by Paul Moore
Sarah moved around Jenny, until her crotch was in line with the girl’s face. Jenny could smell the earthy perfume of the cowgirl’s musk, an oddly pleasant pungency. The chaps framed and emphasized her ivory flesh and thick pubic growth. Her clit glowed within, like a hidden ruby.
“You can thank me properly now,” said the cowgirl.
Jenny thought foolishly about explaining that she was inexperienced, and might be a bit clumsy, but such a confession might be misinterpreted as mere excuse, or worse—disobedience. A hand on the back of her head put an end to her quandary.
“Do a good job,” Sarah encouraged, “and I may forget to punish you later for your hesitation.”
It was more and less than Jenny expected. She had been thinking about doing the same thing for Button back at the bunkhouse, believing that her stablemate was owed it and deserved it, and it was Jenny’s best opportunity to learn a skill valuable to a sex slave, but the presence of Dusk glowering on the other side of the room had destroyed the mood. Button had seemed content to fall asleep in Jenny’s arms, and sleep had claimed the exhausted Jenny as well.
So Jenny was performing without practice, and was less concerned by the fact that she was pleasuring another woman than she was by the risk of doing it badly. The whip dangling at Sarah’s hip was a reminder of the sort of after play Jenny could expect.
So taste and smell were minor considerations, as were the wiry pubic hairs tickling Jenny’s nose. She tried to remember Button’s technique and imitate it, but she had been distracted by her own pleasure at the time. She had barely started before Sarah pulled her head back and glared down at her.
The alarm and contrition written on Jenny’s face must have been comic, because Sarah’s angry mask dissolved into laughter.
“Holy fuck, gal! Who taught you to eat pussy anyway?”
“No one, Ma’am. I’m sorry.”
Sarah sighed. “All right, I’m going to have to teach you then. I figured that you and Button would be trading tongue rides all afternoon, but I guess I figured wrong. Get into my slit more, work that tongue in good and deep. Pussy isn’t poisonous. You’ll learn to crave it after awhile. Ease down a little. Long slow lapping is best for me. Don’t go after my clit like it’s a punching bag.”
Jenny blushed, a slave girl being reprimanded. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I’ll do better.”
“Of course you will,” There was forgiveness and understanding in her voice as Sarah unclipped the lash from her belt. “Put your face on the floor and raise your ass nice and high for me now.”
Chapter Eight
On the first day of Jenny’s training she was strapped into a temporary harness while another was being custom fitted to her measurements. The tail plug was, as Sarah promised, one size larger than the one she had worn the evening before. As soon as she began marching into the training ring beside Button she realized what an insidious device it really was. The heavy brass rings that raised her tail away from her body also acted as a lever against the plug. With every step she took, the tail bobbed and swayed, and this movement was conducted down the metal strip dividing her buttocks and echoed by movement within. The shaft inside her churned and squirmed as though it were alive. Running made the sensation even worse, she soon discovered.
Soupcan was waiting for them in the training arena that first morning, smirking and erect as he greased her tail plug and bent her over to receive it. Fitting her for the harness took longer than it would in the future, since each strap needed to be carefully adjusted to her body. Particular care was taken with her footwear. The sandals were as comfortable and well made as a good pair of running shoes, lightly padded at critical pressure points. Button whispered into Jenny’s ear as she was trying them on, advising her to make sure of the fit. Years of running had already taught Jenny the wisdom of her words.
The harness itself was minimal. A tight waist belt supported the tail plug. Brass rings rode on each hip to attach the belt to the shaft of the cart. The bridle consisted of a plain strap across her forehead, a pair of straps alongside her nose, and another alongside her cheeks and around the back of her neck to hold the bit in her mouth. A chin strap held her mouth closed around the bit and kept her from spitting it out. The bit was hard rubber, since metal might have damaged her teeth. A pair of leather wrist cuffs were equipped with attachment rings as well.
