by Mark Andrews
I was returned to my stall soon after that while the men went back to their training. I didn’t care. I had my baby and both Sebastian and Black Beauty had accepted him. At that time I didn’t know for how long I would be allowed to keep him but even though I had no idea what our future lives held for us, and especially that the prince would ever allow Sebastian to marry me, I still thought of him as my fiancé and of the other two as the best friends a girl could ever have.
Things were to change - and radically, but that was still in the future and in the meantime I now had my baby to look after - and my training to return to.
The vet examined my belly very carefully after the birth. Some stretching is to be expected but again, their knowledge of such things is far superior to ours and he immediately ordered me onto a new regime of training, accompanied by creams that were rubbed deep into the skin of my stomach three times a day.
The exercises that he ordered were additional to the normal ones - I was now relieved of the capstan and rowing machine duty and returned to the former gym routine in the mornings and track work in the afternoon while Brown Boy, as the prince dubbed my baby, was tended by an old woman who clucked over him as she held him in her arms and rocked him to sleep.
I went back to the gymnastics and all the rest of it but I also had to have an ever-increasing time on the abdominal table. This is a really diabolical gadget that can, almost instantly turn the flabbiest belly into a thing of beauty.
I say diabolical because it is as hard an exercise as they come. It isn’t a machine. It really is just a table, a very sturdy one some four feet high and bolted to the floor. It’s only one foot wide and about three long and at the bottom end there are two straps made so we could insert our hooves through them. And that was it! There was nothing else. The vet supervised me the first time, watched by the prince and Ridha. I was ordered to climb up onto the table and they helped me slip my hooves through each of the straps in turn. This left the backs of my legs and thighs on the table but my hips hung over the edge - just as well I suppose for they didn’t bother removing the tail from my anus!
Then, with my hands up in the usual position and my elbows pulled right back, also as usual, I had to lean my torso forward, stretching my back, bottom and thigh muscles, and then reach forward with my arms and fingers to try to touch the ends of my hooves (impossible, but I had to try), hold that position to the count of five and then after resuming the hands behind head position, slowly - very, very slowly, lift my torso back up again, keeping on moving it backwards until I was now fully horizontal and my belly and thighs muscles were straining hard - and then, further on downwards until my body was bent backwards in a taut bow.
I had now to stretch my arms downwards, reaching for the floor. I did, too, but only just. “Keep straining, Tingle Tits,” the vet urged and I stretched my upper body even further down while the prince moved up close and ran his silken fingers along my straining belly and breasts and then back again, down to my thighs before returning to fondle my naked mound and what lay between the lips of my vulva.
I raged inwardly, as I always did when they indecently fondled my vulnerable body but there was no choice. One hint of rebellion and we were strung up like a side of lamb - and flogged within an inch of our lives.
I had to stay down in the stretched position for ten seconds (while Prince Azeem continued to caress my flesh) and then, again in ultra slow motion and after resuming the proper position for my hands, raise my body up past the horizontal to the vertical and then lean forward until my arms were now stretched forward to touch my toes again.
They knew exactly how far to take us - how long to work on each exercise and this one, being so diabolically hard, had to be introduced slowly. Already, after only two repeats, my belly was raging at me but they kept me on it for about ten repeats before allowing me off it. Believe me, after even such a small number of repeats, all the muscles in my body felt as if they had been torn to shreds ... And then, every day for the next few months, they increased the repetitions by one and sometimes two every day.
Under this dreadful regime, my stomach quickly hardened back up again and, presumably aided by the cream, the skin shrank back until I was as taut and terrific down there as I had been before I was so forcibly mated with Black Beauty.
I continued to love my little boy. To them, he was Brown Boy; to me he was Sebastian Junior but I had no real thoughts that I would ever be able to greet him as such. I was a slave and so was he, born to it like so many others had been over the generations of human evolution.
In time, a few weeks, actually, I was put back to the public races, again joining Black Beauty and Muscles, as well as so many others of the prince’s stable of human ponyboys and girls, in the races staged on alternate weekends. I was glad of one thing though. I was no longer shown as a pregnant sow, for given the two indignities, I would far rather race as a ponygirl than be forced to open my thighs and bend my legs to expose my vagina to all those salacious bastards who came to gloat over us ...
Chapter 7
The weeks passed and with every one I worried more and more that soon, so very soon, they would take little Sebastian Junior (as I thought of him) away from me. By now I knew that both Sebastian and Black Beauty had accepted him and adored him as much as I did. Although they couldn’t speak - none of us had uttered a word since our initiations all those months ago - they were able by their expressions and their eyes, to show their love for me and for my baby.
