MADDY BECOMES A PONY GIRL [THE MADDY SAGA BOOK #1]

by Paul Blades

  Satisfied that the blue hooded ponygirl was immobile, he removed the bit that was still held firmly between her teeth. It was replaced by a thick, leather probe that filled her mouth and was attached to a leather belt. The belt was fastened behind her head. The last thing he did before he walked away was to lower small tabs with Velcro on each side over the holes for her eyes. During the day, the Velcro allowed the tabs to be up so the pony could see to her necessary tasks. At night, it was lowered and fixed firmly in place so the pony's sense of isolation would increase. Maddy shuddered as she was blinded again. Drabik made a final check on all of her bindings and left.

  Maddy could hear her trainer's heavy boots as he navigated the warren of stalls on his way out of the barn. She heard the door of the barn roll open and closed. After that, there was an almost ghostly silence. She lay there, reveling in the quietude, grateful her horrid day of shock and torment was at an end. Although she was trussed up cocoon-like, blinded, gagged, and anchored in place like some wayward pleasure craft, a wave of relief flowed through her. At first dismayed at her return to utter darkness, she slowly came to realize the pitch blackness she saw from behind her hood put a wall between her and all that had happened to her that day. It seemed more remote, less plausible somehow. Something she could bear, could think about without panic and fear.

  She was exhausted from her ordeals and relished the almost dead silence of the barn. She could hear the building creak on its ancient foundations, the rustle of a neighboring nameless and faceless ponygirl as she struggled to get comfortable in her bonds. She was finally at peace, at rest. She had survived the harsh travails of her day. She let the feel of her own breathing sooth her.

  She heard footsteps. Heavy boots walked slowly along the hallway outside her stall. She had a moment of terror as she heard the boot steps approach her door. Had someone come for her? Was her torment to begin anew? Her heart began to pound wildly, her body shuddered in fear. The footsteps passed her door and began to fade.

  The sound of the boot steps Maddy had heard from inside her dark, confined world underscored her complete and utter helplessness. That mere boot steps could render her into a state of terror spoke volumes about the new life she was now apparently condemned to lead. Frustrated and afraid, disconsolate at her fate, she twisted and strained at her bonds and started to cry. Was there no way out of this hellish place, she thought, miserably. What would the man do to her tomorrow? She already knew what he would do. He would make her run and run and run until she had no breath left. He would whip her when she faltered and failed to keep the relentless pace. He would make her suck his long, thick cock, the instrument that had driven her to pleasure this very night,

  She knew as well that her body would be open to any who cared to use it. Her breasts and belly would be naked for all to see. How would she ever bear it, she thought forlornly. How would she survive?

  But that was tomorrow. She tried to put it out of her mind, to instead take stock of herself, to see what part of her was left, was still hers.

  Maddy was surprised that losing the use of her hands hadn't affected her as much as she would have thought. True, she was helpless without her hands. She couldn't open a door, unfasten a belt, scratch an itch, but she hardly thought about them throughout the day. They were behind her, out of sight. It was almost as if they didn't exist.

  Her voice, the ability to speak – that was something else. She had barely said a word since she had been kidnapped, ten, or was it twelve days ago, she really didn't know anymore. During that time she had gone from a laughing, carefree young woman, at the height of her youth and freedom, to a dumb animal, upon whom anything could be imposed and from whom everything was demanded. As long as she couldn't speak, as long as they kept that from her, her right to protest and assert her humanity, she would be merely another ponygirl, a beast of burden.

  After a while, Maddy's mind drifted freely in her enforced darkness as her need for sleep overcame her. The boot steps of the watchman echoed faintly from the other side of the building like the steady drip of a faucet. She allowed the sound to mesmerize her, lull her, but, just as she was about to fall into desperately desired slumber, the steps came inexorably closer again. When she heard them reenter the corridor outside her stall, her heart began to beat in her chest like a drum, her stomach turned inside out – and then, he passed by again, leaving her once more alone with her thoughts.

