Bondage Hotel

by Charles Graham

The day that oversight was rectified, both slaves were introduced to a world that neither had ever imagined…

  Tethered to the ever-present ceiling track, they walked ahead of their Masters into a large room festooned with all the paraphernalia normally associated with a stable.

  Bits and bridles of shining steel, harnesses, reins and blinkers crafted in glistening black leather, leading reins and trace chains decorated every wall and hung from the rafters. As Giselle and Hazel stared around in disbelief, they realised that all of the equipment was far too small to fit any horse.

  Too small for a horse...but exactly right for a slave-girl...

  The two girls looked at each other, not daring to speak, then Giselle gave a little shrug of her shoulders and a wry smile, accepting that if their Masters intended to dress them up in horse harness, then there was nothing to be done but let them.

  “Giselle. You stand still. Hazel, standing display position.”

  Obediently, Hazel spread her legs, arched her spine and clasped her fingers behind her back, her eyes wide with apprehension as the two Masters moved to the array of equipment and began to select numerous items.

  The first was a harness made up of two inch wide straps of shining leather and solid steel buckles. Hazel shivered to the touch of her Masters’ hands as they draped the leather over her shoulders, around her firm breasts and between her spread thighs.

  As they pulled the straps tight and fastened the buckles, she felt her body gripped by the harness, leather about her throat, her breasts pushed up and forward by straps above and below, her hips encircled by a tight band and two straps buckled around the tops of her thighs, each linked to the other and held taut by a strap running from the cleft of her buttocks to the nape of her neck.

  A much wider strap was then buckled tightly about her slim waist and two more just above her knees. She licked her lips nervously as she was ordered to bring her knees together and eighteen inches or so of strong chain was used to link the knee straps together.

  Her arms were next, but it was not the familiar cuffs that were to hold her captive.

  A set of six broad leather straps riveted to a single steel rod with a ring welded to its bottom end was brought over and the first strap buckled on her wrists, securing her arms.

  The second strap squeezed her forearms together and when the third began to tighten just below her elbows, Hazel winced and gave a soft groan, realising, much too late, that her arms were going to be bound far more hopelessly and uncomfortably than she had imagined.

  The third strap drew cruelly tight, the fourth welded her elbows together, the fifth drew a moan of anguish from her as her shoulders strained remorselessly backwards and the sixth, and last, buckled snugly around her throat to hold the others in place and remove any possibility of them slipping down to ease the single, pained column that her arms had become.

  There was not the remotest chance of Hazel escaping her bonds and even less of her Masters taking pity on her and she was well aware that any plea or protest on her part would earn her punishment, so she fought down her misery and stood silent and immobile as her Masters fetched over what she knew must be the bridle she would have to wear.

  Black leather straps and gleaming steel glittered menacingly in the lights and Hazel gasped as it approached her lips.

  Joined to heavy steel rings on each side of the device, a thick, curved steel bar, the bit, was clearly designed to fit in her mouth, its underside bearing blunt serrated teeth to bear down on her tongue. As she looked at it, Hazel whimpered and gazed imploringly at her Masters, terrified of the thought of having it clamped between her jaws.

  Her Masters looked deep into her horrified eyes and laughed cruelly, knowing that she would do anything to avoid wearing the bit...and that they were going to make her wear it anyway.

  Miles raised the gag to her lips and waited for her to open her mouth, knowing full well that she would.

  Hazel looked up at him, then dropped her eyes from his steady gaze and allowed her lips to part, submitting herself to his authority despite her unwillingness.

  The centre section of the bit pressed into her mouth, pinning her tongue flat, the curved ends of the metal protruding from the corners of her mouth and holding the attached rings tight against her cheeks as her Masters buckled the leather straps of the harness around her neck, over the crown of her head and beneath her jaw.

  By the time they had finished, Hazel was thoroughly bitted, incapable of expelling the serrated metal bar from her mouth and unable to say a single word.

