Pony Girl, Volume 1

by Mark Andrews

  “And even if it is inadvertent - if you forget, even on your first day, this will be your minimum punishment. If I think you did it deliberately, you may be in for ten strokes of the cane to your rear - as well as the bridle; and a repeat offence may well have you hanging upside down all night and the next day with the threat of a paddling the next evening, so be warned.”

  He left the muzzle on for an hour and I was never so grateful for anything as when he took it off. I hadn’t seen bridles used at the race meeting and wondered why they had so many here but it was only a passing thought as I tried to cope with the horrible bit in my mouth, and the tongue-guard pressing down on my tongue and making me salivate unpleasantly. But through the distress I felt again that same thrill of shame that so turned me on.

  We were now fed. I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and now discovered lunch for me was a thing of the past. We had two meals a day. A mush of cereal and milk in the morning followed by fruit and another mush made up of a proper mix of cooked meat, raw vegetables and nuts, all pureed into the horrible-looking but quite tasty mush, followed by more fruit. It was given to us in dog bowls and we had to get down on hands and knees and lap it up from the bowl. Any attempt to use our hands to assist in feeding met with a dose of the cane - and remember ten strokes was the minimum for any offence.

  After feeding, the lights were dimmed and we were required to sleep. I wanted to whisper a goodnight to my neighbour but I didn’t and I was glad I had for when I saw a boy punished for speaking unnecessarily during training a couple of days later, I realised how dreadful a punishment ten strokes of the cane to the naked buttocks really was.

  In the past, when a schoolmaster caned a boy or girl, it was administered over trousers (or skirt) and underwear and the maximum number was six strokes. Our usual minimum was ten strokes - on the bare skin and the way the boy jumped around during and after it, I knew it must be an awful punishment. And yet I was wet throughout it. I felt a dreadful shame that I was excited by watching another human being punished but I couldn’t help it.

  The next day, Tuesday, I joined the rest of them in their training ...

  Chapter 3

  The day started with a freezing, battering shower in the large concrete recess. Our grooms came and unlocked each of us from the chains attached to the rings at the back of the stalls and we were herded along to the recess where we huddled together, waiting for the blast of cold water. We then danced around under it while the trainers and grooms not actually wielding the hoses stood and watched us gleefully - as well they might for I suspect they got off powerfully on the sight of us, all stark naked (while they were of course clothed in shirt, jodhpurs and riding boots), jumping around under the spray.

  When each of us had been cursorily rubbed down with the rags by the grooms, we were taken along to the feeding area where eight dog bowls were lined up on the floor. We had to get down on our hands and knees and feed. It was humiliating, especially with the men standing over us, watching us critically and with sneers on their faces as we fed.

  There were eight of us altogether. Seven belonged to the viscount and two to Sebastian’s father, as well as me of course.

  After that came perhaps the most humiliating thing of all. We were required to ‘urinate and defecate’. That’s how they termed it! We were taken to an area next to the shower recess. There was a waist-high rail along one wall and about three feet out from it an open spoon-drain ran along the floor, parallel to the wall with the rail. We were required to stand with our heels (spread wide apart) against the lip of this drain and then bend forward and grasp the rail. Then, at the order, we were required to pass our wastes.

  “Urinate!” the head trainer barked, and woe betide any pony who failed to produce a healthy stream of liquid waste straight down into the drain. The other trainers and grooms were armed with canes and any girl or boy who couldn’t perform earned a couple of sharp strokes to her or his buttocks. We were then left for a few minutes in that humiliating position to make sure all our liquid wastes were evacuated and then came the second order: “Defecate!” he growled in the same sharp tone and now we had to pass our solid wastes.

  You don’t believe it? I’m not surprised, but remember, every one of us human ponies thrived on shame and humiliation. What could be more humiliating or shaming than this - that we were ‘forced’ to wee and to evacuate our bowels in such a public and demeaning way? I certainly felt the humiliation but it also thrilled me - even as I blushed right down to my neck at the degradation I felt.

  There we were, eight slave-ponies, all bent over with our legs spread wide apart and now struggling to extrude our solid wastes. The smell, as you can imagine, was awful but so was the whole idea of performing what had hitherto been a so private function in front of each other, and worse, the trainers. But we performed it alright. I felt my own poking out of my bottom and then dropping in a soft plop onto the bottom of the drain and I could see on either side of me, the others doing the same. I was beetroot-red of course. How shaming could they be? And yet I also thrilled as I shivered in the humiliation of what I was being made to do ...

  As I say, it was certainly shameful but it was also an integral part of our healthy lifestyle. They deemed regularity an important part of our diet and exercise regimen and all of us really were required to pass our wastes in this manner and at that time. If the added stimulus of the cane still didn’t work, a huge suppository was pushed up into the offending rectum - and this always worked - and very quickly.

  I was fortunate that I always passed my wastes about that time anyway and didn’t have too much trouble with the order but it was still utterly shaming to have to do it in such a public way, each girl or boy next to the other with the trainers and grooms behind us, all watching salaciously as we extruded the smelly things from our bodies.

