Hot to Trot: Transformed into a submissive pony girl... (Pony Tales Book 3)

by C. P. Mandara

  'I know you're nearly there, filly.' His words were a throaty murmur in her ear and they made her jump. 'I wonder what you'd give to be allowed to climax right now.' 'Would you go twenty seconds with the rod?' He ripped her blindfold off, letting the delicate material slither to the floor, purely so he could witness her expression.

  The gleam in his eyes as he loomed above her was almost manic in its intensity. The promise of incredible pleasure versus intense, stabbing pain was a dilemma she was not sure she could solve. Her need was great; shaking and perspiring as she was, it was beyond tempting to give in and embrace the good with the downright awful. The memory of her previous encounter with the rod of ice was still fresh in her mind. Fight it, she berated herself, knowing she wouldn't manage a double dose of Mark's particular brand of torture. The stimulator buzzed, her forehead glistened with beads of sweat and her body screamed with frustration. She was a raging furnace and the flames licked at every pore.

  Fight it. Mark willed her to shake her head. He wanted to see if she could overcome her basic instinct, although he already knew what her ultimate answer would be. There was no fighting her body's powerful need, especially as she'd been under such extreme sexual stimulation all day. He was enjoying the way her eyes waged war with everything they came across, be it himself, the room or her body - what little of it she could see, strung up as tightly as she was. Fight me, filly. Show me who's boss. And then, incredibly, she did. Her head shook feebly, once, but it was enough. Well, wasn't that an unprecedented move? His little filly was going to be a spirited beast and that was just marvellous in his opinion. His smile reached ear to ear proportions.

  The effort of denying herself had cost Jenny the last vestiges of her emotional energy. She was spent. She was exhausted and she bitterly craved a release that might never be forthcoming. The thought of giving him the satisfaction of yet another win was not something she could tolerate just yet. Not while she still had the power to withstand him. But when the rods came at her again, playing her body in a duet of ice and heat, she knew she had lost the battle. In less than a minute he had her bucking and screaming.

  Using the remote control of the clitoral stimulator, Mark upped its speed. A spot of frantic buzzing wouldn't do his subject any harm at this point, and she certainly wouldn't get where she wanted to go without his express permission. He then brought out his freshly iced probe, letting it trace a wet path that the warm rod could swiftly follow, before adopting a more leisurely pace. This was round two and he would come away with the trophy.

  Jenny lost count of how many times she had nearly climaxed. Every single time she had lain on the brink the ice rod had rested somewhere such as a breast, an underarm or the soft skin between her toes. He had even pushed the dire thing into her mouth so it could unleash its unpleasant torment, making sure she had been brought firmly back down to the land of despair. She couldn't stand any more. Twenty seconds of pain didn't seem all that bad when compared to the possibility of fifty orgasm denials. Finally she was prepared to beg.

  Mark was beginning to wonder who was suffering more. Watching her face contort under each new infraction he dealt to her body, his mouth watered. Normally he could have kept the temperature-play game up for hours, varying between hot rods and cold ones, but the vision of those succulent lips tightly clasped around his cock had revved up his libido to breaking point. His hot rod was dying for some action, so he hoped she'd cave in soon so they could jump straight to anal dilators. He always managed to break them in the end.

  In under two minutes she gave him the shake of her head he'd been waiting for and a raspy, 'Eaase...' Oh, and wasn't that such a sweet word? There was something about a girl taking pain for him that aroused him beyond all measure. OK, technically she was taking pain to gain an orgasm, but the thought lingered in his head. One day, with the right training and the right incentive, this little one might take a whole world of pain to please him. He shook that thought from his head abruptly. She would never be his. Remember, she's a Redcliff, called the voice of reason.

  'You sure you're ready to go twenty seconds with the rod?' He didn't particularly care if she wasn't, as the rod was poised and ready to do its worst, but he wanted to see that pleading look in her eyes once more. There was another nod and a choked gurgle of sound. So, his filly had finally lost the power of speech. That was a bonus. The rod descended.

  As it slowly entered, centimetre by centimetre, Jenny felt the cold begin to seep deep inside her. She tried to concentrate on the music, which was getting louder and louder as it rushed towards its finale. The first five seconds were bearable. The next five were miserable. The following ten were agony in the extreme. A scream was ripped from her as the stimulator upped its speed yet again. Then Mark twisted the anal beads and began to pull them, popping them one by one. Incredibly, her body went into an instant orgasmic spasm. All of a sudden intense pain had turned into the most blissful release and she was rocketed into orbit. She was left reeling, thinking Galileo had never seen stars like this...

