Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition

by Jurgen von Stuka

  Lucy did as she was told and the cuffs instantly released.

  “Now, reach up to the harness band behind my head and you’ll feel a small leather compartment. It holds keys for everything else. Feel it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now, does that make you feel better?”

  “Un huh.”

  “Great. Let’s go for it. We’ll be free by breakfast. You ready?”

  “Ready,” said a hesitant Lucy as she slid the fat penis gag’s one end into her mouth and watched Glenda do the same. Then they set and tightened the straps around each other’s heads, making sure the gags were jammed deep inside each other’s mouth. They were now face to face, only a few inches of the double gag’s shaft separating their noses. If one head moved the other had to follow. The neck chain limited any more movement.

  They reached around each other’s body, the corset’s heavily boned foundation rubbing the inside of their arms, threaded the cuff through the chained ring hanging from the back of their collars and closed the cuffs around their right wrists. The silence was absolute. Neither girl moved or made any sound. The bungee suspended saddle held the double pricks in place and their bound wrists and ankles kept them from any sudden, extreme movement.

  Inevitably, Glenda made the first move. She bent her knees and sank down, pressing the saddle up against her crotch. The tit chains and linked collars and gags forced Lucy to follow. The bungies stretched and then pulled back. Lucy shifted her chained feet in their spiked heels and Glenda had to follow. The waltz began. The more they moved the more they had to react. As they reacted, the gags and internal prongs forced another response. What seemed like a complex and perhaps dull example of double bondage soon became a heated, whimpering, orgasmic struggle as the two young women danced about the small room, trying to stop what they knew they were going to get and actually wanted more and more. The thrill of orgasm shook their bodies and when one head pulled back in ecstasy, the other bent forward and followed. Most of the time they kept their arms tight around each other, hugging and squeezing the bound and impaled corset-wrapped body so close and so enthralling.

  The dildoes drilled relentlessly, the saddle bouncing up and down as they shifted position constantly, often simply fighting not to fall over. When their legs did fail them however, the spring-loaded bungies pulled them back up on their feet. Each move pulled and stretched the coupled nipples, each body swing pulled the other body with it. The multi-stimulus impact was tremendous and both girls were sweating profusely after only a few minutes. Glenda had warned Lucy that they would need to take what she called SBs, or stillness breaks. This was a concept that was easy to say and very hard to do because the rhythms set up by the stretching and bouncing in the bungies was hard to stop. Finally, they got to a point where they were able to stand still, sweat, and breathe a bit slower. Both girls had hair and sweat in their eyes, but the looks they exchanged were mixtures of “please stop” and “let’s do that one again.”

  It was a very long night. When it finally ended, both girls were unable to do more than visit the toilet, apply soothing ointment to their battered nipples, roll up in a warm animal fur on the floor and pass out. They woke at noon the next day and made their plans for the next month.

  Eventually, Lucy had to leave. With Glenda’s help, she hired a private car and made her way to a tiny village near Rosenheim in Bavaria, visited her father’s chef friend and family for two days, then took the Amsterdam-bound train that was to be her last train ride for several years. That same night, while Glenda lay in her dungeon, chained in one of her personal self-bondage arrangements, Lucy was being kidnapped in her railroad sleeping compartment. The next time they met was in Fabian’s Greenhouse.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Slave

  With this history, Lucy was not terribly surprised to find both Glenda and Brenda under Fabian’s control as well. Although she apparently protested a bit, Brenda seemed to relish the sub role for a change and Glenda was, as usual, studying the entire situation, looking for weaknesses in Fabian’s plan and activities. While Lucy was struggling and trying to find escapes, Brenda simply rolled with the flow of events and let them do what they wanted with her and Glenda suffered silently, waiting for her chance.

  Besides her sister’s and friend’s captive presence, Lucy had other concerns, mostly physical. The things that had been done to her by her sister and then on the train and then at Summer School and afterwards troubled her greatly. The physical discomforts equaled the psychological ones and right at this moment, the restraints and intrusive devices in her body made it very hard to think. She was constantly wrestling mentally with the conflicts of her physical feelings of a need for sexual gratification and her knowledge that what was happening here was criminally wrong. She wondered though, exactly how Fabian had captured Brenda. Had the younger girl in fact cooperated with Fabian? Had she known it was coming? And most of all, had Brenda possibly had something to do with Lucy’s capture? That would, of course, Lucy realized, explain how the train abduction had been so easily pulled off.

