by Paul Moore
“I was set up,” said Jenny, when her mouth was empty again.
“I think we all know that,” Button nodded, looking at the ground as she spoke “You’re being a good sport about it too. I never met anybody like you. I mean- I’m just a perverted slut, no mystery there. You have this amazing focus though. You make me want to be a better person than I was before. When we are harnessed together, I feel as though you are pulling me along with you. I just move my legs and try to keep from breaking stride.”
“If that’s a compliment,” said Jenny, “Thanks.”
“I would miss you, for what that’s worth.”
Jenny sipped orange juice through the straw Button had thoughtfully placed in the glass.
“I would miss you too. I haven’t had many friends in my life. That’s important to me.”
“And what either one of us has with Sarah has nothing to do with that?” When Button raised her head Jenny could see that her eyes were watering. Shyly, she stroked the fingertips of Jenny’s trapped left hand with her own.
“We can’t let it matter,” agreed Jenny.
“I’ve been here awhile, okay?” Button continued. “I’ve been with her—a lot. Long enough to get past that whole initial slave crush thing. Oh, I still love her, but it’s different now. I understand her better. After she finally gets enough of beating our asses and screwing us raw the girl likes to cuddle and confess.”
Button broke off abruptly, as though rejecting some admission that she had been about to reveal. Loyalty and discretion, Button’s stock with Jenny was rising.
“If you stay long enough, you will reach that point where you really understand that pleasing her is just another part of our job description. As long as Frisk holds our contracts, she is his agent and our Mistress. She runs us. If she decides to do us a favor and give us some of her attention; then we call it a perk and we thank her for it. If she doesn’t; we have no right to care. When you accept that fact of life, you let go of a lot of stupid emotional baggage, and really submit. It sort of swallows you whole. Sarah has a name for it: ‘a poetics for pony girls’. This sounds pretty crazy to you right now. I know.”
“Maybe not,” said Jenny. “I have been thinking a lot this morning about why I really came here. Believe it or not, this is a good place for doing some cold hard meditation.”
Button rolled her eyes skyward and grinned. “Don’t I know it? I’ve been staked out for the coyotes a time or two.” She leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially.
“Have you come yet?”
Jenny sputtered with laughter. Button was so unabashedly perverse, like a child too young to learn shame.
“Now I know why you came out here,” she giggled. “You just wanted to pump me for dirty details!”
If Button had any lingering doubts about Jenny’s willingness to forget the night before, she discarded them. She shrugged as though her curiosity was a given.
“Well, yeah!”
Then she looked up apprehensively at the sound of approaching boot heels.
“I brought a couple of friends along that I wanted you to meet.”
It was Soupcan, coming back for more.
Button’s smile was frozen as she gathered up the remains of Jenny’s breakfast and picked up the tray. Jenny recognized her dilemma. If Button tried to excuse herself and leave; she might invite pursuit, but staying would certainly make her an obvious temptation. She stood up.
“Mistress Sarah is expecting me up at the house.”
“She’s busy right now, paying her respects to Lady G,” said Soupcan. “They don’t need to be disturbed for awhile.”
Caught between two imperatives, Button stood. Locked in the pillory, Jenny’s view was limited, but she saw Button’s bare toes clench.
Soupcan decided the issue, lifting the strap from Jenny’s back.
“Best set the tray down.”
The tray rattled a bit as Button set it on the ground. “Get Slade hard for your girl friend’s ass,” Soupcan growled.
Button found a grassy spot to kneel and opened her mouth wide. A tall cowboy stepped between her widespread knees and clamped his hands to the back of her head.
Jenny heard the jar open again and two fingers plunged into her, delivering fresh lubricant. She whined as she felt the sore opening forced again.
“Please! It hurts!”
Soupcan chuckled. “She’s really gonna feel it this time.”
Jenny had a quick glimpse of the cowboy as he turned away from Button. His cock was an angry purple, nearly as thick as Soupcan’s but much longer.