Before he put on their bridles, Soupcan had them kneel side by side while he unzipped. Jenny didn’t need to ask what was expected of her. Her ass still felt a prickling sensation whenever it was touched, a reminder that the whip was always waiting to reward insubordination. She was already coming to regard this as a merely tedious but necessary chore, and disregard the humiliation, yet she felt herself quicken, seeing the saucy glee in Button’s eyes as she playfully licked up and down Soupcan’s shaft before bobbing her head low to suckle his balls. Button had performed this task countless times. She was a team player, and knew how to share the stage with Jenny while helping her get into the spirit of her own role. They pretended to compete for his cock, as though they craved it, when really they were just taking turns and relieving each other.
I’m learning a whore’s role, she thought, the better the play, the sooner the curtain falls.
Catching her breath and wiping saliva from her chin as she watched Button swallow his full length and gaze worshipfully up at him, Jenny realized that they had been at this for some time already. Soupcan was deliberately delaying his climax to prolong his pleasure, making them work for it. It occurred to Jenny that he would exercise the same maddening self control when Sarah gave him permission to take her anally.
He will make it last. Yet even as the thought made her shudder, a rush of anticipation accompanied it. She felt herself clenching around the plug, as though to remind herself of its presence.
When Soupcan finally climaxed, he deliberately aimed his discharge into Jenny’s face. She understood his reason. This was, as Mr. Frisk warned her, a boot camp. She was being trained to accept humiliation, deprivation, and discipline. She was being tested for weakness. There was a secret satisfaction for her in this knowledge; that nothing they did was personal or inspired by mere cruelty, and this insight could steel her against any self defeating behavior. She had no intention of asking for her per diem and a ticket home, and she wasn’t going to lose everything for the sake of pride.
So she closed her eyes as he spurted onto them, and smiled as though he honored her.
The rest of the morning was rather tedious. The drills that Soupcan put them through were simple and easily mastered.. Button had done it all before, and Jenny merely had to pay attention and follow her lead. The point of it all was to stay in step and learn the basic gaits and commands. For racing ponies these were few. She already knew that they would be competing on a level oval track over a mile course. The only rules were that they stay in step and pull a two wheeled cart and driver across the finish line, preferably ahead of anyone else. So she and Button were simply harnessed together on a lunge line, running circles and figure eights around Soupcan while he called out “gee” and “haw” and cracked a bullwhip unnecessarily into the air.
Jenny lay belly down over a saddle. The stirrups had been removed, leaving the hump of the tree to raise and support her hips. A strip of rawhide had been looped over the horn and across the small of her back, lashing her down tight to a D ring at the rear of the seat. Her wrists and ankles had been tied to the great wagon wheels at the foot and head of Sarah’s bed, her limbs taut as only stretched rawhide tethers could get them. Rope would have been more forgiving.
As it was, she imagined herself vibrating under the impacts of the lash, humming like a plucked guitar string. She could smell the black rubber of the bed cover as it stifled her screams. She hoped the fluids it collected tonight would not include blood. She was heartened by a treasured conviction that scars would lower, rather than enhance her value. True to her word, Sarah had left the bullwhip hanging over the bed, but the shorter single tai
l she was using still left bright stripes of raised flesh that turned white before blossoming into scarlet. By morning some of them would darken.
Soupcan would get erect looking at them as he worked her tomorrow, and he would promise her “a good long ride someday real soon” as she knelt at his feet and choked on his cock. If she had any question about his meaning, the tail of his whip tickling the crack of her ass was all the answer she needed.
But for the moment, Jenny’s world had narrowed to the whistling of displaced air and the snap of tanned rawhide against her too tender, living skin. Each blow was a raw shock to her system, exploding in her consciousness, goading her to yield to blind panic and fight her bonds or dissolve into hysterical begging.
