Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition

by Jurgen von Stuka

  “You may not use this thing on your horse, Darlin’, cause it’s a bit cruel. But it works fine for big-mouthed broads who can’t keep their mouths shut. This is in for the evening, Honey, so adjust to it.”

  The tone and level of Winnie’s voice changed dramatically as she forced the bit and plug into Dori’s surprised mouth. Now Winnie was all business. She pulled straps from the rings on the sides of the bit backwards and buckled them behind Dori’s shaking head. More straps followed round the top of her head, down her cheeks and under her chin. A thick leather collar was fitted around Dori’s neck, pushing the turtleneck collar down and providing a base for the many other straps that came from the bridle. When Winnie finished, Dori’s head was encapsulated in a web of leather and the bit was firmly seated back in the girl’s straining and nearly silent mouth. Winnie tied a leather thong around Dori’s booted feet and roughly pulled until both feet were tightly together with the heels digging into her butt, then she ran the thong through the back of the wide belt, down through the cleft between her now compressed buttocks, up through the vaginal slit and anchored to the belt in front.

  A bit of drool ran down the corners of Dori’s mouth and dripped on the front of the tight white turtleneck shirt. Dori’s head was all the way back, her braid anchored to her feet with a leather thong. The single sleeve of the shirt had been pulled back and down and through her crotch with another sturdy thong; the end fastened to the front of the wide waist belt. The thong bisected her crotch, disappearing inside the furry slit and emerging where the breeches began. Dori wiggled her hands inside the shirt’s tight sleeve, trying to get a grip on the thong that was pulling her hands down and cutting her vaginal slit in half. Winnie responded to this defensive action by wrapping a wide leather band around both Dori’s wrists and pulling the band tight, slowly bringing the notches in the buckle tighter and tighter until both hands were palm to palm. She locked the buckle. Winnie completed the strange bondage by tying the wristband to another thong and pulling that one through Dori’s crotch as well and knotting it to the waist. She reached down and carefully worked the multiple leather strands into positions on either side and in the middle of Dori’s lower lips, pushing the lips outward and pinching them between the three lengths of rough leather.

  “Ever wonder how horses really feel?” Winnie purred as she busied herself with the thongs surrounding Dori’s cunt. “One of the key parts of your training is that you learn exactly how horses feel when you put harness and bridle and saddle on them. We add a few other things to make it real for you, but its all part of the approved course of instruction.”

  After tugging on the leather cords enough so that Dori was sure she was being cut into several bloody pieces, Winnie took another wide strap and put this over Dori’s sleeve-enclosed arms and around her already belted waist. This strap pulled her bound arms close to her body and stopped any possible movement of the upper torso. Then she sent for a luggage wagon and loaded Dori onto the steel floor of the four-wheeled cart. She fastened a chain from the top of Dori’s braid to the overhead bar intended for hanging clothing and suit bags. Then she took the cart and her charge down the hall to the elevator. Dori squirmed and hissed on the cart; trying to get a less uncomfortable position and fearing that she’s topple off the moving cart and be dragged by the chain attached to her braid.

  Something is really odd here and I am going to have to find out what this is all about, Dori thought.

  Chapter Five

  A Sample of Discipline before Dinner

  The lift descended to the main floor and they rolled down the long, carpeted hallway to the main meeting room. Other instructors and their new guests had arrived and the meeting was about to begin. Each of the sixteen students was dressed the same. Those with short hair had their heads tied back with straps and thongs from their bridles instead of braids. All of the students were recent high school grads or college girls. All were over 18 years old and none over 25. It was the school’s primary rule that no one outside of this age group would be allowed in the summer classes and it made for an excellent selection of talent for the session, as the school’s Head Master and Head Mistress were later to note in their welcome addresses.

  The evening was enlightening for the entire class. They quickly learned that they were there at the option of the school and that the money they had paid would be put to good use in making sure their training was effective.