The prince was teasing me, though. Every time he came into the stables or I passed him on the way to or from the track, he would speculate that it must be nearing the time my baby was taken from me and I visibly wilted - at which his gloating smile became almost macabre. I knew Sebastian wanted to strangle him but we all kept our cool, always hoping for a miracle that, with every passing day, seemed less and less likely.
The rescue, when it came at last, some eighteen months after my kidnapping, was therefore quite unexpected. It happened at three in the morning, when humans are the least vigilant. All I knew was that these soldiers appeared, shushing me (and Sebastian opposite) to silence with the age-old gesture of the finger to the lips and then released us from the rings in our stalls.
They stared in horror at our hooves and tails and bridles of course but made no attempt to remove them until Sebastian gestured to them and we each tugged at the buckles and straps that held them so securely.
Sebastian spoke briefly, but fiercely to the men’s leader and I heard him mention the words ‘Prince Azeem’ and ‘big house’. The leader, a lieutenant in the SAS, objected - at first, but then reluctantly agreed and he took one of his men as well as Sebastian with him while we were ushered quietly (as quietly as our hooves permitted, anyway) out of the stables.
On the way we passed a few of the grooms lying unconscious (but not dead, we were assured) on the brick floor. I wouldn’t have cared if they were dead. They had treated us as animals for a year and a half and I despised every last one of them.
We came at last to a black helicopter. I was told later it was the latest thing in stealth and it was only because of Britain’s support for the Gulf States in the first and second Gulf wars that certain other Arabian countries (which I shall not name) permitted the British helicopter through their air space to rescue us.
We could talk now of course and as soon as we boarded the aircraft we all hugged each other - Muscles, Black Beauty and me, that is, and for the first time, Black Beauty was able to hold his son and he hugged the little boy to his naked chest while his eyes misted over with love.
Shortly after that, the lieutenant, his sergeant and Sebastian appeared, the sergeant carrying a shapeless bundle over his shoulder. They boarded the helicopter and its door was closed and locked as the sergeant dropped the bundle to the floor. It rolled over and we now saw an unconscious Prince Azeem lying there.
Sebastian now took me
in his arms and kissed me, long and lingeringly, careless of the soldiers and of Muscles and Black Beauty around us - and also careless of our nakedness in front of the soldiers.
The truth was, we had simply forgotten it. We had been naked for so long now and in such horrible circumstances, we actually forgot we could now don clothing - if there was any available.
Sebastian kissed me for a long time, as I said, but then he reached out to Black Beauty and took my baby in his arms. “He will be our son, Black Beauty, if you will agree.”
The handsome black man smiled and nodded. “Let it be so, Sir.”
“Not ‘Sir’, Black Beauty,” he began and then frowned. “No, not Black Beauty, either. What is your real name?”
The tall and magnificent young man grinned. “Peter. Peter Jones.”
We all laughed. But then we turned to Muscles, who had previously been Little Cock before he had been castrated (at his own request).
He laughed back at us and then told us his real name was Jon Kittichorn.
At that moment, we all became a family, Sebastian, myself and my baby, and Peter and Jon neé Black Beauty and Muscles.
The lieutenant had been aware of what had happened to us and he had tolerantly allowed us some space, both physically and figuratively. He and his men had moved up near the pilot area, allowing us to huddle at the back of the big machine but then he came back towards us and coughed. “Er, I don’t know whether you wish to travel the whole distance in that get-up, sir,” he said to Sebastian.
My fiancé stared at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds but then the penny dropped and he looked down at his nakedness, the hooves on his feet and the tails poking out of all our backsides and he smiled, tentatively at first but then broadly. “Come on. Let’s get rid of these hated things right now!”
And while the lieutenant and his men watched in some awe, the four us superbly bodied ex-ponies carefully removed the tails from our bottoms and, after the lieutenant cut through the locks that held them in place, set to undoing the hooves. It was really strange to be able to put our feet back in their more normal position - and one we found very difficult at first. We knew that even walking normally was going to be something we would have to learn all over again.
They also gave us some clothes to put on and now I really felt horrible. My flesh had been kept permanently naked for a year and a half. I really hated the feel of clothes on my skin!
I realised then that the adjustment back to normality was going to be dreadful and I now turned to stare down at the still unconscious form of our captor, lying on the metal deck between us.
“What are you going to do with him, Sebastian?” I asked my man.
His normally urbane face turned into a mask of hate as he looked down on our captor. “I am going to make him suffer as he did us, Mercedes!”
How strange it was to hear my own name after being called Tingle Tits for so long but I was shocked to hear his words. Sebastian was the most civilised of men. Surely he could not be contemplating revenge? He was!
“I don’t know what the authorities will allow, but if I can get my hands on him, I am going to show him what it is to be turned into an animal. And then, after we tire of the game I will ask that he be dumped into one of Britain’s tightest security jails, permanently naked to die in a bleak stone cell, and never ever to be allowed out again ...”