Yet she had been well prepared for this moment. Sarah had worked her long and patiently, awakening places within her body that she had never explored on her own. Slick with lubricant, those hard gloved hands had thrust deep and twisted inside as Jenny writhed in her bindings and whimpered surrender. Teeth had gnawed her nipples, just enough to hurt and thrill her with fear. Through it all, Jenny held the whip in her mouth and waited to kiss the hand that finally retrieved it.
So the whip was expected, even accepted as inevitable and proper.
Perhaps it was even welcome.
The training arena offered nothing to distract. It was a huge pole barn with enclosed horse stalls around the perimeter and a half acre of sawdust covered ground in the center. Barn swallows swooped and squeaked high in the rafters. The girls had shivered in the dry chill of dawn, but the steel barn panels expanded, crackling, as the heat of day penetrated the barn.
The sharp report of the whip ceased to startle Jenny when she realized that he was snapping it well away from them, and she concentrated on following Button’s leads instead. Button made it easy for her, always coming off of her right foot and telegraphing her moves with subtle nods of her head. Jenny remembered that they were forbidden to speak in harness. The bits they drooled around made speech impractical anyway. The effect of attempting it would only be comic, and a fit of the giggles would probably force Soupcan to trade the whip he was playing with for the one he worked with.
When he was finally satisfied with their performance, Soupcan gave them a water break. The trough was clean, at any rate, and the water in the galvanized tank was sweet and cold, but the bits made sipping water impossible. Button demonstrated for her, bobbing her chin into the tank to scoop small mouthfuls, but Jenny still managed to choke and sputter enough to make Soupcan guffaw. She learned to swallow with the bit in her mouth. It wasn’t so very different from cock sucking after all.
After the break, they were harnessed side by side to a two wheeled cart. It was designed for racing, with wire-spoked wheels and balloon tires. The seat was only wide enough for a driver. There was a “T” shaped shaft for the girls to push against, equipped with vertical handles that were conspicuously phallic. Soupcan clipped their wrist cuffs to the crossbar while Jenny gripped the smooth shafts and realized that they fit comfortably into her palms. Whatever sexual symbolism might have been intended by this design, it was ergonomic as well. She would be pushing with her strongest muscles while strain to her elbows was minimized.
But she had learned to expect some sexual embellishment, some superfluous touch that served no purpose except to enhance her display or enforce her humiliation. A D ring on the side of her belt was attached to the shaft as well. The meaning of this escaped her until after Soupcan settled himself heavily into his seat and cracked his whip over their heads to start them trotting.
“I always wear boots when I ride,” Sarah purred.
She lay across Jenny’s whipped back, their mingled sweat smarting on jenny’s abraded skin. Jenny could feel the hard points of Sarah’s nipples against her shoulder blades, smell her hair as the cowgirl whispered sexual threats in her ear, chuckling as she ground her hips against Jenny’s burning backside and made her moan.
Earlier, their coupling had been more frenzied. Sarah liked to ride hard, and drive her mounts with a crop. The tapering lengths of two rubber horns joined the women. One horn was inside of Sarah, where it curled against her G spot like an old friend and teased her to shuddering climax again and again. The other horn was longer, thicker, and ribbed, undulating into Jenny’s backside and rocking her on the saddle.
It was a device designed for opening anal virgins, Sarah explained, as Jenny felt the tip, deceptively small, poke into her well oiled opening. It was no more than an inquisitive finger. If she hadn’t already been sore from the plug she had worn in the training arena, she would hardly have noticed it. The next rib was thicker, and the next. Sarah hadn’t let her see the device that was going into her, and fed it to her slowly. She would let Jenny think that she was feeling all of it working easily in and out, then surprise her with another inch. She wedged her victim open a bit more with each lengthening stroke, snorting with laughter at Jenny’s rising note of shock and dismay.
“How much bigger does it get?” Sarah teased as she thrust deeper still.
Then it was in, all of it, and Jenny could feel the cold leather of a strap on harness as Sarah settled against her.
Sarah chuckled and rocked her hips. Her pinned victim moved with her. She smacked a hard palm on Jenny’s flank and whispered hoarsely.
