bar connects the middle of this to the light trap in which a man is sitting. She's gagged, and there are reins coming from either side of the bit, but if you think about it, the instructions must mean the opposite to usual. A tug on the right side of her face means a left turn for the driver. Here he goes now, whipping her cunt accurately with a little riding whip and forcing her to attempt to scrabble along, her chained hands and legs moving together, pushing against the floor, just about moving herself along with the help of the wheels, and dragging the carriage behind her.

Well, I must say, it's a delightful position for the driver, with the cunt, breasts, belly and thighs all exposed to the whip. But very slow going, I would have thought.

BEAUTY: He got me to do some quite fast bursts of speed eventually, once we'd tried it a few times.

INTERVIEWER: And I think he left you overnight like that didn't he?

BEAUTY: Yes. The whole thing was horribly painful. The strain of that position is unbearable.

INTERVIEWER: Mm. Very interesting, though. I'm sure your many admirers will have enjoyed seeing you in that position.

How do you feel about being so famous, Beauty? Having so many men interested in looking at you?

BEAUTY: It doesn't have much effect on my day to day existence. As a pony, I'm mostly oblivious to what's going on around me and who might be watching.

INTERVIEWER: But now you've got lots of different men whipping you, whereas before it was just your master.

BEAUTY: But I don't really distinguish between them much. There are so many, they just seem to merge together into the person whipping me. 

INTERVIEWER: Do you sometimes get more than one guy whipping you at the same time, though?

BEAUTY: Yes, that's been happening more lately.

INTERVIEWER: Has it? Well perhaps later we - oh, nothing. Never mind. Look Beauty, it's fascinating talking to you, but I'm sure everyone is keen to actually see you in action. So I think it's time we went onto the next stage of our plan for tonight, and turned you back into a pony.

BEAUTY: I'm always a pony.

INTERVIEWER: That's how you see yourself now? 

BEAUTY: It's just a fact.

INTERVIEWER: Okay, well what we had in mind is to get you kitted out as a mounted pony, and then, would you believe, yours truly will have a goat riding you! Is that alright?

BEAUTY: Of course.

INTERVIEWER: Off you go then, your team's waiting to saddle you up. And meanwhile, here's a few more clips of Beauty in different positions and harnesses, for you at home to sit back and enjoy.

That's nice, isn't it?...Mm, she does look good in that German style - I like it... Well, I don't know about you guys, but I could watch ponies in motion all day and not get bored - especially a pony like this one. You just ask if you can abuse her, and she smiles politely and says, of course!

But that was quick - she's back already. Here comes Independent Beauty the pony, all ready for me to try her out!

Beauty, you look even more gorgeous than you did a moment ago! I asked them to leave the bit out so we could still talk to you, but you've got reins attached to the halter, I see. I can't wait to learn how to use them. Here, I can't resist just leading you about by the reins for a while. Do you mind?

BEAUTY: It's nice of you to ask, but you don't have to, you know. Just treat me like a real horse. Take control.

INTERVIEWER: Take control! There we have it - straight from the horse's mouth, I could say! Okay, come this way, you gorgeous thing, so we can give the studio audience a better look. Don't you just love the smell of these leather straps? And the way the harness jingles! And the way she tosses her head!

That's it, boys. Give the pony a little pat and a stroke. She's being good, isn't she? Now Beauty, how do I go about climbing into this contraption on your back?

BEAUTY: Well, Master, if I kneel down like this, you just have to step into it - that's it - and pull the top strap tighter around your waist. 

INTERVIEWER: So I'm your Master now, am I?

BEAUTY: Yes, anyone who rides me is my Master. 

INTERVIEWER: Okay. I think I'm settled in. What now?

BEAUTY: Now I stand up. It helps if you lean forward and hold onto the straps at the front or my tits.

INTERVIEWER: I think I'll go for the tits, thank you. Ooh, lovely. Here we go whoops! It's just like riding piggy back! Are your hands tied together underneath the saddle?

BEAUTY: Yes.

INTERVIEWER: And what do I do with my feet?

BEAUTY: In the stirrups, Master. Do they feel comfortable?

INTERVIEWER: Yes, they seem alright. But how do you feel, Beauty? You can't be comfortable, with my weight on your back? 