  Despite Lucy’s suspicions, the plan to take Brenda was far simpler than the complex scheme that Fabian devised to kidnap Lucy. In the middle of the night, two of Fabian’s most trusted and experienced female operatives who had gotten themselves assigned to the von Holt household security staff, walked into Brenda’s bedroom where she always slept in the nude, and woke her at gunpoint. Brenda offered no resistance as they bound and gagged her, and then lowered her out one of the second story windows to another Fabian team member waiting below. In less than five minutes, Brenda was off the family’s property and taken to a nearby building where she was unpleasantly introduced to Fabian and some of his toys. Both the capture crew and Fabian were a bit surprised that Brenda put up virtually no resistance and did not object to the strict rope bondage, the gag and eventually the tight leather discipline hood pulled over her head. The girl was shipped to Prague that night in a fast truck. By daylight, she was in The Greenhouse and by noon, the younger von Holt daughter was swinging in her metal cage, sharing the torments that Fabian happily provided for her and his other involuntary female guests.

  Hanging in her own cage, Lucy compared the events and experiences of the last year with those she had shared with her sister. There were, she had to admit, some interesting parallels and mostly all of them resulted, she had to admit, in her expanding her own sexual knowledge while increasing her appetite for kinky experiences. The plugs in her ass and cunt were familiar enough. She humorlessly wondered why they kept jamming new and different probes up inside her when they all had the same net effect. This particular pair of false dicks was of the type Fabian had described in his lengthy marketing monologue. One was equipped with dual hoses to flush and evacuate her ever empty bowels and the other, shoved well up inside her cunt, was an annoying distraction that shocked, inflated and vibrated at odd moments.

  “If only Fabian had a better imagination,” Lucy thought. “He seems to be stuck on this double and triple plug routine and it’s getting pretty old. This has got to be the tenth or twelfth set of these damned things I’ve had shoved up my ass and cunt and I probably have calluses there by now.”

  This black humor was all she had to entertain herself while she swung back and forth in the humid air of the giant greenhouse, surrounded by growing plants and the other ten women. But after the other recent experiences, Lucy was grateful for the respite in the hanging cage, for it compared quite favorably to the other punishments she endured. In particular, if she ever had the opportunity to avoid again meeting the mine operators, the insane sadists of the Marbella family, Lucy was sure that she would rather endure a hundred of Fabian’s goofy torments instead of even a few minutes on the terrible irrigation chair with hoses and nozzles up inside her, sticking out of every possible body opening. By comparison, this swinging in the cool wind was heaven, she thought.

  Her contemplation was interrupted by a scream and then more screams, all coming from
the area around Lucy. Because she was without sight, she could only assume that one or more of the hanging ten was doing the yelling, but it sounded terrible and it was very close. The ear pads of the brank insulated her from much of the ambient noise in the greenhouse, but these blood-curdling cries were coming through loud and clear. As she listened, she thought she could make out the additional sound of what sounded all too much like a whip landing on flesh. That, she decided immediately, was just cause for the screams, except that as far as she knew, all the hanging ten were gagged in some way, probably not as painfully as she was with a pin stuck through her tongue, but still firmly gagged into silence. Certainly, she thought, no one who was gagged could be screaming like this.

  The terrible noise went on and on, then suddenly stopped. There was once again the silence of the plants and Lucy went back to wondering about Fabian and his crazy plans for her. What was next? Was she really going to spend the rest of her life in this awful cage? Would strangers come and remove her only to fuck and whip her now and then?

  As she contemplated this, another girl with a different pitch and set of stronger lungs began to holler and scream, this time even closer to Lucy. From the sounds, she too was being flogged in a rapid rhythm. The screams lasted a few minutes, then subsided into cries and whimpers, then stopped.