  He gave her a few seconds to catch her breath. She would need them as they weren't finished by a long shot. Judging by the huge tremors that currently embraced her body, his filly was going to need a refuel stop in a minute. When her laboured breathing had almost returned to normal, he gently began to massage circulation back into her limbs and loosen the tight cords that had bitten into her flesh. He then unbuckled her bridle. Ignoring the insistent vibration of his cell-phone, which had just started to go wild in his pocket again, he reached for an isotonic gel sachet and fed the contents directly into her mouth. You had to love food on the go. Still, it was much better than her fainting on him at an inopportune moment. No way was his pony pulling that stunt on him again; the thought of plunging his cock into a hungry little mouth hadn't got him this excited in ages. He eyed the set of three plastic anal dilators on the counter before him and wished he could skip straight to the good part. Even though he would get to crack his crop on her smooth and flawless flesh, he had to admit that the thought of plugging her mouth was uppermost in his mind.

  Get a grip, he admonished himself. Just who was in control of whom here?

  Perfect Timing

  Isobelle was in a spot of bother. She ran a tight ship at the Albrecht Stables and everything was going swimmingly until about a minute ago when Mr Redcliff had dropped a bomb in his latest email. Initially he had asked her to pair the two together and now he wanted to pry them apart? And before the fireworks really started to go off, so to speak. That was going to be a slightly indelicate procedure, and what would be even worse was if Matthews was already banging the girl silly, which he probably would be. She was a rather attractive specimen, after all. If Redcliff found out he'd been disobeyed he wouldn't be bothered about the logistics; she'd be the one to suffer and the thought was not at all pleasant. She took off her designer spectacles, which she didn't really need, rubbed her eyes and raised a dainty china coffee cup to her lips. Think, Isobelle, think. A steaming sip of Kopi Luwak just about managed to get her brain firing.

  He would probably be in the training room, initiating his newbie into something very imaginative. It was her job to know her trainers, and she knew Matthews. And it was because she knew him so well that she was only too aware of how little time she had if she wanted to stop things progressing too far. Her first port of call involved paging Matthews on his cell-phone, which typically he ignored. She tried a further time but didn't hold out much hope. That one was single-minded when in the middle of something, and it didn't bode at all well. Oh, good grief - she was also going to have to come up with an excuse for prying him away. Right, first things first; she could come up with excuses later.

  Replacing her spectacles she tapped earnestly at the keyboard in front of her to see who was available as a stand-in. Most of the ladies and gentlemen were currently actively employed with a trainee of their own, as their intake for the day had been quite impressive. There was a possibility there wouldn't be anyone free to take on t
he role. She had a horrible moment when she thought she might have to run over to the training block in her bare feet, as the office dress code insisted she wear high heels. Ah, wait a minute. She tapped a finger against her chin, thinking furiously. There had been a drop-out this morning, hadn't there? Someone had contracted something nasty; the flu, if she remembered correctly. So with any luck there should be an instructor spare somewhere. Running the finger down the list of trainers and their respective trainees, she found what she was looking for. Kyle Levison. Redcliff's daughter was in luck. She was going to be passed from one gorgeous man to the next, it seemed, and on day one, too. The other initiates would be neighing with envy.

  She paged Kyle immediately and knew he'd be with her within ten minutes; which could, of course, be ten minutes too long. Although if she was a betting woman (and she was but it was a firmly kept secret in the office) she'd put money on the fact that Kyle would come running today. He'd have probably been most put out by the fact that his fun had been curtailed and would be looking for something with which to entertain himself - and she suspected he was in for a real treat.

  Sliding the oak drawer of her desk open she pulled out a coral lipstick and gave her lips a fresh slick. It was always good policy to keep up appearances; especially when policy indicated an encounter with a man whose face could have easily graced the front cover of Vogue.

  The apple orchard had attracted more than its fair share of spectators, which was understandable considering the numerous spectacles that could be viewed within it. Against a backdrop of bright green foliage and shiny cherry-red apples, stood four trainers with at least ten black-collared ponies under their control. They were being tested to what could only be described as exacting standards.

  In the far corner two female ponies, sporting backsides the same colour as the apples, had been set the task of harvesting. They each had their own tree and a wooden bucket in which to place their prize when picked, which was no easy task considering they were only allowed to use their mouth and teeth. Once it had been picked, the trainer stood by to examine the apple for marks, and if any were found the pony in question was awarded three strokes from the flogger. Needless to say, each pony took considerable time and effort to pluck their fruit and used a very soft mouth. If the pony managed to pick five consecutively perfect apples they were rewarded with an orgasm delivered by their choice of two male stallions, who were tied on their knees at the base of each tree. On the other hand, if the pony managed to pick five apples in a row, each of which was blighted in some way, then they were rewarded with the task of gathering blackberries.

  When it was time to take their pleasure there was a definite favourite among the girls. Each had managed to earn one orgasm and both had thrust their loins towards Carnal King for an expert tongue-lashing. Jinx, with his cock straining painfully, looked dejected and pulled at his rope in an unseemly manner. He would undoubtedly get a good thrashing when the game was over. Poor performance in any area of sexpertise was not tolerated at Albrecht. The stallion would find himself in the hands of several Mistresses who would endeavour to correct the inexcusable issue until he could barely breathe and his tongue was rubbed raw.