BEAUTY: Well, no. But I'm used to it. It's not too bad. 

INTERVIEWER: Glad to hear it! So how do we move about?

BEAUTY: You squeeze my hips with your feet to move forward, and use the reins to guide me.

INTERVIEWER: Just like a real pony.

BEAUTY: Yes, but you can give me commands as well.

INTERVIEWER: Okay, take me for a ride around the studio! Wee! Here we go. Round to the left, then up these steps. Keep going up, come on! Now around the back of the audience and down again. Make sure we don't fall now, or I won't be pleased! Made it! Well done. How was that?

BEAUTY: W - well, hard work, Master. Stairs are - are always difficult. 

INTERVIEWER: And if I were to ask you to do it again, only faster?

BEAUTY: If you wish, Master.

INTERVIEWER: I do wish. Aargh... oh, dear...aaah...well, I did ask for it. You sound out of breath now, Beauty.

BEAUTY: Y - yes. M - Master.

INTERVIEWER: But you'll still do what you're told.

BEAUTY: W-well, yes, Master. I - I'm a submissive pony. And - if I don't, you can can punish me.

INTERVIEWER: How would I do that, Beauty?

BEAUTY: Well, you could kick me harder. Or, um, you could -ask for a whip. 

INTERVIEWER: I might just do that. Do you think I could have a whip, somebody? Thank you. Now.

BEAUTY: Ouch!

INTERVIEWER: Yes, I think I'll soon get the hang of this. Let's keep trotting round and round, Beauty, while I ask you a few more questions. 

BEAUTY: Yes - yeeoouch - Master!

INTERVIEWER: Now, Beauty. I've been dying to talk to you about how your sexuality fits into all this. Let me start by asking you why you decided to become a pony?

BEAUTY: It's - it's difficult to talk about it.

INTERVIEWER: So what? If I can order you to carry me up stairs, I can order you to answer my question.

BEAUTY: Well, I suppose I was turned on by ponies. I was drawn to it. 

INTERVIEWER: But did you have any experience of, well, punishment in your sex life previously?

BEAUTY: Yes - a few guys had - whipped and caned me. 

INTERVIEWER: And did it turn you on?

BEAUTY: I- not always at the time, but in general, yes.

INTERVIEWER: So you got more and more into it, until you were obsessed with the idea of a lifetime of total subjugation...is that right?

BEAUTY: I guess so.

INTERVIEWER: And how did you like being whipped so much, once your training began? Did you like it, Beauty?

BEAUTY: I can't - aaarrggh!!

INTERVIEWER: Answer me!

BEAUTY: I'm sorry I'm so out of breath now it's difficult to explain - ooouuuughhh!

INTERVIEWER: Try!

BEAUTY: I loved it and I hated it! It - it was so painful, so awful. But - but it made me come.

INTERVIEWER: So being whipped aroused you?

BEAUTY: Yes - I couldn't help it.

INTERVIEWER: You had lots of orgasms?

BEAUTY: Yes, they came really easily.

INTERVIEWER: Beauty, are you aroused now? 

BEAUTY: Oh, don't-

INTERVIEWER: I want an answer. Everybody watching and listening wants an answer.

BEAUTY: Owaargh - oouch - AAAARRGH!

INTERVIEWER: Tell me Beauty. You're running round naked in front of millions of men. You're carrying a famous television presenter - though I say so myself-on your back, and he's whipping your bum and squeezing your tits and kicking your thighs. He's also asking you humiliating questions about your personal motivations. Are you turned on, Beauty?

BEAUTY: Oouch - aaah! 

INTERVIEWER: Tell Me! 

BEAUTY: Yes! Yes, I am!

INTERVIEWER: Set me down quickly, Beauty, and show the camera your cunt again. Let's see whether it's dripping. There it is - oh, yes, you can see the difference. Definitely very juicy and swollen. I'm afraid Beauty's pussy tells its own story about how she's feeling!

Well, now, thank you for the ride my dear, but I think what we'll do now is get you strapped up as a bent-forward pony, because we're going to have ourselves a little competition. Did anyone tell you what was going to happen tonight, Beauty?

BEAUTY: Well, only that it was going to be an interview, and that I'd probably be harnessed up a little.

