Executive Enslavement

by Bruce McLachlan

  Master Talon wore dark close-fitting riding trousers with tall boots that had been polished to an assiduous level. A dark red shirt covered his torso and black leather gloves covered his hands. He held a crimson-shafted crop and a belt around his waist bore a small pouch on one side.

  “Not bad. Not bad at all,” he said with a mischievous smirk.

  “I’m going to get Tobin harnessed up to a gig for a bit, so she’s all yours,” said Morgana.

  Handing the red woven reins to Talon, she kissed him then walked out of the trailer.

  “Well, Samantha, it’s just you and I,” he said then pulled on the reins to bring her in his wake. Her reluctance offered no delay as he maintained an emphatic draw on the reins. This meant that she had little choice but to scamper after him with swift curtailed steps.

  Tottering down the ramp, her hooves moved onto soft lush grass. Samantha stared around as best she could with her face kept forward by the bit and the reins. She could see that they were at some sort of ranch in the woods. A tall wall of dense trees surrounded a large field that offered several pens with slender gates. Held within the wooden barricades were more human ponies dressed in varying forms of attire. Some were more comprehensively contained while others had more salacious elements to their outfit, such as stockings and other lingerie. Some were naked save for the one universal thing that united them all—their bits. Even these were as varied in design and construction as the assorted outfits of the human steeds. Some were little more than a bit held in place by a strap while others smothered the pony’s head within layers of rubber and leather. Some had gasmask apparatus’ incorporated into them, some threw up a plume, while others added an artificial mane. Some of the men and women had even had their hair shaven away at the sides to leave a long natural mane cascading through the strapping.

  Samantha was led aside and toward a large stable where other Masters and Mistresses could be seen leading males and females around.

  Master Talon stopped and lifted the crop to bar Samantha from continuing. A moment later, an elegant trap hurtled past with four ponies diligently hauling at it. A muscular, dark skinned man in extravagant riding attire lounged in the comfortable back with a dressage whip poised to correct any flagging rate.

  With the passing of the bizarre traffic, Talon continued toward the stable. When Samantha saw the rows of carefully constructed booths she started to dither and pull at her reins.

  Both sides of the stable had a line of tall gates with a straw covered interior. There were numerous ponies fastened within them. Some merely had their reins fastened to a wall fixture. Others had strange pipes assailing them. The tubes breached custom fittings in their uniforms and these ponies shuddered and stamped their feet as they were pleasured or punished. It was impossible to gauge from their frantic reactions as to which one was occurring to them. The tubes accessed loins, rears, breasts, and mouths. Were they feeding, providing enemas, squeezing, shocking, sucking, or providing power for inserted toys? Samantha was a little unnerved by such hi-tech accoutrements, but she also wanted to find out personally what such strange devices could do to a ponygirl.

  Samantha’s intimidated resistance was momentarily stalled when a woman cantered up at her side. The woman was tall and radiantly beautiful, with a slender mane of purple and black hair that dropped down her back like a mauve waterfall. She had lines of makeup around her eyes and dark lips that made her seem wickedly ferocious. A slender silver septum ring hung from her nose. She wore stockings beneath her knee-high boots and the feet of them formed into hooves much like Samantha’s. Her wrists and elbows were locked behind her back and a simple leather waist cincher with hoops at the side embraced her trim torso. Her bared breasts had rings through her large nipples and a set of reins had been attached to these so as to control her movements. A glance back along the slender moorings revealed an older man with a head of wispy white hair, a thick moustache, and dark sunglasses. He wore a plain black shirt, leather riding jodhpurs, and a mischievous smirk of amusement and satisfaction that was both wise and kind.

  The woman shook her chest and wiggled her breasts so that the clips swung from side-to-side. She gave a whinny of delectation and cast her head around before moving in and snuffling at Samantha’s side.

  Samantha’s respiration paused as she felt the soft breaths slip through the chinks in her oppressive uniform. The woman sniffed at her in true animal fashion even though she was unencumbered by bonds, bridle, or bit.

