Before her thoughts got further confused Sam pulled out Beauty’s bit and held her chin so she looked her square in the eye.
‘Now I’m going to ask you a question in a moment and I want you to give me an honest answer. I don’t want you to say it just to please me. I want you to tell me the exact truth about how you feel. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Mistress,’ Beauty said, her lovely big brown eyes very wide and puppy like.
‘You heard me talking about you earlier to Paring and my parents. They’re not sure you enjoy hard punishment and think it might slow you down. I think you do and it’ll make you try even harder. Or at least it won’t harm your performance. Which is it?’
‘You really want the truth, Mistress?’ Beauty asked anxiously.
‘Yes, and I promise I won’t punish you whatever you say.’ Sam chuckled as she realized the absurdity that involved. ‘Although of course if I’m right you’d enjoy being punished.’
‘No, Mistress. It would hurt.’
Sam frowned. ‘But if you’re really a pain slut and masochist how can it?’
‘If I stub my toe it hurts, Mistress. I don’t come. It’s how I get the pain that matters. A light spanking will always turn me on in any circumstances. Pain mixed with sex helps and I can take more. I think I am quite slutty like that. But I only really enjoy serious suffering if I know it’s appreciated, Mistress. Pain for punishment is not the same as pain for giving pleasure to somebody I care about. You see... I’ve really got to like who does it to me. I’ve got to... well, love them.’
‘Well, that’s all right. I’m your owner. You’ve got to love me.’
She saw Beauty’s mouth pinch unhappily. Why did I start this, Sam wondered? But it was too late to turn back now. ‘All right tell me the truth again.’
‘I don’t know if I love you yet, Mistress. I hope I will. I want to... but, honestly, I don’t know yet.’
Sam took in a deep breath. Well she had asked for the truth. Even though you could buy slaves’ bodies you could not buy their affection. Previously that had not mattered to her but now Beauty was her own slave she wanted her to be perfect and in the stories perfect slaves always fell in love with their masters or mistresses. However it seemed that life was more complicated than in the storybooks.
Enough of this, she thought impatiently. Beauty is mine to do with as I want and right now I’m going to use her for pleasure.
She put her gag back in, then she activated the saddle. Beauty gasped and groaned and rolled her eyes up. Her hips jerked as the electric finger sent a jolt deep into her rectum. The dildo began to pump steadily up into Beauty’s vagina, making her silver ink-labelled vulva bulge and suck in. The clitoral spur wheel rolled up and down the deep, peeled-wide valley of her cleft, which began to brim with wet slickness. Beauty rocked forward and back, swaying from her up-stretched arms, rolling her head from side to side. Her breasts began to rise and fall faster as her breathing became more excited. Sam could smell the excitement rising from her hot cleft as it was remorselessly reamed out and repeatedly jabbed by the spur points.
Oh God she did look lovely when she suffered, Sam thought! How could this not be right for her?
Sam hooked a finger through Beauty’s right nipple ring, pulling her big globe out into a fat cone and with the spanking paddle began to beat the soft mound. Ripples shivered through Beauty’s brown flesh while she ground her hips ecstatically into the impaling saddle.
* * *
Much later, as Sam cuddled Beauty’s sweaty body to her under the covers, Sam found a faint niggle remained in the back of her mind, spoiling what had been an otherwise delightful night’s pleasure. It seemed she heard echoes of Paring’s and her father’s warnings and, disturbingly, Beauty’s own words. This was where thinking too much about slave’s feelings got you, she thought angrily. It was absurd but she now felt that she was on some kind of probation.
* * *
The next morning Sam was determined she would start Beauty’s home exercise regime as she meant to go on. She’d loved showing her off at the stables but she suspected she had been very lucky going clear over the fences for the first time with a new pony and rig. She needed more practice in private before she risked that again, especially if Tess Harrow was watching. Besides, she had the feeling that nobody thought she had the determination and self-discipline to train properly for a place on the Cup team. Well she’d show them.
