Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition

by Jurgen von Stuka

  “Diane’s snotty little tongue,” Mistress Wright illuminated for her audience, “is unfortunately not visible to you all. But it has been properly engaged for the evening, let me assure you all. Somewhere inside that log she’s so avidly chewing, is a spring clip that has a good hold on her tongue. She will need a few days after she gets free before she will be using that wicked instrument again. Now, my friends, let us enjoy dinner.”

  The two leaders of the riding school seated themselves and dinner began.

  Diane’s poor tongue, drawn into a cavity inside the wooden log, was indeed held in place by a strong metal clip that was in turn attached to the log itself. The clip was spring-equipped and seemed to be able to pull steadily on her abused oral appendage, no matter how far out the girl extended it.

  Thus, the trio on the platform remained engaged in their own private enterprises. Each girl had no less than three different torments going on at the same time and they each took private stock of their conditions, even though no one else now seemed interested.

  Debbie had her poor feet, her stretched little cunt lips and her internal organs to keep her occupied for hours while she stood on the platform.

  Ellen suffered from the tight metal breast clamps, the weighted nipple rings and the constant pressure of the vertical post jammed between her suspended body and spread legs.

  And Diane, of course, the third course of the meal’s entertainment, endured the huge log between her teeth, the merciless clamp on her tongue and the sharpened little wedge seat. All in all, it was an impressive display that left a distinct impression on the new girls as well as upon the senior students.

  The meal began. Grooms served and instructors and the Heads ate and drank. The girls knelt and stared at the platform display, the crystal chandeliers and the ceiling until it was nearly midnight. In their bondage, they tried to find some position that wasn’t so constantly painful. They moaned, groaned and whined into their gags. They struggled for several hours. Then they were put to bed.

  To prepare for sleep, Dori was allowed to remove everything she’d worn for the last several hours except the Hermes boots. The bit and harness, the breeches and strange shirt, all came off under close supervision. She was allowed to use the toilet and to brush her hair and teeth. Then her hands were cuffed securely behind her back and a heavy steel collar fitted around her neck. She was again gagged with the fat rubber plug, the locking band going around behind her head and under her hair.

  Cuffed hand and foot, booted, gagged and collared, the girl had given up on objections. She stood in the middle of the cold room while the collar was attached and locked in place, then the chain was fastened to a ring behind the headboard of the twin bed. “In you go,” said Winnie, holding the sheets and covers up while a tired and confused Dori climbed into bed. She lay silent while Winnie pulled something metal from under the bed and bent over Dori’s black-booted feet. Over the leather boots, a pair of brass locking cuffs was attached. They gripped the boots snugly, but were leather-lined so as not to damage the boots’ carefully tanned hides. A single padlock connected the boot cuffs and from this lock, a chain led to the foot of the bed. Dori lay on her back with her bound wrists uncomfortably under her. Winnie inspected the girl’s nighttime bondage and told her to roll over onto her side. A new chain was pulled from under the bed and attached to the girl’s wrist cuffs.

  “I think that will do it nicely for the first night,” said Winnie sweetly. “You look lovely, lying there in your new boots, steel cuffs on your wrists, a shiny new collar around your neck, the nice fat gag in your mouth and the brass cuffs on your ankles. The boots add a special touch, don’t you think? We have a big day planned for tomorrow, so get lots of sleep, darling. Nightie-night, Dori. See you at five a.m.” Winnie turned out the light, opened the door and then turned back. “By the way, don’t get too comfortable in this room. It’s just for the first few nights. After that, you’ll be in a dorm with the rest of the gang. Sleep well.”