“They’ll never agree, Sebastian,” I said.
“I think they will, Mercedes. What else are they going to do with him? They can’t afford a trial. The fact of what he was doing to us and all those others will come out and the government will be left with egg on its face that it knew what was going on there - and yet, because of the oil, turned a blind eye to it. I’m sure it would only have been Milford and perhaps Father’s badgering that would have brought this rescue about.”
He turned to the lieutenant and raised his eyebrows. The officer grinned and shrugged. “I don’t know, Sir. We aren’t given reasons for our missions - it’s a case of do or die with us.”
The young man didn’t offer any opinions about what Sebastian planned for the prince either although the expression on his face clearly indicated he thought what he had proposed was too good for the scum.
About this time, Prince Azeem began to come around and as he regained his sensibilities and realised where he was, stared up at us in fear. “What are you going to do to me,” he said, no longer the proud and arrogant aristocrat in total command of himself and all around him.
“Oh you are going to suffer, my little princeling ... you are really going to suffer.”
I won’t go into all the details of our transhipment and eventual arrival in England. Suffice to say we were met by Milford and Mr de Veere, were taken straight to a military hospital where we were thoroughly examined, particularly our bottoms, the golden brands on our bellies as well as our semi-maimed feet and partially denuded mouths; were carefully de-briefed by very high level secret agents, but were then allowed to go home.
Sebastian made his demands very clear and because of his background no doubt and the support of his cousin and father, they were acceded to.
The prince was held in a remote prison for a while, during which time I married Sebastian and we set up house not far from his cousin’s estate. Of course Peter and John joined us. Sebastian had wanted them to be permanent guests in our house but both had demurred. Peter had been a trainee landscape gardener before his voluntary pony boy slavery to the viscount and John had been an apprentice chef. They opted to take up those roles in our household but in reality, we really were a family.
We didn’t set up stables with voluntary pony boys and girls as we had intended all that time ago. By now we had all had quite enough of the fetish - except for one.
Yes, we had the prince and true to his word, Sebastian turned him into a facsimile of what we had been. No, that isn’t quite correct. We, all of us, made him into a pony.
We went and collected him from the prison - all highly irregular, of course, but it’s amazing what can happen when you have friends in high places. He was still dressed in the sleeping garments in which he had been kidnapped and they were now, months later, rather the worse for wear, dirty, torn and decidedly unkempt.
We pushed him into the back of our van and hogtied him - using his own thumb cuffs of course so that his feet, or rather his big toes were drawn back under his thighs and locked to his thumbs.
Our property had been bought with him in mind and was very secure. It even had stables that would be perfect to keep our new pony in.
We stripped him naked. Peter (nee Black Beauty) ripping the remnants of his garments from his lean body and then we discussed him as a potential animal, using the same demeaning terms he had with us. I won’t repeat them, I’m sure you will remember them very well.
We then depilated him. Sebastian had acquired one of the ruby laser machines used for this purpose and he used it all over his body - from the top of his head (but leaving a top knot), right down to the tips of his toes. When we finished him, he was moaning with pain - and with shame, but he was now totally naked, as smooth all over as the proverbial baby’s bum.
Then we ringed him in the places we had been, pulled his back teeth and shoved into his mouth the bit of his bridle.
His hooves were next and then we gave him repeated fizzy enemas and shoved a tail up his backside.
We even branded him although we didn’t have any of the powder that had turned the marks on each of our bellies into things of beauty. We didn’t want him to look beautiful however. Sebastian used his contacts to find a smith who made a brand whose design was really shameful. It was an erect cock standing up over heavy balls.
When his belly was branded, the mark went from just above the root of his now naked penis, right up to his navel and he screamed beautifully as the red-hot iron sank into his bell
y.
It was a pity we couldn’t race him in public nor even at the club events. The hooves and tail and bridle were over the odds, even for our club and some of their methods of harnessing had been bizarre enough! Besides, the ponies there were all volunteers. He was very much a real slave.
But we trained him nevertheless. We worked him as hard as we had been - until each night he dropped in exhaustion in the straw of his stall.
We kept him for six months then removed all his pony accoutrements and delivered him, still naked though, back to the prison where he is still - or he might have died - as if I care.
Sebastian and I now have two children and they are brother and sister to little Sebastian Junior. We live a quite sedate and vastly more normal county life. Sebastian did not go back to the law practice. He doesn’t need to and prefers the life of a country squire - which he performs very well and I am learning to be the lady of the manor as it were.
John and Peter as well as Sebastian and me have kept our bodies in trim form. We built a squash court out at the back of our house and it also contains an indoor pool and small gym. You will not be surprised to hear that we exercise naked and we even have a capstan and rowing machine although you will not find a single whip or cane anywhere on the property - and the stables now house real equine ponies...
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