Learning the Ropes: Discovering life as a pony girl... (Pony Tales Book 2)

by C. P. Mandara

  'Out!' he bellowed.

  A pony girl, dressed from head to toe in a rubberised French maid outfit, slowly shuffled out. Her head was down and the black feather duster gagging her mouth trembled violently.

  'Between the posts and make sure your back is to me,' he ordered with a touch of menace in his voice. She complied quickly.

  Mark waged a personal war with himself. Admiring the delightful backside of the pony girl in front of him, all glistening black rubber with no exposed flesh bar a cut-out for her ass and pussy, he could quite happily have taught her a lesson or two. His cock needed something tight and wet to sink into, and as her tail wobbled precariously he thought that he might enjoy taking each and every hole her body possessed with rough abandon. Damn, how much did he need a hard fuck right now? Alas, he also had a date with the Riding School Staff, who had been summoned to help with Jenny's punishment outside in the pillory block. Swearing once more he grabbed two aspirins from his pocket and let them dissolve on his tongue. Releasing Jenny from the restraints he hoisted her over his shoulder and winced. At least the stone steps would be a good warm-up for later.

  His last parting words to the still trembling pony were, 'Mistress Katrina will be with you soon.' He didn't need to say anything else.

  Punished, Displayed and Tormented

  Jenny couldn't seem to wake up, even though someone was pleasantly wrapping their hands around her body. It was nothing new. She was often in bed until mid-afternoon and the household staff knew better than to wake her. She tried to peel her eyes open, but for some reason they weren't cooperating. No matter, it was probably just some guy she'd brought home last night chancing his luck. She rolled over to get away from him and found herself firmly stuck in place. The jerk was probably hogging half the bed. Trying to raise a hand to brush him away, she found she couldn't do that either. Her eyes began blinking rapidly and still there was nothing to see, total blackness engulfing her. Panicking now, she began to scream for help, only to find her mouth drier than a Saudi Arabian bar and something wedged between her teeth. Damn it, had someone gone kinky on her while they were sleeping? Opening her mouth to scream blue murder, she began to wrench her body frantically to and fro.

  'Breathe.'

  His mellifluous voice, saying just that one word, was enough to make her body clench and as she felt the metal ball embedded deep inside her and the hook tormenting her clit as she moved, everything came rushing back.

  'Wot ave ou un iv ee?' As Jenny couldn't even understand the garbled mess she'd just uttered, it would be a miracle if Mark did.

  'You're blindfolded and being readied for a little village entertainment, so to speak. Now we're dealing with swearing and the stolen credit card in one foul swoop. It's going to be a bitch. Start preparing yourself.'

  Oh, fabulous. What now? Two feathers? The next thing she knew his fingers were pressing two small cubes towards the back of her mouth, over the rubber bit.

  'It's sugar. Suck. You're going to get very good at sucking all manner of things shortly, so think of it as practice.'

  The man was an arrogant twerp. Little did he know she was already very good at sucking 'things'. She loved watching the expression on her partner's face while she gave oral, loved to see them squirm beneath her, hear their breath catch and watch their eyes as they tried to hold back from orgasm. They were always desperate to impress the little rich girl, be introduced to Daddy and his empire, oh, and a million or so other reasons.

  Mark watched her body shake before her mouth dipped in an expression of distaste, but she obediently sucked at the sugar cubes. Hopefully they'd spike her blood sugar enough to get her through the next hour or so, because she was going to need all the help she could get. Fainting wouldn't save her out here, quite the opposite in fact. It would just serve to enrage the villagers, who would employ even more devious punishments in order to keep her awake.

  What Jenny had assumed were hands upon her body turned out to be a wide brush. It was painting something up the backs of her thighs, something wet and sticky. Something wet, sticky and tingling. Scrap that. Something wet, sticky and burning. She yelled through her bit.

  'It's sugar syrup and tea-tree oil, amongst other things. It's going to sting. But you're a tough cookie, going by your performance in the Red Room, so it's nothing you can't handle.'