  Chapter Six

  Taking Samson for a Ride

  The training horse wasn’t a horse at all. It was a mechanical monster, bought in the late 1980’s from Don Bob’s Western Saloon and Booze Parlor in West Dewdrip, Texas, after the western bar craze dried up. Don Bob’s charged five dollars to any fool who wanted to mount the critter and get the ride of his or her life. But some riders fell hard and broke bones, heads and even one back. Thus the profitable, but dangerous entertainment device had been shut down and the bar closed, to be reopened later as a wine bar and then even later as a cigar den. The mechanical critter was sold at auction where the school was the successful bidder. Installed in the main barn, the horse was cleaned up and equipped with a wide range of new improvements. The entire mechanism weighed nearly 2000 pounds and Boswick mounted on a concrete slab in the downstairs of the barn, beneath the horse stalls. He then set about the difficult task of duplicating it nine more times so that in a few months, he had ten of the monsters available for the school’s training sessions. This one model was in a large room within the old stone foundation of the barn. Stone walls and the reinforced ceiling supporting the entire first floor of the training barn enclosed the subterranean room. It had a musty odor and a polished slate floor. One could hear horses pawing the floor upstairs and hear the beams creak and groan as wagons and carts moved around on the work floor. In summer, the room was cool. In winter, it was cold, but seldom freezing. It was a perfect place for the training horse and students came to fear it like nothing else on the farm. This was the room that Dori was taken to the next day.

  She wore the same odd attire she was fitted with the day before. As promised, Winnie arrived at five to see that Dori was up and ready for the day’s lessons. Her escort and companion helped her bathe, shave her legs, under arms and crotch carefully. Then Dori dressed in the same style of outfit she had first worn only 18 hours before. Although the boots were the same, the rest of the clothes were fresh and slightly different from the first day’s combination. The breeches were fawn-colored and the tricky turtleneck short was an off-white. Her arms were bound in the single sleeve and her lower legs again doubled up against her thighs and ass. Dori was just as uncomfortable as before, having slept fitfully on her left side all night. The chains at her collar, feet and wrists prohibited any other sleeping position.

  “How many sets of this outfit are there?” Dori had asked Winnie when the gag was taken out for oral hygiene and breakfast.

  “Enough to make you sick of wearing them,” Winnie answered, opening the closet in the bedroom and displaying a wide assortment of garments, some of which Dori had not seen before.

  “Now I know where my tuition went,” the girl muttered sullenly.

  Breakfast completed, the gag went back in and Winnie summoned the cart. They had headed for a nearby barn with Winnie pushing the fat-tired cart and Dori hanging from the overhead support bar.

  She now looked at the horse and wondered silently what this thing was as the three instructors lifted her from the cart and placed her on the shiny slate floor. The slate was cold. The room was cold. Mistress Wright sat in a leather chair in front of the horse, tight black riding breeches blending into the dark leather of the chair. The Mistress smoked Cuban cigars. In the close coldness of the barn’s basement, mixed with the smell of horses, feed and straw, the cigar gave off a strangely fearsome effect.

  “Dori,” Mistress Wright said slowly, as she might have spoken to a learning-disabled child. “Dori, I want to make sure this is a very memorable summer for you. Your father spent a great deal of money, fifteen thousand dollars, for you to come here and I want to see that he gets his money’s worth. This is your first time with Samson, but it will not be your last. Samson is a bit schizophrenic. Sometimes he is easy, sometimes he is difficult. However, he seems to read the rider’s thoughts. Think positive things, Dori, and you will learn to ride. Proceed,” she said, turning her face to the instructors who were standing near Dori.

  Two of the instructors pi
cked her up and carried her toward the English saddle that was fitted to the mechanical beast. A third instructor followed. Dori’s head was in the usual “attention” posture, her braid pulled tight and her head bent back. She wore blinders on both sides of her bridle, and thus was unable to see the twin posts sticking up from the center spine of the saddle. The posts were soft ebony rubber around a hard, flexible rubber core. They were shaped like exaggerated phalluses. The front phallus was massive, the rear one only a bit smaller and shorter. They were mounted close together and it was clear to any observer that anyone who sat on Samson was going to have to accommodate both of these dongs before they got the proper seat.

  The two instructors slowly carried Dori up the three steps on one side of the horse. When they reached the top step, the third instructor climbed similar steps from the other side of the horse. The three then lifted Dori higher up so that her breeches-enclosed knees straddled the saddle and her bound arms embraced the strut behind the saddle. She had not yet seen the dildos and was unaware of what awaited her. The instructors held her poised in the air, above the saddle, while the third instructor plunged one of her rubber-gloved hands into a small bucket at the side of the mechanical beast. She brought out her hand dripping with a shiny gelatinous substance. Her hand quickly gripped the dildos, lathering them with the slippery goo. Next, without any warning, she reached up and carefully smeared the cold, slimy substance onto and into Dori’s entire lower groin. Dori started and shook in the grasp of the holding instructors. They, just as suddenly, started slowly lowering the girl onto the saddle with the third instructor holding and aiming the two greasy prongs while she parted Dori’s lower lips and positioned her rectum. The front post entered first, followed almost immediately by the rear one.

  Dori was not a virgin, but this sudden and unannounced dual penetration of her most private orifices came as a great surprise. It was unwelcome and painful. Ever so slowly, evenly, the two dongs slid into the girl’s clenching holes. The tensed muscles pushed and contracted in a vain attempt to prohibit or prevent the double penetration, but it was, of course, inevitable. She had only one way she could go and that was down. Down onto the twin impaling statues that were destined to spend the next several hours exploring her internal construction. She jumped about in the grip of the three instructors, lifting her hips up and tilting her pelvis forward and back so as to try and disengage the greasy poles. She sputtered and hissed behind the gag bit, her head jerking up and down, bound arms swinging sideways.

  Inside the tight shirt and the tighter inner bra, Dori’s full breasts jiggled and swung as well, the nipples already hard and thrusting through the two layers of stretch fabric. She tried everything she could think of, most of it involuntary, to get off and stay off the inevitable impalements. The instructors hung on, lowering her still and making sure the prongs didn’t somehow disengage. They allowed Dori’s own weight to take her slowly down the slippery poles while the girl struggled and jerked, trying to get off of the sudden impalement. Even when her ass cheeks finally bottomed out on the leather saddle, Dori surged upward in the grasp of the instructors, the slimy dongs sliding in and out of both lower caves, coming a few millimeters out, sampling the cold air of the cellar and then quickly retreating back up into the twin warm, moist, caverns as the girl settled back down onto the saddle. Up and down she went, seeking freedom from the impalement and release from the terrible bondage. Her bound hands gripped the strut behind her and she used this as additional leverage to lift her trembling body. The massive double dongs with their rough, serrated surfaces, far bigger than she had even imagined, slithered in and out, up and down, stretching her flesh and making Dori’s juices flow involuntarily as she jerked and slipped in the high saddle, double fucking herself over and over again as she tried to get free.

  Drool flew from the bitted mouth and her bridled head shook and nodded. From behind the rubber plug and steel bit, shocked, outraged and terrified gurgles and screams bubbled endlessly, but eventually Dori was in the saddle and her two new intruders were fitted uncomfortably into her widely stretched orifices. Her muffled cries continued while the brawny instructors held onto the single sleeve and both doubled up legs.

  “Looks like you’ve had something in there before,” Mistress Wright commented from her chair, puffing on her cigar and blowing a smoke ring towards the suffering girl.

  At the back of the saddle, between Dori’s back and her arms, was the padded steel strut, bolted to the horse’s frame. This was made from heavy wrought iron that was shaped into a slight C curve. It rose out of the back of the saddle and curved away towards the back wall. The instructors, satisfied that Dori was properly in place in the saddle, pushed her gently back against the strut so that it passed between her bound elbows and her back. They strapped her to the strut, bending the girl’s back and pulling her single gloved arms up and over the strut, then back to the beast’s rear where her trembling, searching hands were bound with a stout leather thong to the base of Samson’s thick tail. Her knees, still encased in the breeches, were strapped to the beast’s sides and under the saddle.

  Satisfied with the work thus far, Mistress Wright rose from her chair and glided over to Dori’s side. She looked at the new student with a curiosity that perhaps a mountain lion would have for a small naked animal impaled on a spit. Dori tried to turn her head away, knowing that yet another horror was to come, but she could not move her head at all and her entire body was being bent to a degree that most gymnasts might even question. Mistress Wright’s right hand reached out towards Dori’s nearly horizontal, abundant chest and slowly traced the outline of the twin hardened nipples under the shirt and bra. Mistress Wright reached over and easily pulled open the white nylon zippers that ran vertically across each painfully confined breast. Like sea lions bobbing to the surface, the Lycra-clad breasts rose upward from the tightness of the shirt. The open zippers revealed the bound globes with their rock-hard, pink caps struggling to emerge from the spandex bondage of the bra.

  “A blade,” said Mistress Wright quietly.

  Dori struggled again, pulling on her bound arms and trying to see what was coming. Her confined breasts jiggled in terror as Mistress Wright took the Exacto knife from one of the instructors and squeezed the encapsulated left breast with her other hand.

  “Be still,” she hissed. “If you twitch and I miss, you will bleed and make a mess. Stay absolutely still and I promise, my sweet little rabbit, that I WILL NOT hurt you.”

  Dori froze. The Mistress cut. She sliced open the left bra cup and the girl’s ripe red breast literally sprung out of the confinement of the tight elastic bra cup. The jiggling breast flesh flowed outward and stood erect in the cold cellar air, its tiny, erect, pink-brown nipple seemingly sampling the cigar smoke and horse smells in the air.

  “Fine,” the Head Mistress soothed. “Now the right one.” And with that she made another incision in the bra and once again was rewarded with a full globular mammary popping out of the bondage shirt and bra. Dori gurgled into her bit and gag, but did not move. With a few more slow, but definite strokes of the knife, the Mistress cut around the twin breasts, freeing them from the bra and the shirt. Dori’s breath came slowly in and out of her distended nostrils and the heavy metal bit chinked between her teeth. The saddle leather and bridle creaked and groaned. The young woman in the saddle realized that for the last few moments, she had forgotten entirely about the two rubber dicks that violated her privates. As if to remind her, Mistress Wright’s hands moved down to the girls’ belly and lower back, her fingers reaching between the splayed thighs to make sure that the two monster dongs were well up inside the sweating, shuddering figure. Mistress Wright’s index fingers began to simultaneously massage the girl’s clit and the area around her stretched anal opening. Dori jumped and started at this new and unexpected attack. Sweat streamed out anew from over her entire body while she swayed within the limits of the bonds that held her to the strut.

  “Ahh, ahh, ahh, oohh, oohh, ah
h,” she moaned behind the bit and snaffle.

  “Ah yes, you little darling,” murmured the Mistress. “You are such a lover, Dori.” The Mistress sighed, fingering the girl’s clit a bit harder with her left hand and jamming her right index finger into the girl’s rear along with the probe that was already inside the orifice.

  “Aahhh, aaaha!” Dori sputtered, lurching upward, trying to free her split ass from the insistent, probing finger. She rose a few millimeters, remained frozen there and finally, giving in to the strain and the still twitching finger on her clit, she slid back down the fat, greasy, double dildos with her well muscled buttocks making a slight slapping sound as they came back into contact with the leather saddle. Her breathing was irregular and her chest heaved, breasts shaking from side to side, still partly encircled in their Lycra confinement. Dori moaned and cried as she felt the orgasms coming up slowly from below. Her entire lower torso was being endlessly stimulated and the Mistress made sure it was going to happen. Dori had never felt anything like this before. Her limited sexual experiences with boys had been interesting, but not very fulfilling and the occasional encounter with another girl had been usually awkward and short-lived. No sexual expert, Dori struggled with the psychological aspects of what was happening to her as well as with the obvious physical stimuli. She was tightly confined in a strange riding outfit, immovably bound, gagged and bridled. She had little hearing and sight and her breasts had been manipulated and thrust out into the open air like two massive ripe pears, their bases constricted by the remains of the bra and Lycra shirt. Her nearly virginal cunt and asshole had been jointly and simultaneously violated by dongs bigger than she had ever imagined possible and now the Head Mistress of the riding academy was tweaking her clit and jamming at least one sharp-nailed forefinger up her ass.