by Sean O'Kane
Martha listened and thought that she had never heard him so passionate. When they got to the yard in the centre of the CSL complex, he looked around and then up at the clear, starry sky.
“Going back to our roots, Carlo!” he said.
Chapter Twelve
Mahmut’s cock was a real jaw cracker. After being made to suck it more or less every day for a week Sophie was only just beginning to manage it with any degree of comfort. But she didn’t mind, she enjoyed the discomfort, it meant that she was servicing an impressive tool and that made her wet. In fact, on those days on which she was whipped before being placed on her knees before him, she even managed a gentle, tingling orgasm which rippled through her just as she felt the huge urethra begin to pulse in preparation to splash its thick, sticky load into her throat.
Mahmut was in charge of the stables where she was kept, and she thoroughly approved of them, as they were far more impressive than the stalls at the Pretty Pony. The stable block was at the back of the palace, its roof was high and the walls and floor were of stone. It meant that as far as possible it kept cool in the savage heat of the Bakhtar days. The front doors of the stalls were of decorative wrought iron and stretched up to about eight feet, like the side walls. Again, being open they allowed whatever breezes there were to flow through the stalls. She was one of three ponies currently in residence. The other two were obviously local girls. They were dark skinned and pretty, lithe and petite. Sophie loved the dark red little nipples on the peaks of their almost perfectly hemispherical breasts. The only problem was that she was more than a head taller than them and felt like a carthorse beside their delicate figures. Mahmut didn’t seem to mind however and made frequent use of her, which made Sophie feel a bit more relaxed. For the first week she was in Bakhtar she wasn’t run and hardly saw anyone, all she could do was she prowl her stall, wrists clipped behind her back, unable to administer any relief for the aching lack of orgasm. Asil had disappeared into the labyrinth of the palace as soon as they had arrived. But at least her mind was taken off Asil by her stomach. The change of diet had had an unfortunate effect and she had been soundly whipped two days running for causing the grooms extra work. Two chains hung down from high overhead in the centre of the stable and whichever of the ponies was to be whipped, she was led out, her arms raised and her wrists cuffed and beaten there and then in font of whoever was around.
For Sophie’s beatings, the grooms had been summoned to watch. They were two African girls, Sophie guessed, and were kept virtually naked, wearing only a short wrap around their hips. Their skins were almost a real black colour and shone with sweat constantly. They were unfailingly cheerful, even when they were mucking out and they bent over for Mahmut to fuck them with every sign of real enthusiasm.
When she was scrubbed down the grooms at the palace used a softer brush than the Pretty Pony grooms had and made quite a sensual experience out of it, working up a rich lather and rubbing it carefully into every crevice on her body before hosing her down with refreshingly cold water.
Mahmut ruled the stables with a rod of iron, he was a big man and easily dominated the girls by his sheer size, let alone the authority he had over them. At least one girl was beaten daily and Sophie thought his whip was as superb a weapon as his cock. It was a wickedly supple seven foot length of hide with a tassel on the end that could wreak havoc with a girl’s skin. The first lash she took from it had nearly taken her off her feet because the chains were too long for her, having been adjusted for the two smaller ponies; her arms were by no means stretched. But having stumbled forwards and screamed as the first lash scythed across her and wrapped her stomach, she was ready for the second and only reacted with a snap back of her head and a small twist of her torso. The pain was all-engulfing and utterly thrilling, but the noise was what hot wired her belly and had her dripping juice from between her legs. The crack the lash made as it impacted on her skin was amplified by, and echoed around, the stone chamber. It was exactly what she felt a whip ought to sound like on a girl. She took forty lashes on only her second day in Bakhtar, and then fifty on her third. After that things seemed to settle down and she had to watch other girls getting whipped instead.