  To distract herself from death by essential oil, Jenny tried to think about a new nickname for Mark. If she was going to have a horsie-horsie name, then he could have a suitable one from her vocabulary. Spartacus, perhaps? The Romans were notorious for their ingenious slave tortures. He'd look rather good in a gladiator costume, too.

  The sticky concoction was pungent and assailed her nostrils. It worked its way up her legs and stopped short of her backside. It was then applied to her back, neck, arms, stomach and chest.

  'Brace yourself,' he warned in a loud voice.

  Jenny heard several snickers in the background, which was the first alert she had to the presence of others. How many were there? What was going to happen here? Panic welled within her, tightening and fluttering inside her belly like a thousand moths, all fighting for a source of light that would never materialise. Stop this, she cursed herself, and do as the man says. Breathe. Deeper. Much deeper. She would be rescued shortly. She just needed to get through the next few hours. She concentrated on her bindings and what she could make out of her surroundings, hoping it might help her to calm down. She took another deep breath.

  When the syrup was applied to her backside, Jenny had a fight upon her hands to censor a sharp scream. She couldn't help an involuntary wobble of her hips and then another. Her backside was on fire. The astringent paste produced such scorching heat that standing still was nigh on impossible. There were a few more giggles within the crowd. How humiliating. Her backside was now rocking to and fro and there was little she could do about it. Concentrate, Jenny, she berated herself. It was time to try and analyse her surroundings.

  A heavy black blindfold covered her eyes. It was tight to her face and not even a chink of light escaped to filter inside its dark folds. That was sight taken care of. Trying to feel for her ankles, she moved them to and fro, finding that movement was restricted to around half an inch. Rotating them around, she felt a thick circle imprisoning each, but they were at least a metre apart, so her legs were spread wide and her sex exposed. Wriggling her hands, fingers and trying to move her neck, she found them all enclosed in a similar fashion. The thick collar had been removed because she could move her neck. Both knees and the backs of her feet were on the floor, pressed into what felt like grass. So, that meant she was probably outside and in a set of stocks, similar to the ones she had seen in the dungeon. Her back was at a ninety degree angle to the ground and for the umpteenth time that day she felt lust, intense and intoxicating, course through her. What was it about being restrained and peeled open that incited such longing within her body? She felt like an overripe peach, about to burst open with the delicious taste of late summer. Trying not to think about the growing state of her arousal, she decided to be grateful that Spartacus had omitted to paint her nether regions.

  When Mark had finished his masterpiece, he stood behind her and surveyed his work of art with pride. She was stunningly beautiful. Her deliciously pink ass cheeks quivered as she fought to control the prickle of the oil seeping into her skin. Her sex was prominently on display and glistening like the sun's reflection on a calm, deep blue ocean. Her whole body gleamed like a freshwater pearl.

  He mused that the life of a submissive would not suit her, but there was no question that it set her on fire. If she was left here for too long, it was quite possible that one of the trainers would break her. He'd seen it happen. Losing the ability to talk and your free will proved exceptionally hard for some, and he had a feeling she'd be one of them. She'd been spoilt and coddled to such a degree that this little interlude would mess with her head. If he was honest, he felt a tiny bit sorry for her. Yes, she was a little horror and could do w
ith being put in her place, but there were other ways to go about it. He made a mental note to try and keep her sane while she was here. Usually he only made it up to the stables a couple of days a week, but a few minutes with her on those days would be enough, he hoped. Seeing such spirit broken would be a travesty of justice. Redcliff was an utter devil for sending his daughter here. What was the old guy thinking? Finally, containing his thoughts for the moment, he decided to stand back and allow the games to begin, whispering, 'Courage,' in her ear before he silently slipped into the crowd.

  It was all the encouragement they needed. A torrent of raining hands poured down upon her from every angle.