  To her surprise the bit was much less uncomfortable than she had feared and she couldn’t help wondering how she looked and what the two Masters had in mind.

  She wore a bit and bridle, just like a real horse and would have laughed at the idea of herself trussed up in harness if the steel curb between her jaws would have allowed her.

  Her eyes glittered with the humour of her situation, but as Miles clipped a long, braided leather leading rein to the ring at her left cheek and gave a casual tug, her amusement vanished.

  The bit in her mouth dragged at her tongue and pulled at the corner of her lips and she suddenly understood that the cunningly designed bridle was no toy.

  She was harnessed just as efficiently as any domesticated horse and, like any other yoked animal, was subject to the commands transmitted to her by the reins she wore.

  She tossed her head instinctively, resisting the pull of her leading rein, then blushed redly as her Masters laughed, realising, to her annoyance, that she had reacted exactly as a newly bridled horse would react to the unaccustomed sensation of pressure on the bit in its mouth.

  Miles’ “Whoa, pony-girl” and Anton’s chuckle added to her embarrassment and she very nearly stamped her foot in frustration...then realised, just in time, that that was also what a real horse would have done.

  Miles tugged her rein again, more firmly and Hazel winced, then walked towards him obediently, frightened by the sharp discomfort of the bit on her tongue and the knowledge that a hard pull would cause her real pain.

  As he led her across the floor and tied her rein to a ring bolt in the wall of the room, she gulped nervously, realising that she was quite helpless to resist her bridle...or anyone who held her reins.

  For all practical purposes, she was the pony-girl that Miles had called her and however long she wore her harness and the bit remained in her mouth, she was going to have to obey...whether she wanted to or not.

  Miles left her tethered to the ring and rejoined Anton. Then, as they began to harness Giselle, Hazel felt her nipples begin to harden and her belly begin to seethe with building arousal as she watched the slim brunette’s transformation into a bitted, leather harnessed pony-girl.

  The twin of herself.

  Anton attached a leading rein to Giselle’s bridle and led her over to tether her alongside Hazel, then he and Miles strolled over to a large green tarpaulin draped in one corner of the room.

  “Pay attention,” he commanded and as the two girls stared at him, continued, “Now that you are properly dressed for your pony training, it is time to show you where that training will eventually lead.”

  He took hold of a corner of the tarpaulin and with Miles’ help pulled it back to reveal what lay underneath.

  Hazel and Giselle gasped in unison and their eyes opened wide in shock.

  Three lightweight carriages on spoked, rubber tired wheels stood side by side under the lights, each carriage having a padded seat and backrest fixed between its wheels and a pair of long, curved shafts projecting forward.

  It didn’t take a genius to work out what the carriages were for...or who was going to have to provide the motive power for them...and the two harnessed slave-girls gaped at the vehicles, each imagining herself fastened between the shafts with a Master seated behind her and controlling her with the aid of her reins gripped in his fist.

  The two dominant men grinned at their stunned slaves, then strolled over and untied their tethers from th
e iron ring, Miles holding Hazel’s leash and Anton taking charge of Giselle’s.

  “Those carriages are what we are going to train you to pull,” Anton said casually. “But before you get to that, you have to learn to obey the bits in your mouths. It wouldn’t do to have you bolt or stampede with one of our guests aboard, now would it?” he chuckled grimly.

  “No,” Miles agreed calmly, “That wouldn’t do at all. So, to begin with, we won’t harness you to a carriage at all. We’ll simply train you or, to use the right technical term, school you, using these leading reins. Later, of course, when we’re satisfied with your progress, we’ll move on to school you as proper carriage ponies so that our guests can safely take you out for a canter around the grounds.”

  Hazel and Giselle stared numbly at him, their brains quailing at the frightening prospect his words opened up.

  In their pony harnesses and with steel bits lodged between their jaws, they would be helpless to refuse or even object to being used as beasts of burden.

  With a guest seated on the carriage behind them, they would have no choice but to go wherever their driver commanded.