  As her fear subsided, Maddy couldn't help but recall the abuses her body had been put through that day. She thought back to her whipping. Her trainer had made his point very effectively. At any time, he could create a world of torment and pain for her. She was helpless to prevent or assuage it. She knew it wouldn't be the only time she'd be whipped. She was smart enough to know her trainer would want to keep the pain of the whip fresh in her mind. It was inevitable that someday she would disappoint him, break some rule, overstep some bound. The rack of whips she had stared at, kneeling, her hands chained above her, while her trainer gathered her accoutrements earlier that day, lay in wait for her. She just knew it.

  A twitch in her right thigh muscle caused her to try and shift her weight. Her movement was automatic, a thing one would do unconsciously, but the bonds around her thighs and ankles prevented it. She had almost forgotten she was so cruelly bound. It brought home to her the fact she no longer had anything other than a possessory interest in her own flesh. She could occupy it, use it, motivate it to obey the commands of her masters, but she no longer owned it. It was the property of the tall, dark mustachioed man who had raped her that morning, whoever he was. If only she could put a name to him, to anyone she had seen that day, her trainer most of all, but most of her tormentors, as far as she was concerned, didn't even have faces. They were anonymous agents of a regimen of intentional debasement.

  She remembered her now hairless sex. To her, there was no more potent symbol of her lack of control over her own body than the hewing off of her badge of sexual maturity. She was now like a child, less than a child, for even a child had some rights. Tomorrow, men would pierce it with their sexes, would lay their hands on it, probe it at will, and she would respond, shamefully, lustfully, just as she had today.

  The footsteps were coming closer again. Whoever he was, he was like a ghost, haunting the warrens of the ponygirl barn. The fear returned. Maddy hated herself for it. She hated her vulnerability, her powerlessness. As the steps came closer, she whined and shifted her weight, causing a rattling of the chains that were holding her in place. The noise caused the footsteps to stop. Maddy couldn't help herself. She began to moan in fear. He was coming! He was coming! Her heart leapt into her throat and she began to whine when she heard the door to her stall opening. She felt the man's eyes on her. She wanted desperately to disappear. She prepared herself for the burn of a whip, or the kick of a boot. Her sex burned with the knowledge that he could have it if he wanted it.

  Maddy heard the man utter some guttural words she didn't understand then felt a sharp line of fiery pain across her thighs. She moaned loudly in pain. The man spoke another few words in a clearly imperative tone. The door swung closed. The boots began to walk away. Maddy sobbed as the pain from the lashing slowly subsided. She cried until, finally, mercifully, she fell asleep.

  * * * *

  Jake sat at the counter of the run down diner drinking his fourth cup of the establishment's excuse for coffee. He could see through the plate glass window the entrance to the warehouse belonging to the National Uniform Company. It was Sunday and the overhead doors were all locked shut. They had had the place under surveillance for about ten days. The tracer was still on the truck they had followed back from Georgia. It was sitting inside, parked, for the time being. Twice since they had been watching, it had rolled out to the street and undertaken a long journey. The first had been to a small town in Ohio, another remote country road, another long, gravel driveway. As before, it had stayed for maybe an hour then was on its way back to New Jersey again.

  The second t
rip was even longer, all the way to Michigan. This had been an urban pick up, in downtown Detroit, two days out and two days back. The truck pulled into the garage of the National Uniform Company and didn't come out.

  Since then, there had been no activity. From the video they had gotten on the day of Herman and Louise's summary execution, they had been able to pick up the two men who had been in the truck that day when they emerged from the company warehouse. The younger one had a condo down in Liberty Harbor. It was registered to a Charles Wadowski. The older guy lived in a split story ranch in Short Hills. Kids, little league, the little woman, the whole works. The house came back as owned by James and Ruth Feeney.

  Bertram, Madeline's tycoon uncle, had been putting pressure on Jake for some action. Jake wanted to wait until they had the whole set up down pat. He still didn't know how they were getting the girl's out. He didn't have long to wait.