  “You will all learn to ride far better than you thought you could before you came here,” said Head Mistress Wright rising from her seat behind the head table. She was an attractive woman of perhaps 35, but for observers, her age was unclear. Like many equestrians, she cared for herself and had others care for her to the point where age was a fleeting thing and few people would dare to ask.

  She wore what everyone knew was her Head Mistress uniform: White riding breeches, elegant and carefully polished black calfskin boots with a sharp, four inch stiletto heel, a body-hugging black knit sweater with a deep and revealing neckline and a heavy silver chain around her neck. The chain dipped deeply into her perfect cleavage and whatever was on the end of the chain was hidden, buried between her full and blossoming breasts which appeared to be enhanced by a tight and well boned corset. Her dark hair was perfectly coiffed and came below her shoulders to what she occasionally referred to as “nipple length.”

  “When you leave here, you will leave with the firm conviction that you have accomplished what few young women ever accomplish. You will be better people for the experience.” She stopped to survey the sea of strained faces, some tear-stained and all looking confused and worried about their fate. “Now,” she said. “Head Master Boswick has a few words for you all. Headmaster,” she said turning to the tall, lean man standing beside her.

  Boswick was rather ordinary in appearance. He did not look like a school administrator because he was didn’t wear glasses, a moustache or a V neck sweater under his suit jacket. His jacket didn’t have leather patches on the elbows. He was simply too well dressed for this sort of job. He would not stand out on the street or in a crowd. He wore a dark blue suit from Barney’s, a custom fitted white shirt and patterned Hermes tie with tiny horse heads on a dark blue background. His light brown hair was medium length and came slightly over his ears, but was carefully combed in an executive style. Anyone meeting him would probably have thought he was a businessman or banker perhaps.

  “This school is not exactly what you thought it would be,” Boswick began. “You have found that out already. But you came here to ride and ride you will, for hours every day, rain or shine.” He stopped, paused for a moment and smiled a pleasant smile, looking at the gathered students and staff with a benign expression and a bit of devilishness that Dori thought she saw.

  “Your little personal sex lives will change as well,” Boswick continued. “We have an integrated curriculum, which will bring about some other changes you may or may not like, but they will take place anyway. Adjust to us here and we will help you. Fight or resist us and you will pay dearly for it. For those of you who are entertaining fantasies of legal action at some later date, I encourage you to read the terms of the contract you each and your parents or guardians signed before you were accepted here. You are all 18 and over, so you are responsible for your own actions. You signed the contract. Let me assure you that the best legal minds available have told us that we are operating well within the bounds of that contract, so as I said before, ADJUST and you will be happier people in the long term. Now, let us enjoy dinner. We will eat, you students will kneel and watch. There will be milk and cookies for you all before bedtime. There’s always plenty of milk…” the Head Master droned on absentmindedly. “Oh yes,” he suddenly added. “There is one more thing.”

  Boswick paused dramatically, then turned to one side and waited while curtains behind him parted and three grooms pushed out a large metal platform on wheels. There was an audible inhalation of breath from the bound and gagged students who could see the platform
. There were three upright posts mounted on the wheeled platform and on each post a single, naked, youthful female form writhed in discomfort, if not pure agony. On the first post, to The Head’s left, a tall, tanned, well-built girl stood bolt upright on the tip-toes of her black patent leather pumps. The shoes had extremely high heels, but the girl was nevertheless perched on her toes. She was not bound in any way, but the center of the polished steel post disappeared between her closely held, trembling legs. She was tightly gagged with a leather pad over what was clearly a well-packed mouth. Her long, light blond hair was in complete disarray and her face above the leather gag was tear-streaked, her eyes swollen from crying. Her hands fluttered back and forth from front to back as she tried in vain to lift herself off the narrow post that impaled her. Her hairless crotch triangle was spread wide by the massive impaling shaft and anyone who could see her understood the tremendous strain she suffered while trying to keep the shaft from penetrating any deeper than it already had.