The only day she had seen the Prince was when he had come to take one of the other ponies out and he had come back from his drive seemingly less than pleased about something. He and Mahmut had a long conversation and then he handed the poor girl over and came across to see Sophie. He looked long and hard at the lattice of pink lines that scored her from shoulders to thighs, front and back, Mahmut had enjoyed himself only that morning. He ran his fingers along the lines and made crooning noises that she interpreted as approving of Mahmut’s work. Sophie tried to be as obedient and pleasing as she could, the Prince still hadn’t taken her – hadn’t touched her apart from sticking needles right through her tits – and she was desperate to feel him inside her, to know that her owner wanted her, desired her.
He let her go eventually and walked off as Mahmut was hanging the offending girl up for whipping. By the end of the beating, Sophie was moaning out loud with frustrated need. She adored the way the whip cracked and echoed and the slim brown body jerked and twisted under it. Without the benefit of a chip the poor girl had to take everything and deal with it as best she could. Her answering screams as the count mounted above fifty lashes seemed to Sophie to contain a degree less agony than appreciation. But it was a close run thing and she wished she could lick every welt on the sobbing girl’s body as the whip finally fell silent and she was left at the ends of her chains for an hour.
The other occupants of the stable were the milkers. There were six of them and each had a stall further along the line than Sophie’s. That meant that every time they were taken out, which was most afternoons, they were led past her stall and she never missed a chance to press herself against the bars of her stall door to watch them go by. They always seemed to be dressed in high heeled shoes with black stockings – the one black girl always had white ones – and tight corsets that supported and thrust forward their massive breasts. And it was the breasts that fascinated Sophie. They were huge, making the girls throw their shoulders back to counterbalance their weight. The European girls’ ones bore traceries of thin veins all around them and the areolas were covered by silver shields that didn’t quite cover them completely and she could see they were constantly swollen, either with lust or from the urgent pressure of milk. And this pressure was a constant feature of their lives, Sophie came to realise, the breasts were even bound at the roots with thin cord when they were led out. Their eyes were wide with distress as they followed the leashes that led from their collars, and occasionally they would whimper as they went past. When they returned the huge tits looked a bit less tight and the girls looked happier. Often they sported gleaming snail trails of sperm on the insides of their thighs and Sophie envied them. But in the mornings it was different. Every day the ponies were woken by the moans and cries from further along the stable and when the grooms appeared, their first job was to do the milking. Sophie saw them carry the small steel jugs past and the clatter and clanks from the milking stalls filled the building for several minutes. The moans of pain would climax as the grooms arrived and then slowly subside into sighs of relief. Shortly afterwards the grooms would come back carrying the jugs and if Sophie squashed herself against her bars and squinted sideways, see could see them empty some of the fluid into hers and the other ponies’ food bowls. The majority, though, was taken into the palace and she had no idea who drank the rest of it.
Finally a day arrived when Asil strode into the stable and came straight up to Sophie’s stall. She reached through the bars and gripped her hand hard into Sophie’s breast, making her catch her breath and gasp in pleasure so long denied her. Asil just smiled and drew her closer so she could reach through with her other hand and bury it between Sophie’s willingly parted thighs.
“Ooh! That feels good! I’d been hoping his Highness would select me!”
Sophie
was just about to reply when Asil shook her head.
“No talking. You’re a pony now!” When she was sure Sophie had got the message, she called out to the grooms in a language that Sophie couldn’t understand, and her stall was opened. Asil led her by the ring on her collar towards the table where the food was prepared in the vestibule of the stable. As they walked she kept talking to the grooms in whatever language it was and Sophie found it very restful – as if she really was a dumb animal listening to human speech and understanding nothing about it.
But what she did understand was the web of leather strapping on the table. At long last she was being taken out.
Her new bridle was different from the American one. The rings at her cheeks, and which joined to her bit, were much bigger, so the straps that came down just behind her eyes from the main one circling her head were much shorter and the blinkers were sewn directly onto them rather being press stud fastened. As before, her everyday collar was replaced with a high posture collar to help her keep her vision focussed directly in front of her, the fastenings at the back of her head felt about the same, as did the decorated head piece that went at her forehead and held the Bakhtar plumes.