INTERVIEWER: Good. In that case it's my pleasure to tell you what's going to happen next.

Can you boys lift that screen, now? Thanks. Now, do you know what those three machines are?

BEAUTY: They're uphill treadmills.

INTERVIEWER: That's right, with the angle adjusted to maximum, so any pony fixed to them is in effect struggling up a steep, endless incline.

Now, we're going to have a little competition between you and two other ponies. But don't worry, it's not going to be any sort of speed or endurance competition. The treadmills are just to keep you in action and displayed nicely. We're going to have a beauty competition! Now you trot over there and get your harness changed, while I introduce our other two pony guests.

BEAUTY: Yes, Master.

INTERVIEWER: Good girl. Now all you guys who are interested in pony girl events, you've probably heard of the Pony Queen competition. It was televised this year, and from next year it's going to be held at the International Pony Girl Show. This is really at the gentler end of pony girl activities. The organisers don't tend to want the ponies marked, so the competitors tend to be pampered a bit, and it really is just a beauty competition.

This year's winner was a stunning blonde pony with lovely big tits. You may remember her for having pierced nipples with little bells attached. Well, especially for you to feast your eyes on, I'm pleased to welcome - this year's Pony Queen!

Now this is her handler, Ted Clarke. Ted, you must've been pleased to win the title this year?

TED: Sure was! She's such a looker, she deserves it!

INTERVIEWER: I quite agree with you. The tits are fantastic, aren't they? Does she always have the bells on?

TED: Mostly. Don't want to lose her, do I?

INTERVIEWER: Absolutely not! And these rosettes?

TED: Well, this is the Pony Queen gold trophy around her neck. The others are from different competitions around the world. I've been showing her for a couple of years now.

INTERVIEWER: Ted, I think I read in the papers that you had a little upset just before the Pony Queen competition.

TED: That's right. The night before, someone broke into her stable and covered her with graffiti! It would've been a disaster, except a groom heard her whinnies, and we had to spend the whole night scrubbing it off!

Image 25

INTERVIEWER: Do you know who did it?

TED: Well, we suspect one of our competitors, but we can't prove it. There's been a lot of rivalry on the circuit recently, now the prize money's got so high. 

INTERVIEWER: There have even been a couple of attempted abductions, haven't there?

TED: Oh, at least. We employ security guards now. Just last week there was a case in the Far East when a show pony got whipped to shreds by a rival stable, just before a major event.

INTERVIEWER: Well, I'm glad everything turned out alright for you, and that you're with us here today. If you'd like to take her over there to the first treadmill, I'll bring on our other contestant for tonight. Good luck.

TED: Thanks. Come on, girl.

INTERVIEWER: Our next special guest has also had a lot of publicity this year. You probably know the magazine Pony Girl Monthly - it has a huge circulation now. Well, it held a big competition a while back, asking readers to vote on which was their favourite pony girl based on pictures in the magazine, and we have the winner of that competition with us today.

Our final guest pony for tonight - please welcome Pony Girl Monthly's Miss Horseflesh!

What a delightful name, and what a superb piece of horseflesh she is! This is her trainer, Lee Norbury. Hello, Lee. I notice Miss Horseflesh does have marks on her. Do you not compete in the beauty shows?

LEE: Hello. No, we decided not to, because she's slightly on the stocky side. Obviously the readers preferred a nice broad arse, but the judges at these competitions might not.

INTERVIEWER: She's still a good looker, though.

LEE: Oh, yes. Lovely features, gorgeous hair.

INTERVIEWER: Well, thanks for participating tonight. Take her over there and get her fixed up.

Now finally, here's Independent Beauty back with us, nicely strapped up with her bum in the air and her tits drooping, and this time with a nice big bit-gag. I doubt she's too pleased at having her looks judged alongside these two winners, but she'll just have to put up with it.

Now what we're going to do is get these ladies working and then ask our studio audience - as a representative sample of the pony admiring population - to vote. Quite simply, which pony do they like best - the Pony Queen, Miss Horseflesh, or Independent Beauty? All three are in identical bent-forward harness, so it's what's in the harness that matters.

Are the ponies ready? I think I'll go and start Beauty off with this whip. Ooh, now this is the best view we've had of her yet! Can we get the cameras round here so everyone can see these three ladies from behind. What an array! Three beautiful sets of buttocks and three pouting pussies! Are you ready - Ted, Lee? We'll start when I whack Independent Beauty's bum. Okay - they're off! 