  It was a horrible thought, but even as Hazel imagined it, she couldn’t help be aware of wet heat growing between her naked thighs.

  Obedient to the steady pull of the leading reins, both slaves walked over to the carriages, the hobbling chains between their knees jingling musically to every movement.

  Miles waved his hand towards the carriages. “As you can see,” he said, “These are single seat carriages and will be pulled by one pony-girl, while this one is a two seater and needs two ponies to share the work. You will have to get used to both, of course, but Anton and I are confident that you’ll manage, especially after your exercises on the running track in the gymnasium.”

  Anton nodded cheerfully, “Yes, you are both quite fit already, but you will get fitter, with the proper encouragement.” The slaves gulped as he walked over to a rack on the wall and selected two very long, very flexible whips, each terminating in a two foot long single leather strand. “These are the proper encouragements,” he grinned and flicked his wrist to send the evil leather hissing through the air.

  Miles took a whip from his partner and cracked it expertly above the heads of the trembling slaves. “You,” he told them, “will become carriage ponies. This is a carriage whip. Do I need to say more? No? Good.”

  The message was crystal clear.

  From the carriage seat, a driver would have an unobstructed view of his pony-girl’s naked flanks and buttocks.

  With one of the long carriage whips in his or her hand, a casual flick would be all that would be needed to inflict stinging lashes on a pony’s rump.

  Frightened and subdued, Hazel and Giselle let themselves be led out of the room and into the sun filled courtyard.

  In the centre of the paved space, a heavy, square wooden post was sunk into the ground and as they were led over to it, Hazel noted that it had an iron swivel let into its top.

  Their leading reins were clipped to the ring and Miles turned to them. “Right. Now listen carefully. Your schooling as pony-girls starts now. Move back from the post as far as your leading rein will let you. Hazel this side, Giselle the other. When we give the command, “Walk” you will walk forward at a normal pace, lifting your knees as high as your hobbles allow at each step and keeping your heads up. When we command “Trot” you will jog, keeping your knees and heads high. When you hear “Canter” double the pace, but do not let your knees or heads drop. If you do, this is what will happen.”

  Without warning, the two carriage whips hissed out, curling around the naked left thigh of each of the trainee pony-girls to snap at their naked flesh and leave a bright pink line of unexpected heat.

  Hazel jumped, yelping and tried to move back, but the leading rein at her cheek tautened and she could not get out of range of her Master’s whip.

  Opposite her, Giselle made the same discovery and her eyes widened in anxiety as she realised that there was no way to avoid being punished.

  Except to obey exactly.

  “You see,” Miles grinned cruelly, “It’s quite easy really. Walk.”

  The sharp command caught Hazel unprepared and before she could react, his whip snaked out to crack across her bare buttocks.

  With a muffled whimper, she stumbled forward, her buttocks burning.

  But Hazel had forgotten to lift her knees high and a third stripe blazed across her thigh as he snapped, “Lift your knees, pony-girl.”

  Shuddering with horror and pain, she forced herself to obey, her hobble chain clinking as she struggled to satisfy his demands, her eyes wide with anguish as she walked around the post in a wide circle, raising her knees as high as she could with each step.

  On the far side of the circle, Giselle fared only slightly better, responding quickly enough to Miles’ command to avoid an immediate lash, but, like Hazel, not lifting her knees sufficiently high to satisfy Anton who responded with an instant stroke of his whip to her defenceless buttocks.

  Time after time the whips flicked out, marking both pony-girls’ buttocks and thighs with fiery stripes of heat as their Masters decided that their heads had dropped or their knees were not high enough.

  After a long, painful introduction to the walk, the order to trot was given and each girl broke into a steady jog, their anxiety slowly giving way to relief as both found the rhythmic motion of the trot to be easier to maintain than the walk.

  This, coupled with the fact that they concentrated intently on keeping knees and heads high, drastically reduced the number of whip strokes each received and Hazel found herself actively enjoying the exercise.