  “I think she likes her,” commented the man. “Maybe we should let them play together.”

  “Later, my friend. This pony needs to be put through her paces first,” replied Master Talon.

  “A novice?”

  “On loan from Lady Morgana.”

  “Enticing. Well, come on, Daemon. Let’s go. You can see the new pony later... if you’re good.”

  The reins gave some brief tugs that pulled gently at her salacious rings. Daemon refused to budge and with a delicate smile in the corners of her mouth, she began to shift from hoof-to-hoof, resisting her handler’s intentions.

  “Bad, Daemon. You’ll have a taste of the crop for this,” he said with a laugh then applied more force. The undeniable use of her nipples as the means to compel her to move swiftly defeated her rebellion, and with a swaggering step, she hurried after her Master.

  “Come on, pony,” said Master Talon.

  Samantha’s restricted gaze loitered on the departing form of Daemon and the rows of different human animals that filled each stall. With her attention focused on the strange and bizarre sights of the stable, she followed in Talon’s wake. The sight of so much stress and compelled obedience was awesomely arousing. Samantha wondered how many of the ponies were comprised of those that desperately sought such an existence and now revelled in it, and how many were those who were like her—submissive persons driven into it out of obedience. She also considered if any were of a darker fantasy. Were any of them those who might perhaps be genuine captives, who had no choice against the demands of bondage and cruel scourge? The allure of non-consensual fantasy was strong in her mind, but she pitied anyone who had it forced on them, especially if they had no predilection for such submission and ownership. However, the sudden lecherous fantasy of giving pleasure to a kidnapped and frightened slave so as to ease their plight and soothe their distress was a very agreeable one.

  “Looking for a stall, Talon?” asked a female voice from within a booth to their right.

  The woman was young, and although she was short, she had delicious feminine curves. Clad in dark trousers and tall heavy boots with a studded belt, she wore a tight vest top that revealed the hoops of nipple piercings beneath the fabric. She had short spiky hair that was immediately hidden as she wiped her brow and replaced her cowboy hat. The woman had a happy, joyous face, with lips that curled in the corners and eyes that sparkled.

  She held reins that attached to a tall male pony. Leather shorts were pinned beneath a brief corset with pink lacing down front and back and many rivets and rings on it. The rear of the waist-cinching garment also sported a tail.

  A chest harness embraced his torso and his arms were contained within a leather sheath, again with shocking pink lacing. He had leather kneepads and tall ornate boots with many buckles. His features were lost within a bridle and muzzle much like Samantha’s and his slender mane of black and pink hair ran through the weave and down his back to touch the plume of his tail.

  “Just for a moment,” he replied.

  “Here, take this one, I’m off with Fussbudjit here,” she said and gave a brief haul at the reins of her pony. He whinnied and stamped his feet as he straightened up.

  “I thought you weren’t attending?” he enquired as the pony was led out.

  “A little juggling of schedules, that’s all. You think I’d miss this event?”

  “Where’s your other slave? The girl?”

  “Up at the mansion, all nice and tied up tight to make her mo

re frisky for tonight.”

  “I see. Well, it’s good to see you. Have fun,” offered Talon.

  “You too. Say hello to Morgana for me,” she called back as she made for the fields.

  “Will do.”

  Samantha was led into the empty stall and her reins were removed. A short length of chain was clipped to a wall ring above her head and its twin lengths snatched either side of her bit.

  “I’ll be back shortly, pony. Be good while I’m gone,” said Master Talon and applied a swift trio of swats to Samantha’s presented rear. Samantha barked with the sudden fearsome shocks of heat and danced from hoof-to-hoof as the throbbing of the weals started to abate. Talon’s footsteps left the stall, the gate was slid shut, and the bolt was thrown.

  Samantha pulled back so that the chains snapped taut. She yanked from side-to-side, testing the parameters of her uniform. It was all very secure and the more she resisted, the more excited and lost to the mind-set of being a pet she became. Each tug, each struggle, each curtailed attempt to break free proved again and again with undeniable clarity that she was utterly controlled and owned. She was helpless to the wants of Master Talon. Whatever he wished of her, he could extract it with ease.

  Writhing lasciviously within her bondage, she savoured its constriction and containment. With frustration and ebullience, she yearned to continue her exploration of this new role. Samantha listened to the sounds of her brethren in the other stalls—their whinnies and cries, their muted and muffled howls and screams of ecstasy or agony. Samantha pictured herself in some of the places she had spied upon her entry. She relocated her body to the booths where the pony was virtually entombed in leather and latex, where metal sockets at groin, rear and nipple allowed shivering tubing to attach and apply their effects. She tugged at her bonds and imagined that she had been picked up from the streets, bound against her will and told that she would ever more be a ponygirl.

  The bolt was thrown and the door to her small chamber was hauled aside to distract her from her rota of intricately woven fantasy. Master Talon appeared and attached a set of lunge reins to her bit. He curled the excess loops into his hand and removed the chains. Talon then removed the links that impeded her steps and set them aside.

  Talon took up a lunge whip in the other hand. The main body of the whip was a four-foot woven and rigid length. The next couple of feet were pliant and flexible before the weapon became a brief length of wiry cord.

  Bringing the cord back to the handle, he grabbed it to fold the weapon neatly into a long oval then pulled Samantha after him without word.

  Samantha was led out of the stable, onto the grass and into the sunlight. The warm radiance of the sun created a cosy glow on her skin and made her eyes flutter with dissipation. Samantha basked in the glorious sunshine and took in the lush green surroundings with all the intensity and gratitude of a child seeing such open countryside for the first time in their lives.

  Samantha was stopped and Master Talon paid out the woven length of rein until he was stood back from his charge. The whip then stretched out and slithered upon the grass.

  Stepping away, Samantha reached the limit of the reins and gave some deliberate pulls against them. Talon tightened his hold and flicked the whip. The cord gave a startlingly loud crack right by her feet. Samantha gave a short croak of fright and danced on her heels.

  “Come on, pony. Walk for me,” he commanded.

  The whip was deployed again and flicked to bring another loud snap by her feet. Talon was accomplished with the weapon and it was clear that he could easily apply it to her should she continue to resist. The signal of the whip cracks by her toes reminded her of cowboys shooting around a farmers feet and commanding them to dance. Samantha could imagine how horrendously it would sting should the whip actually flick its mordant tip to her skin, and so with hesitant steps, she started to obey.

  Shuffling forward, the snap of the whip continued to sound around her hooves, making her frightened but also making her timid steps bolder.

  “Head up, pony,” he ordered as another note of encouragement sounded dangerously close to her flank. The proximity had Samantha’s chin flick up and her eyes to meet the tops of the trees as she trusted his judgement and continued to walk forward.

  “Knees up,” he stated and she felt the solid portion of the whip tap her thighs.

  Even though it was an intimidating chore, Samantha began to lift her steps higher and higher. She was not watching her terrain and was frightened by having her arms bound behind her. If she stumbled or fell, she would have no way to cushion her collapse. Samantha focused her attention to her gait and her balance. The sheer level of trust she was being made to hand over was scary and yet extremely exhilarating.

  “Come on, pony. Get those knees up,” he ordered.

  The solid portion of the weapon briefly retreated to apply slaps against her rear then returned to hovering before her at the required height. Samantha concentrated even harder and lifted her steps until her thighs touched the whip.

  “Good, pony. That’s it. Keep that head up,” he warned.

  Samantha strained her head back against the limits of her collar. With her gaze locked firmly to the cloudless sapphire vault, she continued to march around in a circle and gnaw upon her bit. The whip came away and without its guidance her steps started to lower a little. The weapon returned as a sharp swipe across her rear then cracked venomously about her toes.

  “Up, pony,” ordered Talon and the disciplinary strut was restored to provide a more physical guideline.