  “Ms. Randolph, Ms. Debbie Randolph, whom you see on my left, made the terrible mistake of deciding to take leave of this school without my permission,” the Head Master said loudly over his shoulder as he surveyed the three suffering young women. “She will stand here for the evening and entertain us with her moans and her discomfort as a reminder that no one, NO ONE, leaves here unless they are given permission.”

  As if to emphasize this point, Debbie Randolph let out a horrible groan that came from deep within her throat. It was a terrible noise that sounded more like a death rattle, which made many of the students close their eyes even more tightly as they imagined having this immense pole driven into their most private orifice and being forced to stand there, as Debbie was, unable to free herself from the uncomfortable hell. Complementing this internal invasion were the six-inch heels on her t-strapped shoes and the tiny sharp spikes that lined the inside of each shoe. The toe area was free of these nasty little spikes, so Debbie had to stand on her very tiptoes to stay off the spikes. When she relaxed even for a moment, the soles of her tender little feet felt the spikes. Her hands went occasionally to her gag, but it was clear that the thick leather band around her head was locked on and that without a key or a cutting tool, it was not coming off.

  There was one other little thing that everyone could see contributing to the girl’s vast discomfort. Large gold metal clips were fastened to each of her lower lips and these clips were in turn connected to the post by short chains. As she rose up, attempting to relieve the internal pressure from the impaling post, the clips pulled down sharply on her little fleshy lips. When she sank down only a bit, the clips relaxed their grip but the probe rammed home inside and the spikes on the shoes dug into her soles. These little annoyances kept the girl in a constant up and down dance of pain and fear, her gurgles and groans of helplessness simmering from behind her gag.

  At this point, Boswick stepped behind the girl and put his hands on both of the tormented breasts. The new students in the audience gave a sudden gasp and other audible expressions of surprise. Head Mistress Wright stepped to the microphone and continued while Boswick roughly massaged Debbie’s breasts.

  “Ms. Ellen Levine, on the center stage,” Mistress Wright continued, now shouting a bit to make herself heard above the commotion in the audience, pointing to the girl in the middle, “is enjoying a slightly different form of entertainment. She refused a lawful order given by an instructor this morning. Normally, she’d undergo this training in one of the cellars below the house or the barn, but she is up here, nice and warm tonight, for your education. You learn at her expense. Observe the combination breast clamps and the nipple rings, if you will, please.”

  Ellen Levine was a dark-haired beauty with large breasts that were, at this moment in time, being painfully stretched well beyond their usual outstanding size and extension. The post was a standard Christian cross with a few modifications. Ellen’s wrists were securely bound to the ends of the cross’s horizontal bar. Her head was just below the junction of the two square wooden beams and her legs were pulled back on either side of the vertical center post. Four feet below the horizontal bar and behind the vertical post, was a second cross bar. The girl’s feet were secured to steel rings at the ends of this bar, placing her in a suspended kneeling posture. She was gagged with a roll of soft leather packing deep between her teeth and a wide leather band that went between her jaws and held her head back against the top of the post. Her tearful eyes stared up, looking over the ballroom crowd that stared back at her with a mixture of fear and sympathy. The awkward position would have been uncomfortable enough, but the heavy metal clamps that surrounded the base of each breast were a torment all to themselves. These devices were heavy, locking, metal collars that had been shut around the base of each swelling globe when the breasts themselves had been pulled as far away from the chest wall as they could possibly go without being torn away. The girl had shrieked and screamed into the gag as the twin steel bands were shut closed, pinching some bits of flesh that became caught in the clamps as the locks were engaged. From the bottom of each breast clamp a long chain reached down towards the floor of the platform. At the end of the chain was a large weight that swung slowly in a wide arc with each tortured movement the girl made to ease the situation. However, there was no way to ease the unbearable strain.

  Head Master Boswick moved a few steps toward the platform and kicked the suspended weights with his glistening black riding boot. The weights swung. The girl howled. The audience gasped.