The bit was different however, it was much more shaped to her mouth, becoming more slender as it fitted between her lips and teeth. The steel core was coated in rubber which allowed her to get a real grip on it with her teeth. She instantly preferred it, with a good grip on it she would feel the reins moving instantly and could respond. And then there was the rest of the harness. At the Pretty Pony she had run in nothing else except a butt plug that held a tail, and that was only on one occasion. But as she was led out by her reins, watching Asil’s bottom heft and sway under her short white skirt that was loose enough to swirl in the baking hot air and allow some air to circulate, but tight enough across the buttocks to be devastatingly sexy, she saw that she was going to be much more tacked up than before.
It was late afternoon but even so the sun was blinding and she was glad of the blinkers and just looked down to watch Asil’s nimble hands fit a girth on her. It was made of black leather and widened at the front where the Bakhtar crest in silver had been riveted onto it. At the sides it had karabiner clips and at the back was the buckle. Asil drew this tight and then moved to affix the crupper. There was a lot of talk between her and the grooms and then Sophie saw them bring out the strap that would run between her legs. She immediately cavilled and backed away, jerking her reins taut and nearly pulling them from Asil’s hand. The crupper carried a much bigger dildo than she had been used to at the front, and a pear shaped butt plug at the back. From the outside of the strap, right behind where the plug would go into her, an upwardly curved prong rose, surmounted by a short palomino tail.
“Hey!” Asil rounded on her sharply. “Keep still!” She shortened her grip on the reins and used the spare length to flick at Sophie’s nipples. Sophie winced at the sharp pain that stabbed through her and stamped her feet. Asil’s face hardened and she hit Sophie’s breasts with over arm strikes of the reins. There was no sign of friendship now. She was on her owner’s business and Sophie realised she had better be obedient. A sound whipping was one thing; a spell in solitary quite another and she still remembered Asil’s look of fear at the prospect. She subsided and Asil spoke sharply to the groom, then slapped Sophie’s thighs apart so she could buckle the crupper onto the front of the girth and feed it down between her legs, open Sophie’s vagina and push the dildo in. Sophie grunted around her bit as she felt herself spread and stretched and then another pair of hands behind her took the strap and, as Asil pulled her reins down and Sophie bent forwards, she felt the cold, lubricated plug twisted and pushed at her sphincter until the muscles relaxed and it could be rammed fully inside her. She hadn’t been doubly penetrated since the night she had been ravished after being chipped and the delicious feeling of her septum being squeezed inside her made her give another moan through her bit. There were a series of jerks that tightened the strap against her perineum and Asil smiled.
“If his Highness thinks you’re worthy of joining his arena stable, that strap will probably be studded,” she purred. “And just think how wet that’ll make you!”