He didn’t waste time with any preliminaries. As soon as he was behind her, Jenny felt him jabbing in roughly. He took her by the shoulders to brace her against his steady, piston like strokes.
Button remained on her knees, and the second cowboy took his place. She meekly set to work making him ready. Soupcan walked a slow circle around the orgy, as though proud of his creation. He took a camera out of his pocket and snapped a few pictures.
The first man was mercifully quick, but as soon as he had finished spurting his hot discharge into Jenny’s depths and pulled out, the second man was pushing Button away and striding around the trestle to take his place.
Jenny let her head hang with exhaustion and tried to catch her breath, aware that he was positioning himself behind her now. He fumbled in his pockets for a moment, then Jenny felt him pry the lips of her pussy apart and insert something small and hard into her. It felt like a little egg.
“Brought you a present,” he chuckled, as the egg began to vibrate.
Her violation this time was more intense and memorable than those that came before. The muted buzz of arousal that she felt when Soupcan first took her blossomed into a sensation that was agonizingly intense. The vibrating egg filled her puss, tightening her ass more than ever, but the cowboy wasn’t in the least discouraged by that, and used her relentlessly anyway. The bolster under her hips pressed against her mound, and she began to lift herself up and forward, seeking to maximize the friction against her clit. It was impossible for her to relax, and the climax she could no longer deny began to build as she clenched around the plunging cock. She cried out hopelessly, defeated by the weakness of her own sexual desperation.
Too late, she realized that there would be no allowance made for her depleted arousal, no respite from the hard cock steadily pounding into her or the vibrator that had become a nagging torment within. She had no choice but to endure until every one of these men had been satisfied. Moaning, she slumped limp over the trestle, resigned to becoming no more than an open vessel now. Impossibly, she discovered that her powerlessness became a new source of excitement, and felt her desire kindled anew.
Soupcan put his camera away.
“You stay right there, Button. I’ll be needing that mouth again in a short while.”
As Jenny squirmed and sobbed on the creaking trestle, she was dimly aware that Lady G’s car had pulled out of the garage and was headed down the driveway. When it was near the trestle, the car paused and idled there for several minutes.
Behind the tinted windows, Lady G watched.
Chapter Twelve
Jenny sprawled on Sarah’s bed, enjoying the incredible luxury of unfettered movement for the first time in a day. Even her leather cuffs had been removed, and the pressure marks on her wrists and ankles slowly faded. The ointment that Sarah had gently rubbed into her outraged flesh had awakened a thousand sparkling pinpoints of pain and made her aware of the deeper bruises below the surface. Every joint and muscle was aching. Her ass throbbed inside and out. Yet she felt oddly refreshed and whole. Her penance had been served. She had earned forgiveness.
The receding shadows had exposed Jenny to the heat of the sun before the door of the ranch house opened again. She had been alone by then. The cowboys had satisfied themselves at last and left. Button had been dismissed to return to her duties, leaving Jenny alone.
It was Sarah who came out of the house this time, ca
rrying a martini glass in her hand. From the unsteady way she was walking, Jenny guessed that it wasn’t her first of the day.
Jenny had been physically and emotionally numb when Sarah released her and helped her stagger into the house. A hot shower had restored Jenny somewhat, and she had leaned against the wall and shuddered with relief and pure pleasure as Sarah’s gentle hands bathed her with a soft sponge.
Sarah entered the bedroom carrying a martini for Jenny and helped her sit up in the bed to sip. Cradling the drink gingerly in both hands, Jenny remembered the last time she had accepted a drink. It had been in the motel room with Brian, the night she decided to make her deal with the devil. The situation had been very different then, like the beginning of an exciting adventure instead of slow waking from a nightmare.
The martini was perfect. Frost rimed the glass. The liquid burned going down, and warmed her inside.
“I may live,” Jenny murmured. Then realizing that her comment might be considered impertinent, she glanced up at her Mistress surreptitiously.