Now settle back, viewers, and enjoy watching these three beautiful ponies pounding uphill. I see Ted is using a broad paddle on the Pony Queen, so as not to mark her, but Lee is using a crop, and I intend to use this whip on Beauty. I'm not forgetting our radio audience. Perhaps we could get some microphones close in here, so at least you'll be able to hear the huffing and puffing once they start getting out of breath.

That's it, Beauty my dear. Keep trying. I know you're used to it but it can't be easy, not on this slope with those high heeled hooves on. Yaah, yaah! Come on, girl - faster!

Lee, could you keep Beauty going by giving her a whack with that crop occasionally while I go over to our score board? Thanks.

Now, gentlemen, you can see the console on the arms of your chairs. There are three buttons labelled A, B and C, and they correspond to our three ponies, in the order you can see them The Beauty Queen, Miss Horseflesh, and Independent Beauty. When I give the word, simply press one button and the computer will tell us which is your favourite pony. Are you ready to vote? Vote now!

Well, ladies and gentlemen, viewers at home, look at that result! I don't suppose it's any surprise - Independent Beauty is the clear winner. And I have to admit that I personally agree. The Pony Queen and Miss Horseflesh are undoubtedly gorgeous ponies, but Independent Beauty has that something special.

A big round of applause, please, for our two losers. Thanks for participating, and good luck on the circuit.

But what's this? I see that there was just one person in the audience who didn't vote for Independent Beauty. I wonder if he'd be prepared to disclose himself. Who are you, sir? Yes, here's our man. What's your name?

STEVE: Steve.

INTERVIEWER: Steve, do you want to tell us why you didn't vote for Beauty? 

STEVE: Don't see why not. I didn't vote for her because I don't go along with all this stuff about a pony doing this 'cos she wants to. Ponies are supposed to do what we want them to. They're not supposed to enjoy it.

INTERVIEWER: Well, I doubt Beauty actually enjoyed her exertions just now, and the feel of that guy's crop laying into her, but I see what you mean. So why did you come along today, Steve?

STEVE: To be honest I hoped you were going to thrash her so much she'd change her mind about wanting to do it. I don't know, if I got the chance to lay into her I'd whip her so hard she'd be begging you to let her go!

INTERVIEWER: Well, I'll tell you what, Steve. Why don't you have a little try at just that. Take this whip, and we'll put Beauty to the test. 

STEVE: You're not serious?

INTERVIEWER: I am. Here you go.

STEVE: Great! Thanks!

INTERVIEWER: Now let me have a little word with Beauty first. Beauty, did you hear what Steve said? Look, I know you can't speak, or even nod very well with that bearing rein so tight. Why don't you take a step forward for yes? Now did you hear him? Looks like she did. This must be the sort of thing you were saying about everyone wanting to break you. Well, I'm sorry, but we're going to try it again. I'll ask you before we start - Beauty, do you still want to be a pony girl? Yes, she does! Now Steve, why don't you get round behind her and give her another five minutes on the treadmill. I'm sure you know what to do with the whip.

STEVE: You bet I do!

INTERVIEWER: As hard as you like, now, so everyone can see this is for real. 

STEVE: Thanks! Gee-up, you slut. Take that! See how you feel after a few hundred like that on your arse!

INTERVIEWER: Give it to her, Steve!

STEVE: Take that - and that - and that - and that - and that!

INTERVIEWER: Well, he certainly has a strong arm. Look at the way she's speeding along.

STEVE: And that - and that - and that - and that - and that - and that - and that!

INTERVIEWER: Well done, Steve. Keep up the rhythm - you've got the audience clapping along with you.

STEVE: Here, Independent Bitch. Here's another - and one more - and another
one!

INTERVIEWER: Are we getting close ups of this arse now? It's getting a bit colourful.

STEVE: How d'ya like this, pony? And this - and this - and THIS! 

INTERVIEWER: Ooh, both hands now! And he's catching her cunt nearly every time! This man's an expert.

STEVE: And this and this - and this - and THAT! 