  Adding to Levine’s anguish were additional breast torments specifically intended to enhance her already painful situation. From the apex of each anguished breast, a large shiny steel ring extended outward. The rings were driven deeply in behind each nipple so as not to pierce the nipple itself, but rather to be imbedded into the actual breast flesh…a much sturdier foundation for such heavy metal rings. Connected to each ring was a steel cable, far stronger than necessary, but used to make a statement that was not lost on this audience of horrified and bewildered young women who were already in distress. The twin cables came forward and met another shorter post with two roller blocks mounted on it. Here the cables made a ninety-degree turn towards the floor and they too were attached to large metal weights.

  “Ms. Levine,” said Mistress Wright, looking into the pained eyes of the poor girl. “How much weight are your big tits carrying tonight, sweetheart? If you can tell me, I’ll take off half of the pounds.”

  Silence filled the ballroom.

  Then there was a distant whimper, a cry, a whine from the throat of the center posted girl. Then another. Then many more. Mistress Wright counted on her fingers, holding them up for the audience to see. When she held up ten fingers she began again until she had done so twice. The whimpering stopped.

  “Excellent, excellent. Twenty. Twenty pounds per boob. Forty pounds total on her tits it is,” the Head shouted. “Roger, please take off twenty pounds. She’s earned a respite.”

  Roger, a twenty something groom with a shaven head and a small blond moustache, stepped to the platform and replaced the massive steel ball weights with slightly smaller ones. This left only five pounds on each nipple and five pounds on each breast clamp instead of the original ten.

  “Now, before we eat and enjoy our farm-fresh milk and ice cream, you must all turn your attention to our last guest, Ms. Diane Jonas.” Mistress Wright swung her right arm toward the last of the three figures on the platform of agony.

  “Diane has a very, VERY bad mouth,” Mistress Wright said slowly for emphasis. “She opened it once too often last night and has been in this pose ever since. She will stay here for the rest of tonight, perhaps tomorrow as well.”

  Diane was chained upright to her sturdy wooden post, her arms pulled back behind it and bound at wrists, elbows and shoulders with narrow chromed chain. The harsh metal links dug deeply into the strained girl flesh and the audience could see the marks clearly. Her feet and legs were bound to the vertical structure with loops of the
same kind of chain around her ankles, above and below her knees and at the top of her narrow thighs. Around her neck was a heavier chain that held her head firmly to the post. In her mouth, extending horizontally outward to both sides like a massive bit, was a huge three-foot long wooden post. Her wide open jaws were locked into the side of the wooden post, spread impossibly apart and held there by her teeth sunk deeply into the soft wood. Chains from the ends of the wooden bar extended back on either side of her face, holding it in place. Diane’s face was a contortion of horror. No sound could exit around the soft wood bit and she could not move her jaws a millimeter up or down. She could only try in vain to chew through the four or five inches of wood that held her jaws open. On her small feet were a highly shined pair of dark brown Hermes riding boots, but with five inch heels. Each boot was equipped with a pair of polished iron spurs, but at the rear of each spur, instead of a rounded wheel or point was a small drilled hole in the metal spur frame. A small pad lock was threaded through the two holes and forced the girl to keep her heels close together and her toes pointed outward in a very wide “V”. To assure that this position wasn’t compromised, an adjustable metal spreader bar attached to her tanned legs, just above the knee. The chain loops around her legs kept her close to the post and she was frozen in a strained posture that made her appear to be doing deep knee bends with her knees pointing outward instead of forward.

  Boswick idly tweaked Diane’s left nipple and she’d begun to cry, probably from the pain of her stretched jaws but also from the thin triangle of wood that her crotch rested upon. Nearly hidden by her overlapping lower lips and the flesh of her thighs that the chains pushed aside as they dug into her legs, was the insidious little wedge that she was forcibly required to sit on. Most of Diane’s 113 pounds rested in her aching apex where her chained legs joined with her sex and ass. The pressure on the thin, slightly rounded top edge of the wedge was an additional agony which, when matched with what was happening to her jaws and mouth, occupied the girl’s full attention.