  Especially when she found that the tight leather harness and her uncomfortably pinioned arms had tensioned her full breasts to such an extent that they barely quivered as she trotted around and around.

  But when the order “Canter...now” was given, things became much harder...

  With their arms securely strapped behind their backs and unavailable to counterbalance their pumping legs, Hazel and Giselle found it almost impossible to maintain a steady pace or lift their knees high with each stride, no matter how hard they tried.

  That was when their Masters’ cruel carriage whips sought them out, the courtyard echoing to the sharp cracks of leather meeting flesh and harsh orders to, “Keep your head up. Lift your knees higher. Faster. Hold the pace,” as the two men enforced ruthlessly strict discipline over their sweating, gasping pony-girls.

  Hazel’s flanks and buttocks stung and smarted from innumerable strokes of her Master’s whip. She panted and whimpered in despair as yet another burning stripe branded her and she forced her leaden legs to respond and propel her forward again on her seemingly endless circuits of the yard.

  Anton was, if anything, even harder on his pony-girl and tears streamed down Giselle’s oval face as his whip struck her again and again, curling around her buttocks and thighs to bite cruelly into her soft flesh as he snapped orders she struggled desperately to obey.

  Exhausted and completely subjugated, both girls fell to their knees as the order to halt was given.

  Then squealed in pained anguish as their affronted Masters applied their whips vigorously to their captives to force them to their feet and into the display position.

  “You are pony-girls,” Miles frowned angrily. “And ponies do not sit.”

  Standing under the warm sunshine, their beautifully presented bodies criss-crossed with angry red whip marks, the two pony-girls shuddered as they absorbed the lesson.

  In their harnesses, with steel bits in their mouths and unable to speak or resist, they were simply dumb beasts.

  Lovely beasts, certainly, but beasts none the less.

  Horses did not sit down after exercise and, clearly, neither would they.

  Miles nodded coldly, “That’s better. Very well, schooling is over for today. Tomorrow, we will begin again.” He strode over to the post, untied both leading reins and tossed Gisell
e’s to Anton.

  “Trot on,” Anton commanded, reinforcing his order with a flick of his whip across the brunette’s naked bottom and strode off towards the main building. He paid no attention whatever to Giselle, who, as the leading rein to her bit tightened, had no option but to follow, her knees lifting high to each step and her eyes filled with fear as she trotted, an obedient pony-girl, in the wake of her Master.

  Miles made no comment, simply tugging quite sharply at Hazel’s leading rein, then setting off at a brisk walking pace around the courtyard.

  Like Giselle, Hazel could not fight the pressure of the bit against her tongue and broke into the high stepping trot she had been taught as she hurried after him.

  As he strode around the yard with Hazel trotting behind him, her face grew pink with shame at her helplessness and his arrogant treatment of her.

  She could do nothing to prevent her humiliation and she knew that he was well aware of her anger and her inability to do anything about it.

  His silence added to her baffled fury, because she realised only too well that it was deliberately designed to reinforce the difference in their positions.

  She was only a harnessed, bitted pony and he was her Master...and Masters were not in the habit of speaking to their animals.

  Ponies had no choices about what they were made to do.

  They simply obeyed the commands of the reins and the whip...and so must she.

  It was a strange feeling, but, strange or not, Hazel realised she would have to get used to it.

  After several circuits of the yard, Miles led her back into the room which she now thought of as a stable and halted her.

  “Down on your knees and sit back on your heels” he ordered. When she obeyed, he left her for a few moments, then returned with three short lengths of chain, two of which he used to connect her ankle cuffs to the wide leather belt around her waist.

  No longer able to rise to her feet, Hazel gulped as he told her to spread her knees to the full extent permitted by the hobble chain between her knee straps.

  He moved behind her and her body arched backwards as he passed the third chain through the ring on the end of the steel rod binding her arms and clipped it into her ankle cuffs, holding her in a defenceless curve.