  We then had to stay bent over in that so humiliating position while the head trainer moved up behind us, walking along on the other side of the drain, inspecting each offering, poking at some with a stick before nodding to one of his subordinates who, armed with the same hose used to clean us, now blasted our anuses with the icy jet and rubbed away any faecal remnants with a rag before we were allowed to stand up, turn and march into the gymnasium to start our exercise programme for the day. As we marched out I noted the groom was now hosing away our wastes and I was pleased for the smell in that part of the room was distinctly unpleasant, as you might imagine!

  At this stage, I didn’t even know the names of any of my companions. I could see how keen and eager they all were and I’ve already mentioned their beauty and handsomeness but as the grooms spoke rarely to us and then usually quietly, I hadn’t caught any names. Later, I was horrified (and then thrilled) to hear they all had equine names like Black Beauty, Brown Nose and the like but at that time, they were just other girls and boys. They didn’t give me such a name. Not yet. I wasn’t one of them yet but with every passing hour I wanted, more and more, to be a real part of that stables.

  Having been cleaned, eaten and our bodily wastes evacuated, we were now ready to begin the day’s work. Now I found out why the other seven ponies were all so incredibly athletic. They really were. Not overly muscular, not even the boys, but superbly athletic with every muscle cleanly articulated, highly defined and without an ounce of fat between them ...

  We started with warm-up exercises that didn’t strain our breakfasts but then, as the morning moved on got progressively harder and harder until, by noon, we were really at it, shinning up and down the twenty-foot high ropes in the gymnasium, vaulting over the horse, swinging around the horizontal bar, etc, etc, etc. We also spent some time in the weight room but the exercises here were with light weights and high repetitions, designed to strengthen but not build our muscles.

  Arthur Scott, the head trainer, obviously knew his stuff for he gradually built up our workload until by noon, we were just about all in. We then had t
wo hours’ rest, again chained by our clit rings to the back wall of the stall. At least the girls were. I had noted each of the boys had a similar ring locked around the root of the their scrotal sacs and knew they would be just as effective as a tether as our rings were.

  I slept solidly for all those two hours - the morning exercises had gone on for five solid hours and had worked every single muscle in my body, or at least it felt that way. And yet, by two o’clock, when we were aroused by the grooms, I felt fresh as the proverbial daisy, part of my inherent fitness, I suppose.

  Anyway, now we were going to do our real training - with the gigs or carts. We moved to the tackle room and were allocated to the various carts and now I saw there was not just one kind of gig.

  You may remember that at the meeting, the boys and girls had been harnessed to gigs that were attached to the girls and boys by means of a leather belt that went around their middles - part of the harness they all wore - but I now discovered this was the most decent of all the methods used. I grinned ruefully as I realised Sebastian had introduced me to the bottom level of human pony racing, even if the ponies were all stripped completely to be bathed and rubbed down after their race.

  But now I saw that as well as those models, there was another one whose single pole led forward and then curved up in a graceful ‘lazy Z’ that ended in a leather collar, obviously designed for the pony’s neck but I also noted the two extensions out of each side of the collars, each of which ended in a rubber grip and I assumed the pony would be required to grip this with his or her hands. I positively glowed as I imagined the way the otherwise naked body of the ponygirl or boy would be thus on total display as she or he galloped around the track.

  There was another model as well, though. And this one had me flummoxed - until I saw the pair of them actually harnessed to the boy and girl who had reached that stage. These too, had only the single pole and it didn’t have the ‘lazy Z’ shape but was quite straight, ending in what looked to me like a large dildo with another smaller one in font of it on one of them, and a sort of handcuff in front of the large dildo on the other. It might have been naïve of me but I really had no idea what these could possibly be used for. The truth was no bizarre I probably would never have worked it out if I hadn’t seen it for myself.

  I now discovered the two blacks were the senior amongst us and those two gigs were for them alone. I was taken to watch as they were harnessed to them. Of course I had seen them all galloping or trotting around the track yesterday but I had been too distant to see that all were not harnessed in the same was as I had seen at the race meeting, or perhaps I had just made assumptions without looking properly. Whichever was the case, I now saw these two, black Beauty (the male) and Brown Nose were now fitted to the two weird dildos. No doubt you have already worked out where they went - and how, but it was still a mystery to me.

  The two grooms brought out the two gigs to where the pair of them were standing, legs wide apart and hands properly up behind their heads. In this position both looked superb for this pair were about as beautiful or handsome and as supremely athletic as any two human beings I have ever seen, and with their bodies totally depilated, even including their heads, the beauty of their naked athleticism was even more apparent.

  As the two grooms approached with the gigs, the pair of them leaned forward and now reached behind them to spread their so muscular buttocks.