INTERVIEWER: Okay, I think the five minutes is up now. We'll let Beauty stop for a while. Look how she's sweating and heaving! I do sometimes wonder how these ponies manage it! I suppose she's pretty fit, though. Now Beauty, I don't think we need to ask you whether that hurt. But I am going to ask you that nasty question again. Do you still want to be a pony? STEVE: See, where's the step forward now? Oh, shit!

INTERVIEWER: Dear me, Steve. Seems you didn't whip it out of her after all. How about another go!

STEVE: With pleasure!

INTERVIEWER: Why don't you work on her back a bit as well? Or come round the side and try to catch the tits?

STEVE: I'll whip every bit of her I can reach!

INTERVIEWER: Another five minutes then. And she's off again. Oh, look at this! Can we get Camera 2 on her face? Look at those anguished eyes! I don't think I've ever seen whipping this hard. And the state of her arse - I don't know! I doubt she'll be sitting down to talk to us again tonight, or doing any more interviews like that for a long time! And her tits, now. Look how he aims for her nipples! This must be utter hell! I just don't believe she could want this to happen to her ever again. She must've been brainwashed! Oh, look how he's beating her thighs! She's in such a panic. Let's stop you, Steve. I'm sure you've done the job this time. She's a wreck - look how she's shaking.

STEVE: Phew, I sure enjoyed that!

INTERVIEWER: You did great. Now, Beauty. You know what I'm going to ask you. I'm going to give you ten seconds to make that step forward. Do you still want to be a pony girl, Beauty?

One, two, three - oh, look at her face! She's crying! Four, five, six - she's not going to do it - seven, eight, nine - yes! There it is! She's still a voluntary pony, though I don't understand it. Not having seen her get whipped like that with my own eyes!

STEVE: Crazy cow! I still think it's some sort of con!

INTERVIEWER: Well, don't get too angry, Steve. You've had your try - let's see what we can do to test her next.

STEVE: Whip her till she drops!

INTERVIEWER: Okay, thank you Steve. Now, in fact we have got a surprise for Beauty which we don't think she'll like. You remember her original master, Roger, who she hasn't seen since he shopped her? Well, he's here with us tonight. That lucky man you've seen enjoying Beauty in those videos - welcome to the show, Roger.

ROGER: Thanks! Pleased to be here! Can I have a look at her? Looks like you haven't been treating her so good!

INTERVIEWER: Did you see the whipping she got just now?

ROGER: I certainly did. I don't know how she stands it, sometimes. Most ponies would've fainted. Hiya, Beaut! How yer you doing?

INTERVIEWER: Come and sit down here, Roger, and we'll have her unhitched from the treadmill and tied to the handle of your chair. Do you want her ungagged?

ROGER: Yeah - I wouldn't mind a little chat.

INTERVIEWER: So, Roger, you're a rich man now.

ROGER: Very much so. It was a good day for me, when this lady walked into my life.

INTERVIEWER: But don't you regret parting company with her? 

ROGER: Certainly not. She was too much of a goldmine, and anyway, I could still hire her back for a while if I wanted to.

INTERVIEWER: Look, they're leading her over now. Give those reins to me. Beauty, I bet you didn't expect to see Roger tonight, did you? 

BEAUTY: No.

INTERVIEWER: Sounds like he doesn't regret passing you on.

BEAUTY: He couldn't really handle me being voluntary. He didn't want a pony he couldn't dominate completely.

ROGER: Rubbish!

INTERVIEWER: But surely he did dominate you?

BEAUTY: Yes, but as long as I had my own motivation for what I was doing, I was challenging him.

ROGER: Oh, put that bloody bit back in her mouth!

BEAUTY: He knows I'm still challenging him. That's why he's here tonight. To try to crush me again.

INTERVIEWER: Is she right, Roger?

ROGER: Well, I'd quite like to see her crushed, yes. But there's no way I'm threatened by her. She forgets that by definition, she's given up all power and control. Look, I'll show you something. Keep your eyes open!

INTERVIEWER: Oh, I see! No need to ask what you're doing down there. 

BEAUTY: Please stop.

ROGER: I know her, you see. A thrashing like that will have got her right on the edge of orgasm. All I have to do is rub her like this for a couple of minutes, and she'll come.

INTERVIEWER: Beauty?

BEAUTY: He does do that so well!