Then there was just the fine chain joining her breasts, pulling slightly on them to steady them and she was ready to be hitched to whatever she was to pull. Asil turned and led Sophie to the cart. And it was really a cart and not the sulky she had been used to. The driver’s seat was higher and the shafts protruded at her waist height and didn’t slope upwards. The way she was harnessed was different too. Her wrist cuffs were taken off and instead the karabiners on the sides of her girth were clipped to rings on the shafts. Then she could grasp the shafts just ahead of where they were joined to her. She immediately felt more comfortable than when her wrists had taken the full weight of the rig. Now the weight was at her waist and her arms felt a lot more comfortable. Asil disappeared from in front of her and she heard words being exchanged, then she felt the rig’s balance shift and she braced herself against it until her driver settled in. She wished she knew who was driving, but whoever it was, they knew what they were doing and she had to be content with that, the stiff whipcord of the driving whip was touched to the centre of her back and she pushed off with her bare feet against the warm stones of the courtyard and the cart rumbled forwards surprisingly easily. Sophie felt it ride with her as she walked and then built up to a trot, it shifted comfortably in its fastenings to her girth, its weight no longer dragging at her wrists. They approached a gate in the courtyard’s wall and as they came through it she felt the reins pull her to the left. With her teeth comfortably gripping the bit, the very slightest pressure on the left rein was enough to make her alter course and as she did so she saw the gardens within the palace walls. They were enormous. Whole copses of trees with dark green foliage grew around ponds, and broad, flat lawns spread away from them. Dotted about the smooth grass were fountains in which great plumes of water shot up fifty feet into the air and then spread gentle showers downwards into wide stone bowls. In other places smaller jets of water emerged from within complicated statuary of nude figures. Farther away Sophie caught a glimpse of a larger expanse of water, possibly a lake behind yet more trees and beyond that she thought she saw a Palladian summer house, of the sort that grace some English stately homes, all pillars and a domed roof. And through it all wound a smooth tarmac road, it was hot under her bare feet but tolerable and once they were on it, her driver brushed the whip backwards and forwards across her shoulders. Immediately she picked up her pace and the cool breeze that she created came as a welcome relief. Her driver seemed content to allow her to trot and, as far as her blinkers would allow, Sophie was able to marvel at the extent of the grounds, all surrounded by walls that were sometimes so distant as to be hard to make out. She was steered to the right by the lake and followed the road keeping the still, dark water on her left hand side. Suddenly her driver decided to pick up the pace and she felt a couple of stinging lashes criss cross her upper back. Immediately she broke into a high stepping canter, her thighs coming up so that they were parallel with the ground. But this wasn’t acceptable and the whip applied hard to her buttocks told her a gallop was required. Sophie put her head down and threw herself forwards. The breeze increased with her speed but soon she was sweating freely and still the whip fell, expertly handled it wrapped around her upper arms and bit deeply into her breasts. She thrust even more fiercely with her feet against the tarmac and stretched her long legs, lengthening her paces.
“Go on you lazy bitch! Run!” She heard Asil’s voice from behind her and realised that she was the driver, she gritted her teeth around her bit and tried to ignore the shifting of the dildo and plug inside her, a feeling that she had been able to ignore until the delicious pain of the whip reminded her. Suddenly she got a clear picture of herself in her mind as the warm air stirred her hair as she ran, her breasts shifted on her chest and her inner tissues sent little darts of pleasure racing through her. S
he was gloriously naked and loved the feel of the air on her whole body, she loved the fact that the Prince had had her bridled and harnessed, she loved how the sweat ran down her ribs and in between her breasts and stung as it trickled into welts left by the whip. She blinked away more sweat from her eyes and wished she could see herself lashed onwards by her driver, her legs flying and her breasts just lifting enough for attractiveness. She wished her owner was there to see her and she flung herself forwards again and found she was capable of even more speed. And just as she realised that she could go faster still if the whip was laid on harder, she felt Asil really let fly. The stiff whipcord smacked hard around her shoulders, leaving blistering trails of pain across the upper swells of her breasts. Then it snapped around her hips, from left and then right. Sophie squealed with abandoned excitement as she felt it bite across her delta, and if the crupper hadn’t been there, it would have exploded with its full impact on her clitoris.
Asil yelled something and kept up the whipping as Sophie flung her head back then put it down once more and found that indeed she could go faster. The cart was no weight at all, the road flew past beneath her and she was in her element.
Then the reins tightened and Asil’s voice came in more measured tones. “Whoa there! Whoa! Well run!”
Sophie began to slow and eventually came back to a walk, panting and gasping around her bit, her legs feeling loose and ready for more while sweat was pouring from her. But even as she slowed, her heart was still soaring. It was the first time she had been run since being chipped and she now knew where she had been destined to be all her life. Sophie padded forwards quietly until one more pull back on the reins brought her to a halt. And her owner was there to greet her.