Sarah only looked disconcerted and a little sad. Jenny reflected that managing this training facility meant dealing with intractable pony girls, a staff of unstable thugs, and the mad whims of affluent perverts. It wasn’t all fun and games. Sarah appeared worn out. Jenny nearly felt sorry for her.
“So, you’re feeling better now?” Sarah asked solicitously.
Jenny looked around the room, remembering the drama that had unfolded there only hours before. Sunlight had transformed this chamber of horrors into an ordinary bedroom again, a place of sanity and refuge.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sarah dropped into a chair beside the bed, collapsing with a sigh. Her eyes were glassy with drink or nascent tears. She turned her empty glass slowly in her hand as she spoke, staring beyond the bed and out the window, as though addressing an invisible third party.
“I’m giving you a couple of days off to recover. You can sleep in my bed and eat at my table. I want you fit again. I don’t think I need to remind you that you have more potential than any girl we have ever trained here. Right now you may think that we are being unreasonably harsh, maybe you are considering packing the whole thing in, wondering if it’s even worth the money. On the other hand, maybe you’re the kind of gal that rises to a challenge. Maybe hardship just tempers you. For what it’s worth, I didn’t want to punish you, didn’t think you really deserved it, but I have to think about keeping up appearances and maintaining order. If I let you get away with brawling, even in self defense, then discipline goes all to hell.”
“I understand that, Ma’am.”
“Mr. Frisk holds the mortgage on this ranch, I’m just management.” Sarah said. “That means that I am forced to kiss a few asses that I would much rather kick. Folks like you and me, we’re little dogs. When the big dogs fight,” she clapped her hands and rubbed the palms together. They made a dry, rasping sound, like sand against stone. “The little dogs are the ones who get chewed up. Sometimes we have to do things that we would rather not.”
She set her glass down, stood up unsteadily, and advanced to the bed. Jenny put her glass beside Sarah’s and leaned toward her, unsure of what she might be consenting to, sweet affection or sudden brutality. At the Bar S, Jenny had come to expect either, and the choice seemed unjustly random. With Sarah, it was often hard to tell the difference between the two.
Sarah lifted jenny’s chin and planted a kiss on her lips, a kiss that began dry and chaste, then became open mouthed and passionate. Jenny moaned a welcome. Lady G had been the last one to kiss her, but that kiss had been a demand. This one was a question.
Sarah pulled back and gazed into Jenny’s eyes.
“When you first came in, I named you Jenny the Mule to insult you. That ain’t right. You deserve better.” she dropped a heavy hand on Jenny’s head as though bestowing knighthood.
“ I’m giving you back your real name,” she said without irony. “From now on you can be called Morgan again.” She picked up her glass and turned away.
“I always liked the breed anyway.”
“You’re wanted up at the house,” said Soupcan. “Better get cleaned up first.”
A week had passed. Morgan had recovered quickly under Sarah’s tender care. She had remained in the house for two days, sleeping on the big soft bed or lounging on a cushion at Sarah’s feet while the Mistress worked at her desk. Though her meals were eaten from a tin plate while she knelt on the kitchen floor, the food was tasty and nutritious. She wore nothing but a collar the entire time and spoke very little. Sarah was a busy woman, not given to idle talk, but it was enough for Morgan to be near her. Morgan overheard Sarah’s telephone conversations and listened in as she directed the grooms, and was pleased to discover that the woman was an able administrator.
Sarah had even handed Morgan the phone and encouraged her to give her brother a call. He sounded stronger than ever, promised to pay back the money she had sent him, and wished her luck on her new job.
In the evening Morgan had massaged Sarah with oil and knelt at the foot of her chair to satisfy her with an eager tongue. At night she shared Sarah’s bed, and was awakened once during the night by Sarah crawling playfully under the covers to surprise her. In the darkness, she felt the hands of her Mistress moving over her like busy spiders, a wet and knowing tongue finding all of the right places and driving her over the edge. When she had finished pleasuring Morgan, Sarah had returned to her own side of the bed without a word, rolled over, and slept.
Morgan wept with gratitude, but silently, fearing to wake her Mistress.
On the third day, Soupcan had roused Morgan from her dreams, throwing back the bed cover and clipping a leash to her collar. Sarah had been up and working at her desk already, and didn’t even bother looking up as Morgan was led away.
Morgan’s sins had been atoned for, or merely forgotten as far as Soupcan was concerned. There was only one change in the way he treated her. On the first morning that she returned to the stable, after she had been cleaned up, he made her bend over a sink in the shower room, swabbed lubricant on her ass, and sodomized her energetically.
Most of her soreness was gone by then, and all that remained was a deep ache, as though she harbored a void that needed to be filled now. As he used her, she felt echoes of the hunger that had possessed her on the trestle stirring to life. Later, when she had been harnessed and was running beside Button, the tail plug shifting inside of her had nurtured that craving. At the end of the day, Soupcan told her to kneel and beg him to use her again, and her begging had been genuinely sincere.
He had ordered her to lay face down on her own bunk and crouch with her knees touching her elbows. Beside her, Button was ordered to assume the same position on her own bunk. When he joined each girl’s knees and elbows together with the adhesive cloth bandages he usually used for wrapping the legs of lame horses, they both knew that he had more on his mind than mere sex. The wrapping forced them into a ball like crouch. Their hands and feet were free to flutter about uselessly, but they were too helpless to even crawl, but their bottoms were beautifully presented for discipline.
They hadn’t done anything wrong. Soupcan had timed their final run on a measured course and the result had pleased him. They didn’t deserve a beating, but he gave it to them anyway, leisurely, over several hours. He used a wide strap that made a loud report and left fiery swaths on their reddening skin. When the proper color and temperature had been achieved, he lubed them both and went from bed to bed. Before he was finished, both of them were flushed and sobbing.
Perhaps he had been conserving his energy while Morgan was resting up in the ranch house, or he had been inspired by the prospect of fresh meat to use. Whatever the cause, his performance that night was amazing, and when he finally released them, both bottoms were oozing spunk and glowing with heat.
Sarah had not summoned her again since her hiatus. Button had been left alone as well. Perhaps Sarah was only sated or busy. She may have been
wary of showing favoritism and provoking another incident. Morgan reminded herself that mooning over Sarah was counterproductive. She had training to do, and threw herself into it with so much enthusiasm that even Soupcan, who never had a good word for any pony, relinquished a few grudging words of praise.
Button had labored gamely along when they were harnessed together; though at times she appeared about to hit the wall of exhaustion, she never stumbled or complained. Button and Morgan were becoming a real team.
They were bonding at night as well. Except for the welcome home party Soupcan threw for them on Morgan’s first night back, they had been left alone in the evenings. Without the inhibiting presence of Dusk and Tinka, the bunkhouse became an ideal trysting spot. Together they whispered and giggled like schoolgirls, sharing secrets and making confessions.
When darkness fell on the second night and no one arrived to escort either of them up to the ranch house, they had known that they were finally free to enjoy each other. Button was an artful minx who taught by example, and Morgan was an eager student.
Yet even as Morgan’s tongue entwined with Button’s; even as she kissed her way around that smooth throat to nibble an earlobe and explored the hollows of Button’s collarbone, they both felt an emptiness in their hearts that neither could explain. Even as Morgan became by turns enticing and coy, teasing Button’s nipples with light flicks of her tongue before taking the nipple to worry it in her teeth; even then she felt haunted by the unspoken absence.
“Sometimes I pretend you’re Sarah,” Button sighed.
Morgan seized Button by the mane and bared her throat, unaccountably irked at her stablemate for reminding her.
“That’s all right,” she growled. “Sometimes I pretend I’m Sarah too.”