  It hit me like a hammer! I suddenly realised where those huge dildos were going and I felt a rush of excitement as I imagined me being harnessed in this so bizarre manner. Up it went, the massive thing sliding easily into Black Beauty’s well prepared rectum while the other groom squatted down in front of him, tightening the small handcuff around the root of his genitals. His cock was already half hard, no doubt from his own excitement at the shame of his harnessing, but now it grew to its full majesty and quivered a little as he stood there, well over six feet tall and with a physique any man would die for, his hands again up behind his head and his beautiful biceps muscles flexing most erotically.

  They left him then and now attended to Brown Nose. She too was leaning over and now her groom pushed the dildo on her gig into her bottom while the other one eased the smaller, frontal one into her vagina, sliding it on its collar down the shaft as it went further and further inside her body. I realised once this was locked in place, neither dildo would be able to emerge.

  You may remember I asked Sebastian why the ponies weren’t bridled and he had just shushed me? Now I discovered the two lower stages did not use bridles. You had to be a really experienced and hardy pony girl or boy to accept the pain and degradation of the Stage Three dildo harness as well as real bridles buckled around your head and with a real steel bit in your mouth but these two had reached this stage - and still gloried in their voluntary pony-slavery.

  Now, with the poles between their legs and attached to their bodies by means of the so indecent dildos in their rectums and either a vaginal dildo or genital cuff holding it in place, they were bridled as well.

  The bridles were lovingly crafted of the finest leather and fitted them perfectly. A strap went over the centre of their heads, fore and aft and this divided in two at the bridge of their noses, coming down to each cheek where it was attached to the ring that also held the bit. Another strap went from the rings under their chins and also behind their heads to meet up with the strap that came back over the tops of their heads.

  At the very top of their heads, a plume of feathers poked up from the bridle strap and these were in the viscount’s racing colours - garter-blue and gold. When the bridle’s buckles were all pulled tight, the bits were right inside their mouths and any speech was now impossible, even if it had been allowed.

  Their hands were free but they still clasped them up behind their heads and I noted they always kept their elbows pulled right back so as to accentuate his broad chest muscles and her fine breasts as well as their splendid abdominal, serratus and intercostal muscles (the two latter at the upper and lower sides of their torsos).

  It now remained only to clip the reins to the two bit rings and for their grooms to climb up onto the little gigs and steer them out on to the track. I watched them in awe - and not a little jealousy as they passed by me, heads held high, blue and gold plumes quivering and, as they were now walking, high-stepping it with each pace, every muscle on their magnificent bodies rippling most erotically as they walked, proud as punch to their afternoon training.

  During the morning in the gym I had found it hard to concentrate on my own work as the seven other ponies around me had been working out, stark naked, hairless (at least except for their heads for only the two blacks had progressed to the stage of being permitted total nakedness all over their bodies) and with sweat gilding each of their bodies, but now, as I watched as first Black Beauty and Brown Nose were harnessed, and then the others, I knew this afternoon was going to be even worse.

  There were two more harnessed to the ‘Lazy Z’ style gigs and again I watched in awe as each stood there, docilely submitting to the collars being buckled around their necks after which each put his or her hands up on to the handles, waited while his groom climbed into the seat and then clucked to them to take off.

  The remaining four of us, the most junior of the ponies, now had the belts fastened around our waists to which the clips on the two arms of the divided pole of the gigs were attached. Our arms were left free and they didn’t put on the rest of the harness I had seen at the race meeting. We were therefore quite naked except for the belt around our waists and now, once all were harnessed and our grooms had seated themselves on the gigs, we walked out of the stables, me copying the other three by raising my knees high with each step, a fact applauded by my groom.

  “Good girl, Mercedes,” he said quietly as I trotted along. “Copy the others in everything and you won’t go far wrong.”

  We moved onto the track itself and he told me
to start with the trot. “It’s not an easy gait, girl, and requires a lot of effort as you have to raise your knees high all the time. It’s just as demanding as the full gallop actually but if, during a race, you break even one step, you are disqualified and your owner will be most displeased, with us as much as you and so you can imagine how we will take that out on you.”

  I could. We might all have been voluntary ponies but we had agreed to accept their discipline and in fact most of us exulted in it, even if it meant pain - a lot of pain sometimes. Just look at how I had taken having my clit so barbarously pierced and ringed!

  He was right. It did take a lot of effort and, at first anyway, a lot of concentration to remember to lift my knees high with every step. This was required as part of this gait for it limited the speed we could make around the track and thus the spectators got a longer and better view of our bodies as we passed them by. For this reason, the trotting events (which hadn’t been a part of the single meeting I had been to) were apparently popular.

  I was wrong about another thing, though. You remember I said I had been hard put to concentrate during the morning exercise in the gym, what with the other seven naked and so perfect bodies all around me and that I thought it would be the same this afternoon? It wasn’t. Perhaps they had been lenient with me during the morning, I don’t know, but Peter, the groom who had been assigned to me was not at all lenient now. The moment my attention wandered away to the others trotting or galloping around the track alongside me, he lashed at my back and bottom with his whip.

  “Pay attention, ponygirl! Keep your eyes ahead. Concentrate on lifting your legs!”