  Several times, she had to relearn the lesson through repetition. The moment the whip departed she could not help but start to waver and have her stride become more subdued. The periods before correction started to lengthen and huffing into the hot interior of her muzzle she finally managed a long period of uninterrupted marching.

  “Whoa, pony, that’s enough for now,” he said and tapped her stomach with the whip.

  Samantha slowed to a halt and stood panting against her bit. Keeping her head up she felt a lovely haze of contentment. As a maid or slave, it was so much harder to please the whimsical fancies of a Master or Mistress, but as an owned pet, it was a much simpler feat. A maid would be expected to anticipate, then be punished for perhaps assuming too much. As a pony, all she had to do was walk with her head and knees up and she was congratulated. It was pre-eminently refreshing and rewarding.

  “Good girl,” soothed Talon as he curled up the reins and returned to her side. “You deserve a treat.”

  His hand stretched forward to caress her breasts and run up and down the demanding uniform. Samantha swayed with pleasure as she continued to keep her muzzle aimed skyward.

  Talon grabbed the end of her snout and brought it down a little. He dropped a grape in through one of the nostril holes and acting without thought, Samantha threw her head back and stretched her jaws as wide as she could. With a little difficulty she manoeuvred the sweet fruit, squashed it with her tongue, and devoured it. The wet morsel was a treasure beyond equal, a treat that was more succulent than anything else that might have graced her palate. Only the heady intoxicating tang of her owner’s kisses or loins were sweeter.

  Talon’s hand brushed back along her hair and she leaned down into the petting. The role was consuming her with gusto, taking command of her thoughts and actions as she surrendered intellect and gave in to a simpler pattern of instinct and response.

  “Come on, pony. You did well, so let’s see what else you can do,” said Talon and led her back toward the stable.

  By the entrance, Samantha spied a wiry gig. The single wide seat of leather was flanked by two large wheels and the vehicle reached forward with two slender arms of black steel. Talon drew her between the shafts and lifted them up so that they were level with her waist. Two small clips were used to catch the hoops at her side and thus she was affixed to the contraption with surprising ease.

  The lunge reins were exchanged for a set of slim leather traces. Talon wandered back and settled into the seat. A dressage whip then lashed forward and gave a gentle crack against her rear.

  “Come on, pony, giddy up,” he said with an air of tranquillity.

  Samantha paused and gained another searing clip of encouragement. With a resigned huff she leaned forward and started to walk. She expected a struggle to acquire momentum but the light vehicle suddenly followed her with almost no effort. A pull to one rein drew her head aside and steered her around and toward the open fields of grass.

  The whip assailed her buttocks and Talon flicked the reins.

  “Legs up, pony. Remember your lessons,” he warned.

  The grip of the gig to her waist was both steadying and hampering. It gave her a weak reassurance of not falling sideways, but even though it was light, the slight weight made it harder to get her knees to the required height. Samantha devoted herself to the task. Despite her best efforts, it took another few doses of effulgent discipline to get her back to the levels she had previously acquired.

  Once she had kept the required movement for some time, Talon added another soft swipe of the whip and gave another pull to her reins.

  “Keep that head up, pony.”

  Samantha immediately complied. She was finally confident enough with her steps that she could handle the added stress of not looking down and seeing where she was putting her hooves. With her wellbeing forcibly handed over to Talon, she continued to draw him around the broad paddock.

  She was a leather-clad ponygirl drawing her Master around on his sunny excursion in the country. Walking along with a proud and lofty gait, and her false nose high in the air, Samantha lost herself to her private devolved thrills.

  “Trot, pony,” he ordered and another swing clipped the peaks of her rear. The increased distress of the stroke snatched her new mentality and Samantha instantly accelerated. Driven by response and rein she started to jog forward. The gig trundled behind her as she drew Talon further and further from the stables at a swift rate. Samantha’s breath raced and the muscles of her legs began to grow hot as she fought the rigours of her uniform. Such exercise was alien to her and even though it was taxing, she was in heaven. It was enthralling to run at the end of a set of reins, with chastisement poised behind her to correct every little flaw.

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