INTERVIEWER: So you want him to give you an orgasm, then?

BEAUTY: I want the orgasm, but I don't want him doing the giving! 

ROGER: Tough. Let's see you stop me.

BEAUTY: I could get restless!

INTERVIEWER: Should we tie her down more firmly to something? 

ROGER: No need. She's desperate for it.

BEAUTY: Bastard!

ROGER: Nearly there, I think.

INTERVIEWER: Perhaps you should stop.

ROGER: Mm. Which do you think would be more humiliating -to deprive her of the orgasm or force her to have it?

INTERVIEWER: Difficult. Is she on the brink now?

ROGER: Yes. Trying to hide it, but I can see the concentration in her eyes, and feel her cunt blossoming.

BEAUTY: What makes you think it's more humiliating to make me come in public than to thrash me in public?

ROGER: Because of the difference between pain and pleasure. Now cut the crap and beg me to make you come. Or I'll stop.

BEAUTY: Oh-

ROGER: Well?

BEAUTY: Okay, I have to have it now. Please finish me.

ROGER: Beg!

BEAUTY: Oh, please Master, make me come!

ROGER: If you insist.

BEAUTY: Oh, oh - OH! Oh, thank you, Master.

ROGER: You see, she can't help herself. She's just lost to all this. A suffering and pleasure machine, that's what she is!

INTERVIEWER: Well, it was interesting to see how easily you did it, Roger. But it's time for Beauty's next surprise. Have you got the document with you? 

ROGER: Here it is.

INTERVIEWER: Beauty, we've had a solicitor draw up a little paper for you to sign, and Roger has brought it with him. If I hold it up like this, would you read it out loud for us?

BEAUTY: "I, the pony girl known as Independent Beauty, do hereby agree to commit myself to this lifestyle for - "

INTERVIEWER: Carry on.

BEAUTY: " - for ten years. I declare that whoever shall own me during that period will have total control over my existence and I understand that I shall no longer have any rights as a human being. Should I at any time plead to be released, those pleas should be ignored, as they are invalidated by this statement. I accept that there shall be no limits to the punishment I will be made to endure and that I will be made use of sexually to the maximum possible extent." 

INTERVIEWER: Signed by Independent Beauty, and witnessed by myself, Roger, her old master, and several million viewers around the world! 

ROGER: If she signs it.

INTERVIEWER: We could whip her til she signed it.

ROGER: Better to whip her not to!

INTERVIEWER: Well you'll soon see what we had in mind. But first we'd better ask the lady - the pony, rather - if she'll sign. Beauty?

ROGER: Having difficulty?

INTERVIEWER: Just think of it - a ten year masochistic high! All the pain and the whipping you could want!

BEAUTY: It isn't that simple.

ROGER: Oh, come on. You need extreme treatment to turn you on, and this way it's guaranteed.

INTERVIEWER: The contract doesn't say anything about pleasure, though. What if no-one ever pleases her the way you did just now? Maybe that's why she's hesitating.

ROGER: But she's bound to get fucked - she'll come from that. She even comes from being whipped on the cunt - believe me.

INTERVIEWER: So what's it to be? It's genuinely your decision. 

BEAUTY: I'll sign it. I'm too far into this now to pull out. 

INTERVIEWER: Good girl! Hear those cheers? At least you'll know you've got a following of fans who want to see you stay as a pony. 

ROGER: They'll probably all get to fuck you over those ten years! 

Image 26

INTERVIEWER: But Beauty, we all want you to be absolutely sure of this, so we're going to give you a few chances to change your mind. We propose to give you just a little more punishment -well, to be honest, a lot more punishment - to remind you again what if feels like and what you're letting yourself in for. Then we'll ask you again if you'll sign. Is there anything you want to say before we gag you again?

ROGER: Perhaps you'd like to thank all the men who have whipped you over the last few months for the good time they've given you?

BEAUTY: Don't you understand? You can't mock me and you can't break me, because I accept everything anyway!

ROGER: Get that gag in quick! Goodbye, Beauty. Enjoy your ten years of misery.

INTERVIEWER: Well, I hope you'll stay with us for the grand finale, Roger. We were hoping for your advice on how to really put Beauty to the test. 

ROGER: Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world. Shall we start? 