  “Hi, Lucy. You’re next.” A voice spoke into her electronic ear buds. It was female and it was not a voice she knew. The metal plate over her mouth was unbolted and the pin through her tongue sharply pulled out, then the interior packing inside her stuffed oral cavity was quickly removed. “Anything you need before we start?” the female voice said, dripping with sarcasm and instilling fear into Lucy’s already troubled mind.

  “Na, no. Please. Can I see?” Lucy begged.

  “Oh, so you want to see it coming?”

  “Yes. Please,” she said.

  “Good.” And the blindfold panel of the brank was removed. Bright light flooded Lucy’s eyes and she had to squeeze them shut because of the pain. As she tried to focus on the room once again, the whip struck with all of its terrible intensity across her tight, rounded ass.

  The blow was as it always was. A terrible surprise followed by waves of pain and prolonged stinging afterwards. Before the sting even began to dissipate, another blow traced the outlines of the last one and the patterns continued until Lucy, like her hanging partners, screamed and cried endlessly. She didn’t count the blows, but felt that there were about ten before it ended.

  “Did you see these coming, bitch?” the whipping woman, who was outside of Lucy’s limited area of vision, asked cruelly as she gathered her whip, replaced Lucy’s eye and mouth plates and left her there, for once without the pin or any stuffing material in her mouth. Perhaps this was an oversight, but Lucy welcomed the break from the constant gagging and settled into wondering about how the marks on her breasts, back and thighs might look. She was somewhat astonished to realize that throughout the session she was sexually aroused and had been unconsciously humping the dual probes.

  “They are turning me into a sex slave….finally…,” she thought. Headmistress Wright at the riding school told her several times that one of her objectives was to make sure that no one in her care ever left without becoming addicted to the pain/pleasure syndrome, but Lucy had not, as far as she could tell, moved into that state of mind by the time she left the school. Perhaps that was why she was sold/leased to someone else, she thought. “Maybe, just possibly, I wasn’t seen as really good mental material for such training. Well, this settled that,” she thought. “I guess I’m now a masochistic sex slave, unconsciously yearning to be beaten and fucked until I die. What a stupid fate!”

  Chapter Twenty

  Close

  As soon as Mickeal and Bibi left the old windmill shed in Utrecht, they drove in Bibi’s rescued Mini back towards Amsterdam, all the while trying to reach Groff by phone to let her know that they had a good lead on where Lucy might be. When Groff answered, she told them to sit tight and that she was headed for Prague and would contact them from there. About four hours later, while they sat in a safe house that Ernst had provided, they again talked with Groff who said she was now in the Four Seasons in Prague and was headed for the address the capture gang provided to Bibi and Mickeal.

  “I’ll just scout the place and then we can make our plans. You two get over here tonight if you can. There’s nothing commercial flying, so charter something safe and fast and I’ll reserve a room for you Mickeal, here. Bibi can bunk in with me.”

  “We’ll call you when he get there,” Mickeal said and broke the connection.

  The Prague International airport is unique in its part of the world. Newly constructed with a high sweeping interior, not unlike a dirigible hanger, it has more space that its present amount of traffic demands. Guests waiting for flights have the luxury of actually being able to walk about, sit down and enjoy a meal, visit a cozy Internet café and watch the sights. Groff wasn’t sightseeing. Her chartered Pilatus had been grounded in Frankfurt for mechanical problems and rather than wait for it to be fixed or hire another charter, she took a commercial Lufthansa flight to Prague as soon as she heard from Mickeal that Fabian was probably there. Address and a small GPS in hand, Groff breezed through the terminal, nearly colliding with a pair of teenage girls on roller skates promoting something unfathomable to Groff. Turning towards the taxi exits, she dodged again to avoid a trio of joy riders on Segways, the two wheel, high tech electric scooters that offered rides in the terminal areas. She went directly out to a cab that took her on a thirty minute ride through the outlying districts of the city to the Four Seasons Hotel on Veleslavinova, a baroque and Neo-Renaissance styled block with an excellent restaurant on the east side of the Vltava River.