“Yeehaw!”
Jenny quickly learned, as the fucking began in earnest, that any resistance caused her opening to clench against the ribbed shaft. When that happened, the crop came whistling down on her flank and the hips grinding against her scorched cheeks churned harder, forcing the way.
“Come on,” the cowgirl’s voice was softly encouraging, husky with lust. “Loosen up now. Take it, take it all.”
He had opened the barn doors while the girls were drinking, and Jenny soon found herself charging through them and into the yard and down the long paved driveway, squinting into the rising sun and feeling its heat against her face. Because they ran in step; (Jenny had already formed the habit of waiting for Button’s right leg to move) the pull against the cart was intermittent rather than smooth. They advanced in a series of small jerks. This pace caused the shaft to bob up and down between them, tugging subtly against their belts and rocking the plugs within. The sensation was both annoying and arousing. She exchanged glances with Button, who acknowledged Jenny’s look of stunned surprise with a wink and a knowing grin.
Soupcan urged them into a canter. At this speed the bouncing of the heavy brass tail holders became a factor as well, so that the plugs inside them squirmed and prodded like something alive. Jenny caught herself clenching against it and arching her back as though she might draw herself away from the impalement. Then she deliberately forced herself to relax and concentrated instead on the business of running.
Because she was pushing, Jenny was unable to pump her arms as she ran. It impeded the normal flow of her movement, making her awkward until she adapted and learned to concentrate all of her effort into moving her legs.
The cart’s axles were well greased, and turned silently on their bearings. Other than the steady clop of their sandals on the paved drive, there was no sound except the jingle and creak of their harness and the whisper of hot wind past their ears.
The bits were slender, Jenny discovered, and did little to obstruct her breathing, but she was unaccustomed to pulling a load, and quickly began to feel the strain on her arms and chest. The long strides that usually carried her so easily along were shortened by the extra drag. She glanced over at Button to see how she was holding up, and saw that she was pacing gamely along, though beads of sweat were already appearing on her forehead. It occurred to Jenny that she had no way of knowing how far she would be expected to run, or how fast, and the uncertainty made her vaguely anxious. If she stumbled or dropped from exhaustion, would she be forgiven and allowed to rest, or whipped back to her feet and urged on? Having Button beside her gave her heart.
If she can do it, I can!
Jenny looked around her, see
ing activity everywhere. In a round pen, a girl was marching in slow circles while a male trainer held a long line attached to her waist belt and directed her. She wore a red patent leather harness. A corset cinched her waist and lifted her breasts. Her tail was scarlet, and matched the plumes that waved atop her bridle. She was lifting her knees high with each step, keeping time with a military march that blared from overhead speakers.
Assessing her physique, Jenny guessed that the girl had been selected for beauty rather than athletic ability. Her face had fragile, aristocratic features. Her breasts were large, and small bells dangled from her pierced nipples. Those breasts would bounce painfully if she were required to run, and her slender legs would thicken with muscle. Jenny felt an unaccountable contempt. The girl was nothing but a show pony, beautiful, bejeweled, and utterly useless.
“This filly’s had a hard ride,” the cowgirl drawled. “Best let her sleep in tomorrow mornin’.”
Jenny stood at attention wearing a bridle and reins, an unnecessary formality. She wouldn’t have run off if she had the energy. Sarah had broken her with a firm and loving hand. Jenny’s squared shoulders trembled. Her brave smile, a grimace around the bit, trembled as well.
“Looks right tuckered,” Soupcan agreed. He held the reins slack at his side.
Impulsively Jenny dropped to her knees. The bit prevented a kiss, but she placed her opened mouth against the toe of Sarah’s boot.
Sarah offered her the other boot to kiss before ordering her harshly back to attention. She smiled approvingly and ruffled Jenny’s mane in farewell.
“ She’ll be sore in the mornin’,” she told Soupcan as he led Jenny back to the bunk house. “Remember that when you strap on her harness.”