Harnessing Beauty up Sam took her for a canter along the paths that ran through the rough gardens about the lake. Their grounds were surrounded by fields and were well screened from the nearest public road, so she could run Beauty in the open without any worries.
Once again Beauty pulled the rig strongly, even across the varied terrain of gravel paths and rough grass. Sam made the sharpest turns she could to mimic the corners in a jump course, fighting to keep the rig steady as the wheels dug ruts into the grass. But although it was a thrill to feel Beauty respond to her to readily, it was a bit boring galloping round out here without anybody to race with or watch. Her parents were out and her Grandfather was spending a day in bed. She decided that tomorrow she’d take her to the stables and run her on the proper course again, Tess or no Tess. At the same time she could invite some members she was friendly with to bring their ponies round to her when they were not at the club and they could take rides together.
By now Beauty was lathered in sweat and was beginning to stumble while Sam was feeling the strain in her legs, back and stomach. This training business was also hard work. Of course if she wanted to get into the stable team she knew they would have to practice hard. And she was supposed to exercise more herself. That was going to be a bore. Wasn’t it the duty of the slave to adapt herself to her rider? It was her function to do the hard work, after all.
She guided Beauty back to her stall in the slave block at a gentle walk. When she entered the big double doors she saw Cleaver working at his bench. He looked up at her and Beauty with interest
‘How is she performing, Miss Samantha?’ he asked.
‘Very well, except Mr Paring said I should exercise her hard each day, but I think she’s already about done.’
‘Were you running her fast?’
‘Yes.’
‘For how long?’
‘Er... about twenty minutes.’
‘Then it’s no wonder she’s blown. Ponygirls are not real ponies, even if you harness them like them. In fact when run like horses they’re less efficient for their weight. Working through pedals and gears utilizes their strength better, as Rowland demonstrated. You’d get more miles out of her if she was harnessed to a slave bike. But ponygirls are traditional so we still keep them. It still means a ponygirl couldn’t pull a rig and driver for very long at competition speed. They can only perform like that for a few minutes at a time. You’ll only be able to ride her at the gallop for short periods and then she’ll need a proper rest before you can run her again.’
Of course Sam knew all this but she realised she had been carried away by the thrill of Beauty’s presence between her thighs. In reality she was just another slave girl and she could not expect the impossible from her.
‘But that means I’ll have to keep putting her in and out of harness and rubbing her down and - ’
‘Yes, Miss Samantha. You make ponygirls helpless and dependent on you. That’s part of their appeal. But in return they need to be properly cared for. That’s the price you pay for having a luxury like her.’
‘But she’s got to be exercised or else I won’t get on the team. Mr Paring said at least an hour a day when I was at home.’ She did not mention they were both meant to exercise for the same period.
‘Well if you want to build up her stamina then it’s got to be done at a pace she can take. You can put her on the slave mill if you want and we can agree a regular session for her.’
Sam thought this was a better idea than having to keep riding and stopping all day. ‘Right, I’ll do that. Can she go on now?’
‘No, Miss. First you’ve got to clean her up and water her and she’s got to rest. And you might check over your rig and give it a clean and polish as well. You won’t win any prizes if your rig fails in the middle of the competition. It needs regular maintenance.’
‘But... I don’t know anything about that,’ Sam protested. ‘Can’t you get a lad to do it?’
‘If you recall, by your father’s instruction everything to do with Beauty is your sole responsibility, Miss. You can learn. I’ve kept the instructions it came with. It’s not that hard.’
Sam was about to reprimand Cleaver for talking to her like that when she recalled her father’s warning. ‘Yes, Mr Cleaver,’ she said with as much humility as she could muster.
And so Sam washed and rubbed Beauty down, combed her hair, gave her water and put her in her stall to rest. Beauty looked over the stall gate with interest as Sam then cleaned and polished the hobby horse, checked its tyre pressures and linkages and oiled the bearing. When she was finished she felt so grimy she had to go into the house to have a shower. By then it was lunchtime.