  Once in her spacious room, Groff took out an old-fashioned city map, compared it with the GPS and tried to figure out exactly where the address that D’Alessandro had obtained might be. While all indications were that the address was very near the common tourist site of Prague Castle, Groff wondered how Fabian might carry on a major slave trading operation in such close proximity to the St. Vitus cathedral and the castle. Perhaps, she thought, the very absurdity of the idea was in fact its value. Who would look for such an illegal enterprise in the middle of Prague’s tourist district? Groff made several short phone calls on her satellite phone, then dressed appropriately in thick soled, high, black cleated boots, snugly fitted black leggings/tights and a heavy leather jacket over a wool turtleneck body shirt. She left the hotel by a side door, choosing to walk the short distance to the Charles Bridge. She crossed the river with its sweeping view of the castle on the hill and the cathedral spires reaching out from the walled compound on top. The wind blowing up the river was chilling and the hundreds of tourists on the bridge hurried along, seldom stopping at any of the dozens of peddlers selling cheap jewelry and hand painted drawings of the city’s popular sites. The walkway was treacherous from snow and ice freezing and refreezing daily. Apparently, Groff speculated, the city didn’t want to clear the ice and snow from sidewalks or couldn’t afford to do so.

  Reaching the west side of the bridge, she turned right past the costumed guard at the tower and took the first twisting alleyway down and under the bridge. She quickly found the address she sought and continued walking on past, scouting the neighborhood, watching for anything which might indicate Fabian’s presence.

  Number 29 Hroznova was a slightly recessed doorway with iron posts and locked gate. The brownstone building behind it was probably a century or more old and showed a few barred windows, no lights and no sign of life. She continued walking for about fifty meters, then turned around and started back. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw something move out of an alley to the right. She spun that way just in time to collide with a very large woman who hit her in the stomach with a sort of short baseball bat. The blow from the club knocked the wind out of her and Groff staggered back into the alley, only to be grabbed from behind by someone who
was very strong, but probably didn’t have much combative training. Straining to catch her breath, Groff pushed back against the body behind her, bent her knees and grabbed the assailant’s forearms that were now around her neck. She lunged forward, bending from the waist, thrusting her hips back into the belly of the person behind her and pulling down on the arms at the same time. The effect was instantaneous. Groff’s move created the perfect leverage to lift the attacker off her feet and propel her forward. The surprised attacker flew overhead, performed an unintentional summersault and landed on the ground with a thud, at the feet of the equally stunned fat woman with the club. Groff’s now free hands went to her coat pocket and pulled out an ASP retractable baton, pushing the release button on the bottom and extending the three-foot length of gleaming steel rod. Swinging the ASP like a dueling saber, Groff advanced on her attackers. The one on the ground raised her arms to warn off the lethal steel wand, saying, “Non, non,” but the fat lady was not as easily intimidated and came at Groff with her club raised for a head blow. Groff moved right, conscious that she was going deeper into the shadows of the alley, and landed a hard blow on the fat woman’s arm, but she didn’t drop the club. Instead, she ducked her head and charged Groff like an angry rhinoceros. The ASP landed two slashing blows on the fat woman’s head and back and she slumped to the ground, at least temporarily subdued.

  Groff backed off, moving slowly towards the entry of the alley, seeking a more public area and an opportunity to summon some relief if needed. Again, her peripheral vision sensed rather than actually saw something that looked like a small bird, maybe a humming bird, as unlikely as it would be here in Prague in the middle of winter.

  The blow caught her behind the right ear and knocked her down, immediately unconscious. She woke up in total darkness, struggling against a mass of restraints that pinned her to a flat slab. The opaque darkness surrounding her left her convinced that she had lost her sight from the hammer-like impact to her head. Groff lay on her back, her head enclosed in some sort of tight hood, her mouth stuffed with a soft, pliable material. She was unable to move her arms and legs and there was a tight constriction around her waist, squeezing her ribs and holding her to the cold stone surface below. The more she tested her bonds, the tighter they seemed to become. Her head was killing her and the hood wasn’t helping. Groff tried to relax and let the pain in her head slowly dissipate. It took awhile.