  Martinez called him on his cell phone and let him know that the young guy, Wadowski, was on the move. Leon called a few moments later and let him know Feeney had left his house and was heading east, toward Elizabeth. Maybe today was the day. Jake alerted the rest of his crew. The two times they had seen the van leave the warehouse it had been nighttime. Maybe something was up.

  Feeney blew down 280 East to the Turnpike and got off at the Elizabeth exit. The Yanks were on the radio and were leading 2 to 1 in the fourth. Feeney had a little money on the Red Sox. Nothing special, just for entertainment's sake. He pulled up to the warehouse about 3:30. As was his habit, he took a good look around before he opened the warehouse door. Chuckie was due soon. The rest of the boys would be there in an hour or so. It would take Chuckie just about that time to scoot out to the trucking company's loading dock where he would pick up ten gleaming silver containers. By the time he got back, they would be ready to load the girls and take them back to the loading dock for transfer to the air cargo container.

  He would be sorry to see go, the two beach bunnies he had picked up in Tennessee. He didn't let any of the other men fuck the merchandise. They had to be satisfied with Allison, their permanent fuck toy. He did what he pleased and he had a good time watching the two tanned beauties learn to lick pussy while Allison sucked his cock. They were both accomplished cock suckers too. He liked to watch their eyes widen with fright as they took his discharge in their mouths, but today was to be bye bye for them and all the other girls. There would be a new crop in a week or so.

  Jake had left the diner and Irving took his place. Tucker joined Jake in his Lumina. They watched Chuckie enter the warehouse and come out a few minutes later, driving the van. He was alone in it. Jake followed.

  The van pulled up to a freight depot located about three miles from the airport. Jake watched the van pull into a loading dock and saw the door to the dock open. He could just see inside the freight facility through the gap between the side of the van and the open door. He was surprised to see cardboard boxes of what he presumed to be uniforms unloaded. He caught a glimpse of a silver container, long and sleek being loaded on. He counted four, but assumed there were more. The cartons were loaded back on the truck and Chuckie pulled away. The truck went back to the National warehouse and disappeared inside.

  Irving reported two more men having arrived while Chuckie was gone. They watched the warehouse for about an hour and a half. The van emerged at about 6 p.m. Chuckie was driving again, but the older guy, Feeney, was with him.

  Jake and Irving followed the van back to the freight depot. This time there was a flatbed truck with an air cargo container on it. After about three quarters of an hour, the flatbed took off, followed by the van, a few minutes later. Jake decided to follow the flatbed. It went straight to the airport. They watched it enter the freight yard.

  "Can you trace that thing?" Jake asked Irving.

  "Easy," Irving replied. "I got the cargo number of the container. Get me back to the hotel and I can have its destination in about ten minutes."

  Jake called in all the troops. They met at the hotel, Jake's room, which was a suite and had a conference table in it. Jake called for opinions.

  Martinez spoke first. "Why don't we pick up this Feeney guy and go to work on him? Tucker'll have him singing in half an hour."

  "And what if he dummies up?" Jake asked. "If he goes missing, the whole operation could disappear. We need to know for sure where he's sending the girls."

  Irving came in from his room. "I've got it," he said. "The container is shipping via a company known as Hercules Transport. It's an old mob front. The destination is a small country called Kalikastan. It's in the former Soviet Union."

  Leon spoke up. "I've heard of that place. It's wild west city."

  "I know it too," Jake said. "It's damn hard to get into. It's run by local mobs. If Madeline's there, she'll be hard as hell to find."

  "What if we find out who picks up the container?" Irving asked.

  "That'll tell us who's taking delivery," Jake answered. "But that wouldn't be her final destination. She's probably been sold to someone else, a private collector or a whorehouse." Jake paused to think about the import of his remarks. He had a vision of that happy, smiling, young woman he had seen in the pictures in her apartment being used as somebody's private sex slave, or worse yet, fucking twenty men a day in a high class brothel. Either way, the girl's life would be a nightmare.