When she returned after lunch she negotiated with Cleaver, time on the treadmill for Beauty. They agreed an hour a day in the early afternoon. Cleaver was usually out at that time so there would be no clash with other slavegirls needing to use it.
‘Perhaps while she’s on it you could maintain the horse or clean her stall, Miss,’ Cleaver suggested helpfully.
‘Perhaps,’ Sam said doubtfully. She did not like the way her duties and obligations were mounting up. Owning a ponygirl was meant to be fun.
The treadmill was a massive device over a hundred years old that stood in its own compartment to one side of the main doors. How many miles countless slave girls had laboured on it nobody could guess, but with regular maintenance it still worked perfectly well.
Its main structure was a cast iron wheel with slender spokes some nine feet in diameter. This was mounted on a heavy hollow axle supported from one side by a cast iron and wood bracket and base. The wheel’s rim was formed of yard long wooden slats that formed a continuous ribbon of treads. To use the device Beauty stood on the treads with her arms bent backward and crooked.
Protruding through the hollow hub of the mill wheel from its supporting mount and separate from it were four tubular rods, which were variously angled and bent after they emerged into the space with the drum of the treadmill. The first of these rods bent sideways and then turned a right angle and passed between the insides of Beauty’s bent elbows and the supple curve of her back. Her wrist cuffs were chained across her stomach and a crossbar was screwed across the end of the rod so she could not slip her arms off it.
The second of the hub rods projected behind Beauty and then bent outward over her bottom. It carried an adjustable socket which had plugged into it a paddle-like thin wooden board with tin tacks hammered through it. The third rod crossed in front of Beauty’s breasts. It carried a pair of chains which were hooked to her nipple rings and a second set that hung downwards and hooked to her labial rings. The fourth tube angled inward once it was above the level of Beauty’s head to where it supported a large pair of brass balls set on a vertical axle linked by levers to a sleeve that ran down into the tube. It was a device that every Irontown child would recognize as a Watt conical pendulum governor.
In front of the wheel a post rose from the right front corner of the frame base and was capped by a panel bearing several brass knobs and dials. It was connected by chains and levers through the hollow hub to the rods that surrounded and confined Beauty. Cleaver adjusted their positions carefully and then turned to the control panel.
‘Best see how she does at a moderate pace first,’ he told Sam. ‘Let’s say thirty revolutions a minute for fifteen minutes. Remember this is harder work than running on the flat. She has to drive the wheel round as well.’
As he threw the release, the lever over the spiked pad behind Beauty began to sink towards her bottom while the rod to which her nipples and labia were chained began to turn, tightening the chains. Bracing herself against the rod about which her arms were secured Beauty began to run, straining to overcome the inertia of the wheel for the first few strides, and then gradually getting it up to speed. As the wheel turned the governor above her head began to spin, throwing the balls outward and so raising the sleeve to which they were connected. As it spun faster the spiked pad which had been close to her buttocks lifted away and the rod that had been reeling in her nipple and labia chains reversed its motion, letting the chains go slack. When the wheel reached a revolution every two seconds the rod stopped turning. As long as she maintained the pace that had been set for the time indicated the devices would stay that way. But if she slowed down the rod would wind in the chains once more and the paddle would descend. If the wheel turned too slowly or stopped before its allotted time or number of revolutions, a trip would be activated that began cocking the paddle and then releasing it in a spanking motion, powered by a big coil spring in the base of the wheel that was wound up as it turned.
With satisfaction Sam watched Beauty’s breasts bounce with a jingle of chains and her bottom swell and roll. She really was a lovely mover. And if she needed more encouragement she could always put something more painful in the socket that held the spiked board. Holly, stinging nettles, long needles...
Her thoughts were interrupted by Cleaver who said: ‘Well I’ve got to get along now, Miss Samantha. I’ll be an hour or so. And don’t leave her unattended, of course.’
‘Of course not.’
After he was gone Sam looked at Beauty jogging away steadily, then at her watch. This was certainly an easier way to train a ponygirl, but surely with the counters set did she really have to stand over her? She supposed she could read or else listen to something on her headphones. Of course according to Paring she was also meant to be working out herself.
Sam looked at the other exercise and posture devices set out about the room for the use of slavegirls in their training. No doubt they did their job but she would not be seen dead using a device designed for a slave to use. Maybe she could do some basic weight work, although it always seemed incredibly boring simply hefting lumps of metal about. If she had to exercise she’d much rather swim. She enjoyed that.
Well why not? That would neatly take care of her exercise obligations and the poolhouse was only a little way along from the slave quarters beyond a screen of trees. Of course Cleaver had said she should not leave Beauty unattended, but that was silly. She would come to no harm on the wheel. If she finished her allotted time everything turned off and she could stand there until Sam came back.
Sam ran back to the house to collect her costume and a towel and then went along to the poolhouse. The pool was enclosed by sheltering walls, a loggia and a row of changing booths. It had a roof that was retracted now the weather was warmer. But her parents rarely used it at this time of day, preferring the evenings for a swim. Sam changed quickly in one of the cubicles and then plunged in.
It was while she was on her second length that the idea came to her. When Cleaver was out she could not only exercise Beauty but also get her to clean and maintain the rig. Weren’t girls like her meant to be good with their hands? Or perhaps they taught them at Gryndstone? Anyway, she should be sure it was in full working order even more than Sam, since she was in more intimate contact with it. Meanwhile she could go for a regular swim, which was also good exercise.
Training a ponygirl, Sam decided, did not have to be that hard if you used some common sense.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sam’s complacency did not last long, however. The next day, as she led Beauty into the Foundry Stables yard, she saw Tessa in the middle of a crowd showing Silver off. Sam could hear Silver making
a range of realistic sounding equine sounds such as neighing, whinnying and snorting. And each time, for some reason, the onlookers applauded.
Danny Stamp was standing on the edge of the crowd, this time dressed in his second hand riding gear. He looked round as Sam appeared.
‘Oh... hallo, Miss Fillister. Hallo Beauty.’
‘What’s going on?’ Sam asked, not worrying about his status for once.
‘It’s Miss Harrow. She’s had Silver fitted with a muter.’
Sam had heard of muters. It was a relatively new procedure developed by the Shackleswell centre for slave medicine and control. It involved putting delicate plastic sheaths and a miniature control unit over a slavegirl’s vocal chords, making it impossible for her to form intelligible words. By including magnetic particles into the composition of the sheaths they could be re-set by an external control unit to modify their vocal range. It was somewhat controversial, since it might be judged to infringe a slave’s rights, but as it was easily reversible and did no lasting harm it had been permitted.
‘...so now,’ Tess was explaining, holding up a phone-sized device with a metal loop at one end, ‘when the full mute is activated she is dumb, except for grunting. When it’s turned off she can talk normally. When it’s turned to “pony” she can only make pony noises. I was thinking about having dog as well for fun but that might confuse her.’
The other’s laughed. Tess appeared to notice Sam for the first time. ‘Oh, there you are, Sam. I’ve just had Silver fitted with one of the new muting systems.’
‘Yes, so I can see,’ Sam said. ‘It’s very amusing but what’s the point? If you want a girl to be quiet you gag her. If you want her to neigh you train her to neigh.’
‘Well according to research it will help a slave become more like the animal they sound like,’ Tess replied assuredly, making it sound as though it was something everybody else but Sam already knew. ‘It means Silver will be a better pony. It’ll help her concentrate.’ She looked round at the others. ‘Want to see how she does over the jumps?’
Ponygirls of Irontown Page 6