INTERVIEWER: Right! If you'd like to lead her over here, we have a special of the studio set up with some equipment. You'll find the things you part suggested on this table. Perhaps you could take over now, and give us a commentary on what you're doing.

ROGER: Okay. Well, first we line the uphill treadmill up with these fixtures and hitch her up to it like before. That's it, thanks. Now I need to detach her arms and pull them forward-full stretch - like this, with her wrists held by these stocks up in front of her. Now this is because she needs her hands to sign the document, right? So the document goes on this little platform and the pen is suspended here where she can easily reach it. That's the idea, isn't it.? 

INTERVIEWER: Yep. We'll have cameras on her face and on the platform, and we can always take the pen away from her if we don't think she's quite ready to sign yet.

ROGER: Sounds good. Now I was going to make a few additions and changes to Beauty's harness, if that's alright. You see I know what she doesn't like! 

INTERVIEWER: Go ahead.

ROGER: Okay, first I'll tighten this bearing rein a bit - she can take it much tighter than this! Then I'll put a nice heavy collar around her neck. Feel the weight of this metal! See how it helps push her chin up and makes sure her head stays absolutely still.

Then there's this belt to go round her waist. This is heavy too. It's got all these pockets for lead weights and its been filled to maximum. It will drag down on her waist and keep her in a nice shape. See, you get this lovely curve upwards to the buttocks. Also some weights round her ankles, I think. Make it more difficult for her to lift those pretty legs.

INTERVIEWER: Something tells me you've done this sort of thing before, Roger! I think you're a bit of an expert.

ROGER: She was with me for months, remember. I tried everything I could think of.

Next I think these leg brushes. They go round her thighs like this, one above the other, so you see when she runs the bristles scrape at the opposite thigh. Not very comfortable, I think you'll agree.

And now this little device.

INTERVIEWER: Gosh, not that little! Show it to the cameras, would you. 

ROGER: Here you go. It's a double dildo. This huge one goes in the pussy, but the second one's pretty thick as well. That should keep her bum hole nicely filled up. And I know she hates that, especially when she's running. But see this cleverly positioned bit? That presses down quite firmly on her clit and when she's on the move does a pretty good job of arousing her and bringing her off every once in a while. I'm not sure though. Perhaps we should break this bit off -I don't see why she should be having orgasms all over the place. 

INTERVIEWER: I think our audience would like to see her come while we torment her! I say leave it as it is.

ROGER: Okay. A touch of cream, then, and let's get these monsters inside her. Here, if I line it up with her holes, perhaps you'd like to push it in.

INTERVIEWER: Yes please! Mm, that looks good. Feels like I need to force them in a bit harder.

ROGER: Go on, you're doing fine. She's resisting a little, but just keep pushing. She's taken this thing before.

INTERVIEWER: I think that's it. Look how stretched she is!

ROGER: That's the idea. I'll just strap it down to her thighs and up to her waist - must keep the buttocks clear for later! There. Now it's not going to be pleasant running on this treadmill with those up you, I'm sure. Is it, old flame? 

INTERVIEWER: So are we ready to start now?

ROGER: Oh, no. We haven't done anything about her tits yet! See these round spiky things?

INTERVIEWER: I did notice them, yes.

ROGER: Well, they fit round the base of each tit, like this. They click shut, which keeps them on firmly, and the spikes dig into her. Not breaking the skin, but pretty painful all the same.

Now, last but not least, I'll add something I know Beauty doesn't like one little bit. Look, Beauty! Nipple clamps! And look at these huge weights. Where do you think they're going to go, eh? There we go; make sure I fix them on nice and tight so the weights don't fall off when these tits start flopping around. How's that? Oh, look, she's sweating and shaking already and we haven't even started! She absolutely hates weights on her nipples. Used to say they were the most intolerable thing.

INTERVIEWER: The way you've fixed her up, Roger, it must be sheer hell just for her to stand still. I don't know how she's going to manage to move with all that stuff on her.

ROGER: Well, that's what ponies are all about, you know - suffering on the move and she's made it quite clear she knows what she's doing. I think she's about to demonstrate for us just exactly what a pony can do. If she was still with me, I'd have her set up like this every day. At least like this! There's still other things you can do, you know. Rub nettles on her, put itching powder up her arse, birch her raw before you start then rub salt into her. You can't treat a pony too rough, if you ask me - especially this one.