  Kyle mused that it wasn't a very fair match. CK was a veteran of the pony circuit and had been delighting the female race for most of his adult life. To put things into perspective, Jinx hadn't been born for half of CK's already infamous career. His Mistress must have been very displeased with him to have agreed to the pairing. Watching Delilah squirm under CK's incredibly long tongue, Kyle cursed for the fiftieth time that day. Where was his juicy little novice? He'd turned up bright and early this morning, spurs at the ready, only to find she'd got cold feet. Ponies did not give up their place at Albrecht with a mere dose of the sniffles. The waiting time for a trainee was approximately three years and most Dom's would send their respective submissive even if she'd contracted the bubonic plague, in order to ensure they kept their slot. There were qualified physicians here to treat all ailments, or 'vets' as they were called. The worst thing was that a trainer without a trainee got the job of stable lackey, through no fault of his own. This meant that the ass fucks, throat jobs and everything in between, would be few and far in-between. Kyle reflected that there was nothing worse than watching everyone else enjoying themselves, especially as he really enjoyed what they were doing.

  Leaning casually against a wooden fence and thrusting a hand through his shoulder-length blond hair, he returned his attention to the centre of the orchard and what he should have been doing, which was watching show ponies. The trainers had set up a jumping course, which became gradually higher and harder as each pony's ride progressed. He'd been given the job of Performance Support, and issued with a very special gadget. Every pony competing in today's trials wore a shock collar and an electrostim butt-plug tail. On Kyle's tablet PC was the name of each horse and the ability to shock high, low or both simultaneously. His instructions had been to shock high at the first fence they missed, low at the second and if they missed a third, give them a double whammy. Of course, all that mattered for little if he wasn't paying attention. When his eyes returned to the course he watched one of the favourites, Twinkle, as she stumbled and knocked to the ground one of the three logs she had just attempted to clear. Kyle debated on whether he should be kind, or whether he should be careful (and he wasn't in the best of moods) and give her the two-for-the-price-of-one deal. There wasn't even a second of indecision; he zapped twice. Twinkle's head spun around as if to say 'unfair', but she had no idea whose hands the controls were in, and even if she had it wasn't as if she could talk. Kyle took the opportunity to give her a wink, so she'd know who to blame. Twinkle blushed and with her English rose complexion she looked adorable. Laughably, due to her attention being on his pretty face and not on the next set of logs, he quickly got to give her another blast. She perked up somewhat after that, bounced off her fore-foot high and clear and didn't miss another jump. Damn, he was good at his job.

  When Satin took to the field he didn't even bother to glance her way. She'd never missed a log in her show jumping career and by the looks of that beautiful African body, oiled up with powerful muscles bursting, she wasn't about to start today. Now there was one beautiful horse. Pity he'd never been allowed near her, but she had a very protective Mistress. There were two good reasons he didn't mess with Satin. She was the type of horse who would come at your guts with a head butt that would leave one helluva bruise if she felt she had been wronged in some way, and her Domme would follow that up by cranking his balls in a vice. Kyle favoured his nether regions too much to take a chance.

  Listening to the sweet jangle of the nipple clamps, which dangled silvery little bells, and combined with all the additional bells added to the leather tack straps and threaded through the ponies' tails, he didn't hear his pager when it began bleeping. He couldn't miss it vibrating against his backside, though. Pulling it from his back pocket he shut it off with a flick of his thumb. It was HQ calling. What the hell did they want? To rub salt into his many wounds and insist he run yet more errands today? Running over to thrust the tablet into the waiting hands of a trainer, who was going to be sorely put out to have his whip hand disabled, Kyle made his apologies and sped toward the Hotel, his long legs eating up the distance effortlessly. The one saving grace about visiting HQ was the probability of seeing the delightful Isobelle.

  There was a firm rap at her door. Normally Isobelle made them wait, but time was not her friend today.

  'Come in, Kyle,' she said, in her most prim and proper English voice.

  Kyle, on the other side of the door, nearly rubbed his hands in glee when he heard who had answered. There were two ladies that handled office duties and Isobelle was his favourite by far. She had a bookish look, hair that was always scraped back into the tightest bun, neatly trimmed fingernails and the longest eyelashes he had ever seen. The thing he loved most about Isobelle, though, was the sound of her voice. Thoroughly arousing in English, when she slipped i
nto her native French he wanted to wrap her legs around his waist, slam her against the wall and fuck her silly. From their first meeting, over five years ago, his fingers had itched to release the pins from her hair and tumble it around her face. Alas, he had never been given the opportunity, hard though he had tried. She was also the only person in the whole of Albrecht who refused to call him by his nickname, and damned if that didn't arouse him too. Dianna, on the other hand, was a brassy redhead with a grating cockney accent, the most garish dress sense he had ever seen and was rather too liberal with her perfume. Isobelle excited him as no other women had, and presented a nice little challenge that one day he would overcome.