  Jenny was immediately swamped with sensation. Some of the hands applying themselves to her tacky skin were gentle and offered smooth strokes with the tips of their fingers. Others, by contrast, were unbearably indelicate, tweaking her tender nipples and kneading her breasts with unnecessary force. Emboldened fingers forced their way past her lips and slipped inside her mouth, fingernails traced patterns all over her inscribed flesh and there were plenty of pinches, nips and squeezes upon the reddened globes of her ass. The fingers weren't in the least bit shy. They delved and dived everywhere. They reached under the leather straps of her harness and bridle, rubbing and caressing her oiled skin. Sometimes one, but more often two, plunged inside her pussy, and when they pulled out there was a queue of others waiting to take their place. Sliding down the fold of her buttocks, others skated along the slick surface and twirled themselves around the plug embedded in her ass, pumping it up and down rhythmically to some age-old priapic beat. In the space of a few seconds her body was as hungry as the proverbial wolf, dressed in his woolly sheep outfit.

  That wasn't the worst of it. The acidic oil was now being worked into every nook and cranny that the fingers could find entrance to. Mark hadn't needed to apply it to her sex; he had known these people would do his work for him in half the time. It was being worked into her lips, mouth, pasted along her tongue, trailed down her pussy lips and being diligently thrust inside her core at every opportunity. The effect was a slow and all-encompassing agony as the caustic liquid performed its magic. Jenny had started to wriggle and writhe like a woman possessed. She couldn't keep her hips still. Unable to stop herself making lewd, gyrating gestures with her backside, which was swishing to and fro with erratic abandon, she could only pray to be doused in a large bath of ice water. That was how bad the burning sensation had become. Her mouth was filled with scalding heat, her sex was on fire, the tender skin around the butt plug burned and her ass screamed for relief.

  'Eeese op,' she screamed through the bit.

  The fingers abruptly stopped what they were doing and she was rewarded with a sharp slap to her behind. The pain took her breath away.

  'Ponies do not talk,' said a crackling, raspy voice which must have belonged to an old lady.

  'Ever,' said a virile-sounding male, and she was given an even heavier slap. Jenny choked around the bit.

  'Look at that fancy locket she's wearing,' a young female giggled.

  'Where is her tail?' another asked.

  There were a few titters and Jenny felt the chain wrenched from her neck. A moment later she felt it being tied and hung over the back of her plug, the locket dangling between her thighs. As she continued to buck her hips to and fro it swung wildly from side to side.

  'Prettiest tail I've ever seen,' said an older man.

  'Pretty filly for that matter,' said the elderly lady. 'She's going to be in demand. Just look at that hip action!'

  'Is it time to let the pony-boys loose?' asked an amused male voice.

  'Go on, Dusty,' said the elderly lady. 'Do your thing.'

  Jenny didn't think she wanted to know what Dusty's 'thing' was. She heard the sound of tiny, tinkling bells before something pressed itself into her wriggling backside. What on earth? Then there was a long stroke up the inside of her thigh, but not with fingers. It was something soft, something wet. Oh, no! A face was pressed into her behind and it was a tongue licking at her. He administered tiny licks, flicks and swirls as he made his way up her left thigh, stopping tantalisingly shy of her pussy lips. He then began to repeat the process on the other side, again stopping just before he reached the promised zone. Jenny's hip-swaying was increasing in intensity. There were more laughs from the crowd.

  'Should we let Dusty have a little suck?' the elderly lady said.

  The crowd sniggered. Jenny could tell by the volume of the gathering that more people had come to watch her predicament. Her cheeks flooded the deepest crimson and then, all thought fled as Dusty began to do as his owner had bid. His warm, velvety tongue began to thrust inside her, transferring yet more of the tea-tree oil mixture. Jenny's body began to leak the telltale evidence of her arousal in response. He lapped it up neatly, before it could slip down her legs. His tongue danced on her pussy, teasing each little fold into fullness. When his tongue found her clit and started to lap her up like a chocolate-fudge ice-cream sundae, it was nearly her undoing. She wanted to arch her neck as pleasure began to spiral through her, wanted to push her backside out and grind it into his face, wanted to scream at him to press his tongue into her a little bit harder and all she could actually manage was a mewl of frustration.

  'That's enough, Dusty,' said his owner. Obediently Dusty stopped and shuffled backwards, away from the straining pony girl in front of him.