INTERVIEWER: Well, what happens now, Roger? How are we going to start her off?

ROGER: Well, I've got various things to try on her here - including a birch, incidentally. But let's start with this studded paddle. In fact, there are two, so why don't we each have a go at a buttock.

INTERVIEWER: Okay, say when.

ROGER: Now. Off you go, Beauty. Nice fast trot up the hill.

INTERVIEWER: She's certainly having to work hard. Those brushes look like the worst thing, scraping her thighs like that!

ROGER: Do you think? I rather like the way the nipple weights swing and jerk; can't be pleasant.

INTERVIEWER: Shall I keep going with the paddle?

ROGER: Yeah. Nice hard strokes to remind her to keep up the effort. Let's give her a few together. Ready? Go! One -two-three-four-five-six-seven - eight - nine - ten!

INTERVIEWER: This is amazing! I've never known an evening like this! I hope all our viewers are enjoying it.

ROGER: I should think she's causing waves of enjoyment all over the planet! Perhaps we should have an international, synchronised orgasm at the end of the program!

INTERVIEWER: Gosh, her bum's turning from red to blue.

ROGER: I'll tell you what, I'll give her a few with a nice thin cane next, so we get a bit of a pattern on it. Stand back - there! Keep-those-pretty-legs-moving - Beauty! Faster - faster!! Strain - up - that - hill!

INTERVIEWER: Can she keep this up much longer? Looking pretty exhausted to me.

ROGER: Don't worry. If she faints I'll just whip her awake again. In the old days, sometimes, she'd faint over and over again, but I'd bring her round with more pain. Look, here's an electric prodder. Why don't you poke her all over with that while I try this little metal whip. She won't like this.

INTERVIEWER: This is really doing things to me, you know. I shall have to nip out for a minute if I'm not careful.

ROGER: Let's really drive her for a few minutes, then we'll ask her to sign the paper. Say twenty more strokes with this. Perhaps the audience here would like to count them.

INTERVIEWER: Come on, everyone. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven - eight - nine - ten - eleven - twelve - keep it up, Beauty! - thirteen - fourteen- fifteen - sixteen -seventeen - eighteen - nineteen - twenty!

ROGER: What a state you're in now, you stupid filly! Utter agony, but highly aroused at the same time, I'd say. Has the dildo device given you an orgasm yet? I bet it has. Come on then, grab that pen and sign the paper if you dare! Ten more years!

INTERVIEWER: She's going to do it - I don't believe it! Quick, take that pen away! Beauty, are you absolutely sure? Don't be hasty, now. Don't make a mistake. It's a big decision. Do you realise how bad it could get? I think we should give you one more chance to change your mind.

ROGER: Look, I'll double the weights on her nipples, and have a go with the birch on what's left of her arse!

INTERVIEWER: And one final thing, Roger. We've got this branding iron heating up here, ready to burn the shape of a horseshoe into her. Where do you think? At the small of her back, I'd suggest. In the middle, just up from her arsehole.

ROGER: Lovely idea! Now Beauty. As soon as you sign that paper, we're going to brand you. Here's the hot iron. Are you ready for it?

INTERVIEWER: Perhaps we could take her gag out just for this last bit, to be sure she knows what she's doing?

ROGER: Okay. She'll scream though.

INTERVIEWER: It doesn't matter. Now you birch her and keep her moving while I ask one more time. Beauty, do you want to be a pony? BEAUTY: Y - yes.

INTERVIEWER: Have you been coming while Roger whips you?

BEAUTY: Yes!

INTERVIEWER: Here's the pen, my love. Now sign the paper and tell us out loud - "I want to be a pony for the next ten years".

BEAUTY: "I want to be a pony for the next ten years!"

INTERVIEWER: You're sure?

BEAUTY: Yes, yes, yes, yes.

INTERVIEWER: As soon as she signs, Roger, be ready with the iron!

We're going to brand you, Beauty. Brand you into slavery! 

BEAUTY: Do it, I don't care!

INTERVIEWER: Sign, then! Are you ready, Roger? Now, she's signed! Yes, brand her now!

BEAUTY: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰
