Just then, with incredibly perfect timing, Mother Bolia happened to walk through this particular training courtyard. She saw Sister Angel preparing her subject for yet another lesson and walked over, her sharp eyes studying the suffering girl displayed so effectively on the thick post. Angel stopped her arduous labor of tying and tightening and turned to her superior, raising her eyebrows a bit as if to ask what, if anything, Mother Bolia required from her. Using the cloister’s adopted secret hand sign language, Bolia signed that she wanted Angel to place the ladder back against the post, but on the rear, so that the top of the ladder just reached Lucy’s folded knees. Puzzled, Angel complied and then again, asked with another questioning look, for Mother Bolia’s orders.
Bolia smiled, a rare event, and Sister Angel felt a coldness in her stomach. Using her hands and body language, Bolia showed Sister Angel that she wanted the sister to strip herself naked and climb the ladder. Amazed, questioning, but always faithful to the orders of her superior, Angel slowly removed her garments and headgear, revealing her short, brown hair and a figure that was equally voluptuous to that of her suffering subject hanging on the post. Gingerly, in her bare feet, she mounted the ladder and placed herself with her back against the post, feeling Lucy’s trembling fingers and toes scratching her back. Mother Bolia then gestured to Sister Grace, one of the several nuns who stood in the courtyard, watching this unusual spectacle. The sister hurried over, expectant and also fearful that she was about to be added to the post. Signals passed between them while Angel shook and shivered as her small feet tried to stay positioned on the top rung of the unsteady ladder. Lucy continued to weep silently.
Grace ran to the nearby wall, removed a longer wooden ladder, gaining the help of another sister. They came back to the post, positioning the ladder on the side with the top rung near the ring where Lucy’s hands were bound. Up the ladder went Sister Grace with a handful of new rope. She had Angel raise her hands and bound them to the ring on the reverse side, over Lucy’s head, her arms embracing the post. Grace also tied Angel’s elbows to the post for extra security, then she came down the ladder a few rungs and tied Angel’s waist at the same level as Lucy’s. Glancing at Mother Bolia for approval, Grace then tied Angel’s ankles and pulled them up behind her, spreading her knees and binding the ankles in the same fashion as Lucy’s. Mother Bolia once again smiled and nodded.
As Grace was about to descend the ladder, Bolia made another quick gesture and Grace, nearing falling off the ladder in fright, studied the Superior’s gestures again, blushed and proceeded to tie a long rope to the front of Angel’s waist rope, just below her navel. She made it a double length and then fed both rough strands through the flattened brown hair of Sister Angel’s slightly splayed crotch and up through the anal divide, then, with some difficulty, through a narrow hole in the post. The twin ropes exited from the through-post tunnel at just about where Lucy’s waist was tied. With great difficulty and considerable agility on the ladder, Sister Grace manipulated the rope ends downward through Lucy’s ass crack, around the double impalements and pulled them smartly up through Lucy’s crotch, making the girl rise a bit off the projecting arm. Lucy was now constantly weeping, her muted cries seeping pitifully through and around the gag. Considering her already strenuous position, with much of her weight now on the projecting arm and the crotch strands of the rope, it seemed to her that she was about to be sliced right up the middle by the multiple pressures between her legs.
Grace tied off the ends of the rope at Lucy’s waist. This arrangement put tension on the pussy of both women, but the circuitous route of the ropes left too much slack for Mother Bolia to accept, so she handed Grace two short sticks of hardwood from a nearby firewood pile and showed her how to insert them into the ropes and twist until the ropes tightened. This system worked perfectly and as Grace positioned the wooden sticks at the junction of ropes on each abdomen, she immediately found that by twisting the sticks as handles, she could tighten the crotch ropes. Grace commenced slowly turning the improvised handles. The two hanging women moaned in protest as the rope dug deeper into their pussies and jammed their asses hard against the post. For Lucy, this tension also pushed the internal probes against the inside of her dual apertures and created mixed intensity of pain and arousal. Bolia watched intently and signed when she felt the ropes were now tight enough. She handed Grace a combination mouth plug and sound sealer gag from her endless collection and Grace fitted the silencing device onto Angel’s head. There was no resistance, only Sister Angel’s wide-eyed look of disbelief as Grace inserted the massive leather plug between her open lips, shoved it deep into her mouth and held it there with a thick strap that Grace pulled harshly back behind her head and tied. The second component was the sealer portion that attached to the front of the gag plug and covered Angel’s face from the bottom of her chin to the base of her nose. Grace positioned this wide, padded rectangle to Angel’s head with straps that went around her head and under her chin, making a tight and efficient seal for any sounds that might bypass the plugging leather already filling the sister’s mouth.
Angel’s eyes were wide. She had the look that Bolia knew so well: that of a fully gagged and stuffed woman whose oral cavity was so full that her cheeks overflowed the top of the gag and her eyes seemed to bug out from the pressure of the gag and harness on her head.
Before stepping down from the ladder, Sister Grace once again checked with Bolia for approval. Bolia stood, looking first at the twin hanging female bodies and then at the spectator group of sisters assembled, as if summoned by the cloister bells, to watch this episode. Such an event was common and the entire body of the cloister knew that at any time, any day or night, they might be called upon to endure such a sacrifice and learning experience as Sister Angel and inmate Lucy were now sharing.
On the stone panel over the entrance to the school’s central hall was an inscription which, roughly translated from the Latin, said, “Never accuse, for you too are guilty.” The order had many such slogans displayed in many locations. Each Sister’s tiny cell was decorated with similar phrases and they came to learn that the Order’s true mission was to make certain that inmates and members alike never were very far from experiencing any of the daily torments and tests that were administered there.
Mother Bolia motioned to the spectators that the event was now over…for the moment… and Grace came down from the ladder, carried it back to its original position and, after a quick glance over her shoulder at her handiwork, headed off to her other duties. Bolia picked up one of the whips carried by the senior duty sister and preceded to thrash the two girls on the post. She took her time, alternating between the hanging naked bodies and delivering strokes calculated to bring as much suffering as possible with as little effort as she could expend. Lucy and Angel writhed and twisted in their ropes, seeking vainly to find a position that might somehow evade the lash. Bolia circled the post, using a variety of whip strokes and assuring herself that she would leave no flesh untouched. Even with the gags, the girls made a great deal of noise, whimpering, begging, and pleading for the pain to stop. Bolia, concentrating on her aim and impact, muttered an occasional Latin phrase and finally stopped when she was indeed convinced that she had done her small part in helping these sinful humans to see the way of the Lord. The whipping stopped, but the noises from the throats of the tortured girls continued for some minutes afterwards. It was almost as if they were unaware that the thrashing was over because they still felt the dozens of glowing, fiery cuts that decorated their limp bodies. Bolia looked at both suffering figures, considered that they to some degree resembled the crucified saints displayed elsewhere in the castle and walked out of the courtyard.
Lucy wondered if she was actually being spared an even more serious whipping because of Angel’s impromptu presence on the post. She also thought that it was possible that Bolia had found some reason to punish Angel and used the opportunity simply because it was available. Unregulated and undeserved discipline was one of
the standard practices of the cloister and Lucy knew that in the cellars at any given time, inmates and sisters lay or hung bound in terribly uncomfortable positions, awaiting their next session of education, punishment and discipline. There were so many minor infractions recorded daily in the Mother Superior’s Book of Offenses that the cloister’s cells, cages and racks were often populated to the extent that makeshift arrangements had to be created to accommodate the offenders. What she didn’t know was that the wheels of politics and religion were turning slowly towards depriving the cloister of one of its newer inmates, Lucy Von Holt.
Chapter Four
Transfer
Mother Bolia studied the piece of quality church stationary and contemplated the short message it contained. She knew that the Bishop, who was always looking for new angles and profitable schemes, had passed on information about Lucy to others who might have an interest in her. This message clarified the Bishop’s contact and influence. In essence, it said that there were interested parties in Central Asia ready to pay a considerable sum for Lucy and that he, the Bishop, would open the lines of communication between Bolia and these parties as soon as a “small tithe” was made directly to him. Bolia penned a short note and sent it back to the Bishop by courier. A few weeks later, she received another somewhat cryptic response, not from the Bishop but from an anonymous intermediary:
“…since it is likely that you know the student referred to by His Excellency in the previous communication, I trust you will arrange for transport of said student to said location within the next 30 days, assuming she is fully trained and competent to perform the specified and required duties. In any event, she must arrive at her destination not later than 3 April of this Year of Our Lord, etc, etc....”
“And that,” wrote Mother Bolia on the white board, with a facial grimace that sent terror into the hearts of the hardiest Sisters, “is what we’re going to do.” She handed the message, neatly written on a small piece of white parchment to Sister Angel.
Although none of the parties knew it, that single exchange was to complicate even further the search for Lucy von Holt.
Lucy’s training was suddenly on the fast track.
Every day thereafter, for twelve and sometimes sixteen hours, she was on the track, pulling a cart, her booted, hoofed feet digging into the dark cinders, her mouth straining at the bit and gag, her arms bound up high on her back and her magnificent breasts surging up and down, rings dangling. As she trotted or cantered around the track, she was directed by Sister Angel or some other trainer, who sat in the cart’s driving seat holding reins and whip, using both more or less constantly. This negative reinforcement training got results very quickly. Based on her experiences at the Vermont Riding School, Lucy realized that if she could just do what they wanted her to do, things might be easier and Sister Angel might just ease up with the whip. She tried not to resist the harness, the harshly boned leather corset or collar, the terrible combination bit/gag and the hoofed boots that kept her feet in the ballet dancer’s toe-down position. The additional incentives of multiple internal probes held deep inside her by the harness certainly encouraged cooperation and the stimuli from these in ass and pussy served as constant reminders of required cooperation.
Strutting around the cinder track with a cart or buggy behind her and her false tail blowing in the breeze was not what Lucy had envisioned for her future. In fact, given the constant exposure to bondage and savage discipline, Lucy was slowly becoming addicted to the punishment, often finding herself awaiting, with liquefied crotch, the next stroke of the lash or paddle. The challenges for better confirmation and conforming to the demands of the staff seemed to multiply. Often, apparently for diversity and her education, Lucy was hitched to a small, two-wheeled Hansom cab with a small, enclosed cabin and a high driver’s seat above and behind, much like the taxis that had once been used in London and New York. The driver in top hat and long coat used a great deal of whip and drove her without pity to the nearby town, stopped in front of a tavern and hitched Lucy to the appropriate railing outside. He placed a pair of locking steel hobbles on her booted feet, hung a feed bag over her head and went inside to have a few pints of the local ale. Lucy stood at the rail, ignoring the sweet feed mixture in the feed bucket and watching the mysterious activity on the street. There were no automobiles, trucks or buses. She discovered that she was not the only driving pony there. A street car on tracks was pulled by a pair of sadly kept pony girls like herself and she saw several private carts and coaches passing along the street, all pulled by well turned out female ponies. Many had the elaborate polished leather harness like hers and a few wore the feathered plumes on top of their bridles. Some were being driven at breakneck speeds through the town square, the drivers whipping them without mercy and seemingly impervious to the hazards of pedestrians and ponies alike.
Eventually the driver returned, obviously drunk. He yanked the feed bucket from Lucy’s neck, removed the hobbles and climbed back up into the driver’s seat. With a bit of rein and a lot of whip, he drove back to the cloister at top speed. Lucy’s endurance was pushed to its limit and by the time they were back, standing outside the barn she was drenched in sweat and breathing heavily.
The duty sister frowned mightily at the driver, admonishing him in sign language. She was ignored, but as he attempted to climb down from the high perch, he lost his footing and plunged into the muddy, manure-saturated puddles of melted snow and ice around the stables. The sister stood over him, studying the prostrate form in silence, perhaps making sure that he was still breathing and then flogging him senseless with her crop. This chore completed, she led Lucy back to the wash area for grooming and eventually back to her stall.
That was her first and last trip to town and no sooner had she been granted a bit of a respite from the cart/buggy pulling course than she was literally thrown into the coaching arena, which was a whole different ball game.
The coaches at the cloister were massive, thousand pound vehicles, designed and built decades and even centuries before. They were intended to be pulled by draft horses, not humans. Lucy was removed from her usual cell and placed in a slightly larger stall in a different barn reserved for the coach ponies. Assigned to a team of four, which was the minimum coach-pulling unit, she had to quickly learn that the lead pony carried almost as much authority as the sisters and that as the newest member of the team, she was lower than horseshit. The other three team members, in typical fashion, made sure that Lucy learned her place. Her first night in the team stall was a horror. While all members wore the requisite body harness and bridle, they were allowed to have their bit/gags removed. Lucy’s stayed on, as did her body compressing leather corset and neck collar. With her arms still helplessly strapped up behind her back and ankles in shackles, she became the unwilling victim of the team.
Sister Angel delivered Lucy to the team stall and attached Lucy’s strict collar to a hanging chain in the middle of the stall, leaving her to dangle with the tips of her hooves barely touching the straw-covered dirt floor. As soon as Angel left, the other three ponies encircled Lucy, squeezing her tits, poking her crotch where both dildoes remained embedded, slapping her ass and knocking her feet out from under her, laughing hysterically, (but quietly), while the new girl tried desperately to recover her footing and release the hanging tension on her neck. Felice, the lead pony, produced a pair of all too familiar nipple clips for Lucy to wear and fitted them in the most painful manner, right on the tips of her nipples, then tied thin strings to them and attached these to a nearby wall. As they poked and prodded her, Lucy stumbled and rotated on the hanging chain while her poor, sensitive nipples absorbed the shock of being tugged and wrenched away from her chest. When they finally tired of tormenting her, the three ponies flopped into a pile of soft straw in one corner, embraced each other to hold body warmth and went quickly to sleep. Lucy hung by her collar and tits all night. By morning, she was exhausted and dreaded facing a day of coach hauling. Placed in the trailing right pos
ition, Lucy got her aching back and ass peppered constantly by the driver’s buggy whip as she tried to stay in step with the other ponies. Pulling evenly and straight was not as easy as it looked and Lucy was slow to respond to the commands, thus slowing and annoying the others in the team. At the end of the day, she collapsed into the stall, only to be harassed again by her teammates. By the time they all went to sleep, Lucy found herself on the bottom of the pile, warmed by the others, but again finding it difficult to sleep while the others pressed and pushed her about.
By the third night, Lucy was in a daze. All day the team had wrestled with an older, heavier coach that needed repairs, but was used in training. They were forced to pull it for several miles over bad roads and in the wet, misty and cold weather that often wrapped the cloister in veils of impenetrable fog. The driver, not the same one as on the days before, had no intention of sparing the whip and it fell with precision and maximum effect, taking undeserved vengeance on each team member.
Back in the stall, they finally removed Lucy’s bit/gag and bridle, as well as the twin dildoes. They moved her arms from their crossed position on her back and locked them into plain steel manacles in front of her. She was able to eat something, after the rest of the team had chosen the best portions of the meager meal. As soon as the dinner was finished, the other three looked hungrily at her and proceeded to carry out gang rape, alternately reaming her cunt, asshole and mouth with phallic devices they seemed to have plenty of, courtesy of Sister Angel who stood at the stall door, silently surveying the gangbang. The three ponies indulged in Lucy’s body as if it was something they had never before encountered, poking and prodding each orifice, plunging the wooden dicks in and out of all body openings, switching from ass to mouth and cunt to ass as they saw fit. In the midst of this chaos, they alternately fucked each other until everyone finally passed out on the floor in a deathlike sleep. Finally, Lucy was left alone and she slept with the dildoes sticking out of her sex and ass, no longer caring about anything except sleep.
Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition Page 20