  "Everybody agrees Maddy probably went out on one of these containers?" Jake asked. There was general assent. "Okay," he said. "I'll call Bertram."

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Maddy was awakened by the sound of the barn's sliding door. She panicked, at first, to find herself in total darkness, but she recalled quickly where she was and what had been done to her. She wondered what time it was. The activity in the barn picked up slowly. She could hear other ponygirls being released from their night bonds, the sound of hands slapping flesh, the distinctive patter of running water. She had to pee badly and prayed someone would come for her before she found it necessary to empty her bladder. It would be just one more humiliation to be found lying in puddle of piss when the man came to release her.

  She didn't have to wait long, however. She heard the door to her stall open and sensed someone kneeling by her side. Her ankles and thighs were freed and the chains affixing her in her sleeping position were released. A strong hand helped her regain her feet. She was still blinded and couldn't see who was handling her, but she was sure it wasn't the man from the day before. She felt herself being tugged over to the corner of the stall, over the drain, and hands on her shoulders encouraged her to squat. She released her flow of water gratefully.

  When she stood, after being wiped, the strong hands forced her to sit on a bench. Her boots were put on her then she was brought to her feet and led from her stall. When she reached the common area, the tabs over her eyes were pulled up. She could see the other ponygirls were being brought out of their stalls as well. The door to the barn opened and the ponygirls surged toward the entrance. Maddy looked around and saw the grizzled face of the man who had awakened her. It wasn't her trainer after all. He smiled at her and slapped her bare buttocks, as if to urge her on.

  Maddy took the hint and followed the other naked, bound, blue hooded ponygirls. They were following the pathway leading from the barn, up a little hill to the vast open area she had seen the day before. It was strange to be unescorted, but Maddy knew she should go with the herd. There were twenty-two ponygirls at the Grobgy farm, including Maddy. Maddy saw them all assembling at the entrance to the large, round, wide track she had seen the day before. Rough looking men had aggregated there. Maddy could see through the dime-sized holes in her mask the other ponies stretching their legs, running in place. She wondered what it was all about. There was a short whistle and the ponygirls crowded together at the entrance to the track, their blue heads at alert. Maddy tried to close in as well. When the second whistle blew, the ponygirls took off like a shot.

  Maddy was taken aback by the surge forward of the oth
ers. After a moment, she realized they had been brought out for a morning run and, by the way the other ponygirls had taken off, there must be some consequence to how one finished the race. Panicking that she had such a late start, Maddy took off desperately after the other naked females.

  Drabik watched the poor newly minted ponygirl stumble ahead. She was obviously nowhere near used to running with her hands bound behind her as the other animals. Moreover, she was still gagged, and needed to take in all her oxygen through her nose. That and her late start, not to mention her woefully inadequate physical condition, condemned her to finish last.

  It may have been unfair to not give Maddy the benefit of instruction as to the fact she was queuing up for a race, but it was part of the training regimen not to give the ponygirls any verbal instructions. They would learn commands, mostly one or two word ones such as 'kneel' and 'bend over', all spoken in Russian. But ponygirls were never spoken to. Why should they be? They had lost their humanity. One might as well have a conversation with a horse. They would learn to obey hand signals, claps, even the sound of a mechanical cricket. The point was to erode away their natural instinct for language, to render them reactive, instead of contemplative. As the weeks and months went by, the trainees found themselves searching for words in their minds, standing virtually empty headed at times. They were intended to stop thinking of themselves as women and instead think of themselves as merely intelligent, beautiful chattel.

  Maddy saw the line of hooded, naked females distancing themselves from her, their pony tails dancing in the wind behind them. She was running as fast as she could, but her legs weren't strong enough to propel her as quickly as the others. She had kept up a good sprint for the first hundred yards or so, but her speed quickly faltered. The track was about nine-tenths of a mile long, one thousand meters. The finish line was a complete mile from the start, some two hundred yards past the point of beginning.