  Jenny released a strangled sob of frustration and still her hips beat a lascivious path from left to right. Trying to still them with every ounce of willpower she possessed, she might as well have tried to discover the secret of time travel. It was impossible. She screamed.

  The laughter intensified around her and vulgar comments were bandied back and forth.

  'Who's going to stick their tongue into her next?'

  'I'd love to get my hands on that mouth and plug it good and proper.'

  'Nah, I'd bounce those tits up and down and take her ass.'

  Jenny tried her hardest to ignore them, but it was rather difficult when naked, blindfolded, the centre of attention and unsure what the hell was going to happen next.

  'Legend, why don't you have a go? But you're not to let her orgasm. I'll have your balls if you disobey me.' It was the man with the deliciously deep and virile voice again.

  Another face pressed against Jenny's bottom. He nipped her cheeks playfully and she let out a loud squawk, much to the continued amusement of the crowd. He then proceeded to do his 'thing', and it wasn't long before Jenny decided Legend had been aptly named. He was a God with that tongue of his. He suckled and pushed, pulled and slurped and it wasn't long before she was bouncing up and down and frothing at the mouth, and reaching the knife-edge of climax once more she was shamefully devastated when he stopped and pulled away. How could he have timed that so perfectly? No. No! She couldn't take much more of this. Releasing another pent-up sob of frustration she stomped her knees in the dirt. Raucous laughter followed that action and her cheeks blushed cherry-red, again.

  'Your turn, Mac.'

  And so the torment went on. Jenny lost count somewhere after five. Her body was a seething mass of over stimulated nerve-endings and volcanic lava. It flowed and ebbed through every pore of her body and she was fighting exhaustion from having her body expertly strung out and kept continuously on the brink of release. The suffering was such that she was positive she wouldn't have felt any worse had someone shot ten thousand volts into her. Finally her head slumped forward into the stocks and her back collapsed, arcing painfully downwards.

  'That's enough, folks. Time's up.'

  Jenny registered the voice, somewhere in the back of her head, as Mark's. It brought her little comfort. He removed her blindfold and watched her eyes as they tried to focus in the blinding light of day.

  'Quite a show, little filly.' He swatted her backside and smiled as she surged forward, trying to escape the contact.

  So where were the red carpets and her Oscar? Oh to be given the use of her voi
ce once more. She had a few invectives that needed airing.

  'Tired and sore?'

  A feeble nod.

  'I have something that will help you feel a little more refreshed.'

  Jenny didn't like the lift of his lips which accompanied the comment. This was not going to be good. He moved behind her and she was unable to turn her head to see what he was up to. The next thing she knew the heavens had opened and she was being liberally soaked in ice-cold water. The irony was not lost on her. She had asked for it, had she not? Now, straining under the deluge of frigid water, she shivered uncontrollably and gasped as the hose hit her head, plastering her hair around her face in drowned rat fashion. While the pressure of the hose was unbearable the cold water was welcome. It soothed the itch that was impossible to scratch. It dampened her ardour. It finally stopped her hips from doing their revolving door routine and the enervating blanket that had begun to shroud her body was immediately lifted.

  As usual, Spartacus didn't know when enough was enough. The water kept flowing, soaking every inch of her skin and her shivering increased. What was he up to now? She soon had an answer. The hose was making its way down her back, slowly charting a path around her ass cheeks, before flowing directly at her pussy, which is when he turned the pressure up. The full force of the hose smacked into her clit, which was when she realised the water had done nothing to lessen her desire. She oh-so-nearly came, but clever bastard that he was, he'd already turned the hose off. The water began to ebb, before reducing to a slow trickle and dashing all hopes of relief.

  Mark screwed the brass tap tightly closed and then released her, using his large hands to keep her steady while she regained her balance. He could sense her displeasure at not being allowed to climax, such were the waves of fury that flowed from her sodden stance on all fours. He simply ignored them.

  'You'll have to dry yourself off. Most ponies just shake themselves silly, but you can do whatever takes your fancy. Then I'll massage some oil into you.'