A Ponyboy in Pink

"Delivery for you!" said my Mistress Rashida, calling into the building from the street, as she used the reins to draw me to a stop outside the office of one of her elven clients. I stood on my two powerful hoofed legs and brought my hand-hooves to rest on the end of their short chain in display posture, lest I feel the whip again for forgetting.

"I'll be right down," said a voice from the first floor window - I think the place was some kind of legal practice.

I stood poised and still as I had been trained in the week since I'd cast the spell, the week since I'd been taken by the elves through their portal, to what I thought would be the life of a no-holds-barred sex-slave, serving forever in the elven queendom. I'd had ponyboy fantasies, sure, but the day after my eighteenth birthday, when I knew I was finally ready to cast the spell and let them enslave me, well, I guess I just never even considered that those fantasises would end up being my entire life.

My mistress's client emerged from her offices onto the wide, stone-paved street and reached up to the cart to accept the package my mistress had couriered over from the palace. We went all over the city and the surrounding area like this, me pulling the cart or with my mistress riding my shoulders, while my magically enhanced ponyboy body took the weight with ease. The client, I had no idea who she was, took a moment out of her day to inspect me.

"He's so lovely and fresh," she said. "How old?"

"Eighteen and a week, and my wife and I have had his age fixed there. We wanted a nice tender colt."

"The hot-pink harness really suits him, and I love the matching hair - I always like it when ponyboys get a proper mane rather keeping the human one. Did you make any other changes?"

"Quite a few - it's Shami who did the actual transformation magic, you know, she just finished her training. We really wanted him to be absolutely perfect. We did the ears, then the tweaks to his face, then we took away his hands and converted his feet too, gave him a tail, enhanced all his muscles, got rid of every last body hair and gave him his pony voice."

"Did you shrink the cock, or ...?"

"Yes, we wanted a cute little thing and it was too big for our ponygirl's very small pussy anyway. I always think smaller ones suit the skinny boys better."

"So you still have Head Girl, then?"

"Oh of course, she's ours for life. We're going to courier with them both, so we can expand the business. I've got more deliveries to make, sorry - I'd better go. Send me a thought message if you need anything picking up."

"Sure thing, Rashida. Oh look how his tail swishes - he must love to run!"

"He'd better. Pull out now, Pretty in Pink. Good ponynoy!"

I neighed with real enthusiasm. Mistress Rashida cracked her whip in the air behind me anyway, as was her right as my owner, just so I knew not to disobey. Lifting my knees high with every step and letting my cock sway and bounce, I used my enhanced strength to draw the cart away from the offices and into the street, where I soon had the little vehicle rumbling along at high speed.

With blinders on, I could only see directly in front of me, and as my hooved legs ate up the distance to our next delivery, I let my mind wander over my life before and after I'd cast the spell that I'd found tucked away in an old book in the library of my elite school. It called out to me somehow, drawing me to it and making sure I would keep its secret, until I cast it and found myself whisked through a portal into what I thought would be the world of my dreams.

Such dreams I'd always had of serving the most dominant of women, and indeed, that was what I now found myself doing. I had landed, naked as the spell required, on soft hay that lined the floor of a locked cell in the dungeons of this elven queendom. Elven guards - women, like all elves - had come in a while later after hearing my tentative calls, and had quickly shackled and collared me, then dragged me through the dungeons into a large holding area where I was chained up to the wall alongside a dozen other naked eighteen-year-old boys and girls who had cast the same spell all across the world. The elves magicked my voice away, muting me, and that was the last time I spoke like a human.

My owners bought me the next day from a government-run slave market, and they took me back to their small home in the centre of the city on their cart, which was pulled by a slim, small-breasted and fair-skinned blonde ponygirl wearing a cherry-red harness that both held her and put her utterly on display. On the cart, I looked over my new mistresses and found them to be immensely to my liking, not that that really mattered to them.

Mistress Rashida and Mistress Shami were, I gathered over the next week, fairly new to the elven queendom, having been changed from humans only a few years before when the elves had sensed their dominant minds in danger as they faced a civil war in their country. Where my skin was pale and a little transparent, theirs was dark and strong. Mistress Rashida wore her black hair long, in braids that fell down her back, while Mistress Shami kept hers close-cropped. They dressed in classic equestrian outfits or long green or white dresses (when not working) and they were pure, dominant divinities in my eyes.

I was jolted from my reverie when Mistress Rashida drew me to a stop outside our next destination, where I waited in the street while she went inside with a parcel to make sure the delivery reached the right hands. An older elf approached me and stroked my face as I stood stock still, not daring to resist at all, for I knew that the magic cast over me by the elves would have wracked my naked, harnessed body with pain if I even thought of violence or escape. I rarely did - after all, I had wanted to be a slave.

The older elf ran her hands all over me, picking out my enhanced muscles and lingering on my tight bottom, then violating me with a finger while I stamped and snorted. My cock grew erect, and I looked down at it and blushed - it was a lot thinner and shorter than when my owners had bought me, but they were right that it fit better inside Head Girl, their ponygirl, that way. The little blonde certainly seemed to enjoy it, almost as much as she did having my tongue on her clit or her arse.

"What do you think of him?" said my mistress as she came back out into the street and hopped up onto the cart.

"He's a fine animal, very sweet-natured and well-behaved. I love the bells on his nipples, by the way."

"Thanks! My wife thought those up, she wanted him to tinkle charmingly as he ran."

"I love the lipstick too - hot pink gloss looks so good on him."

"We thought so - it's the permanent kind, doesn't come off unless we magic it off."

"Been an elf long?"

"A few years - he's only my second slave."

"Well done for breaking him so quickly!"

"Thanks! See you. Up and away, Pretty in Pink! More deliveries to make back in the city, ponyboy!"

I neighed my assent and the older elf stepped out of my way. My cock remained erect as I ran, and for some reason in that moment I remembered the feeling of it being depilated then shrunk by Mistress Shami's elven magic, which only made me harder as I pulled the cart and my other owner along. Mistress Rashida, obviously reading my thoughts, laughed and called me a good boy, and I got goosebumps at the words just like I always did.

My eyebrows and my braided hot-pink mane were the only hairs I had left anywhere on my body, and their removal had made me feel like my manhood was being stripped away and replaced with something softer and prettier, to be displayed for the pleasure of others. Just as my slave body should be. I kept on lifting my knees high as I ran for my mistress, taking her closer and closer to the next drop-off point, which she would guide me to with word and whip.

It hit me then that the older elf had described me as broken quickly - so quickly. There had been magic involved, for certain. I knew, on the marrow-deep level of complete certainty, that I was a ponyboy and not a human, and I knew that I was something, not someone, something owned and cared for and free only to enjoy the fruits of being owned. I could barely imagine not being the property of Mistresses Rashida and Shami, and the attempt made me queasy and caused me to stumble, which brought a slash of the whip. I thanked my mistress in my mind, for the discipline that I needed, as a little blood seeped from the cut left by her strike.

So there I was, Pretty in Pink and utterly grateful to the two beautiful elves who had taken me into their home, or at least into their little stables at the back of their home. Grateful for how they had answered my yearning for an owner by owning me, grateful for how they had released the slave inside me by stripping away my dignity, my self-control, my old body and my old name, until all that was left was a slutty, pink-haired and pink-harnessed ponyboy who would pull when ordered, run when ordered, dance when ordered. All achieved in just one, intense week. Surely, my magnificent mistresses were going places.

We made two dozen more stops with the cart, and I stood patiently waiting for my mistress each time she got down off the cart and left me parked in the street. It was often the way that a passing elf or even a human slave would stop to fondle my bare little balls, to caress my tight bottom or run their hands over my slim torso and pick out the ribs that showed through, or to run their fingers over my gloss-pink lips and then put a finger in my mouth for me to suck on. By the time we got back to the small cottage where my mistresses lived, my cock ached and I longed for a release that could only come from the grace and favour of my owners. I knew I must not beg for it.

"Welcome back," said Mistress Shami to her wife, and to me, as Mistress Rashida unhitched me from the cart and gave me some food and water.

They kissed passionately as I stood in display position, legs apart and hand-hooves up and on show, and my cock twitched as I watched their able hands roam over each other's bodies. The sun was starting to sink low, but there were a few hours of daylight left, and I wondered if my owners would have further tasks for me or if they would stable me straight away.

"Pip's little pecker is keen, isn't it?" said Mistress Shami

"I do wish you wouldn't shorten his name like that. He's called Pretty in Pink and he needs to know he's a pretty boy, don't you, Pretty in Pink?"

I whinnied in the highest register I could reach and acknowledged the wonderful humiliation of my name - from then on, I knew I would have to be the prettiest ponyboy I could for Mistress Rashida.

"Fine, you win, Rashida. Come, Pretty in Pink, I want you and Head Girl to practise a little dressage for us while we watch, in the back garden. If your performance is sufficiently sparkling, I may even reward your little willy with a cum. Neigh sweetly for me to show your thanks."

The sweetest neigh I could muster immediately passed my lips, and Mistress Shami laughed at how I put my whole body into it, even wiggling my hand-hooves around to add emphasis. We left the cart behind and she took me around to the back garden, where the blonde, pale ponygirl known as Head Girl stood waiting, her cherry red harness catching the low sun and seeming to burn with light. Save her mane and eyebrows, she was as hairless as me, and she differed from me only in that she had been branded already, whereas I still had that to come. The brand sat on her belly, a simple thing that spelled out her name and nothing more.

I noticed her nipples had been pierced like mine, and just like mine, she now wore a bell on each one, which was coloured red to match her harness and lipstick. She greeted me with a whinny, then her eyes fell down to my cock and she licked her lips and shuffled her slender thighs at the thought of it - at least, that's what I guessed she was thinking.

"Slut," said Mistress Shami to her, and Head Girl nodded. "Head Girl, show Pretty in Pink what you've learned. Ponyboy, you will copy the movements afterwards, so pay attention and do not disappoint me. Only bad boys disappoint, and we both know how much you long to be a good boy, don't we?"

Head Girl took on the expression of rapt concentration that she wore when she danced, then Mistress Shami picked up a music cube and started the magical device playing a jaunty tune with a good beat, which Head Girl could keep time to. Head Girl wiggled her little bottom to the music, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4. This she did ten more times, I thought, all while she faced forward and kept her hand-hooves perfectly still on the chain that linked them to her collar.

When the music changed, she jumped around and faced away from Mistress Shami, then wiggled her bottom in time to beat again, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, another ten times, while her tail flicked in time too. Head Girl turned back in a fluid motion, then started to quick step in time to the beat, lifting her legs high and bringing them lightly down while the bells on her small breasts jingled with each beat and the ponygirl moved her hand-hooves in the same way.

Next, Head Girl set off around the small garden, prancing with high steps to the beat and somehow making the bells jingle in time with each prance. She circled round and round, moving perfectly, and making both our owners giggle as the bells tinkled away. After twelve revolutions - this was a dance of twelves, I supposed - she reversed course and pranced backward for one revolution, then came to a halt and faced our mistress, then leaned forward and jingled her bells as the finale.

"Bravo, Head Girl, that was marvellous," said Mistress Shami, "Now, Pretty in Pink, you try. I want fairy footsteps and nice high knees, ponyboy."

I blushed with the humiliation of being ordered to dance for my mistress's amusement, then jumped as Mistress Rashida's crop shot out and struck my buttock to punish me for being slow to start. I took up the same position that Head Girl had stood in, facing my owners, then waited for the music to start again.

The jaunty beat kicked in and I felt the shame rise as I wiggled my bottom, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, to the music and to my mistress's great gales of laughter. The motion made my hard, short cock wiggle at the same time, and I could feel my little balls bouncing around as I wiggled over and over, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4. I tried to keep count through the distractions, and focused my mind on being a good slave. Give in, give in, submit. It was all I could do.

I jumped around and started to wiggle my bottom right at my mistresses. "Open your legs a little more, Pretty in Pink", said Mistress Shami, "I want to see your balls jiggle. And remember to move the bells in time." Fearing the whip, I did just as ordered, and I felt my blush deepen as my balls peaked out from under my tight bottom and I simultaneously tried to get the hang of making the bells jingle in time. I had to flick each nipple in time with a wiggle, smiling through the pain like a good ponyboy was supposed to, and after several agonising tries, I started to get the hang of it, which drew a little applause that made me happier than was reasonable.

Next came the quick stepping on the spot, followed by the prancing in circles. As I had expected, it was harder to move around and get the steps right with the beat, as well as jingling the bells at the right time. I envied Head Girl the easy grace with which she controlled her ponygirl body, and I knew that soon I would have to master moving just like her. I tried my best, to catcalls from my owners as my cock bobbed up and down. They whipped me every lap as I passed them, with a few quick words to tell me what I was doing wrong - moving too much like a lumbering man and not enough like the fancy ponyboy I was supposed to be.

I completed the twelfth lap with a tear forming in my eye from the pain and the embarrassment, and then I bent forward to jingle my nipple-bells for the finale and stood back up in display posture. My mistresses clapped haltingly and I stood in display posture while they discussed how to improve my performance. Truth told, I much preferred running deliveries to dancing for them - it was more my element. Then, I was ashamed at that unslavelike thought - my owners would choose my element for me.

"I think we've still not broken him completely," said Mistress Shami.

"He's been such a good boy for me today on the cart, though, and I do think he's coming on in leaps and bounds."

"Oh, I've no doubt, none at all. You're a wonderful trainer and he's a remarkable ponyboy, a real sparkling, twinkling diamond, but I think there's still some human pride left in him."

"I agree - it'll disappear in time as he becomes fully his new pony self."

"I think it could go sooner, though. I went shopping today - let's go inside and I'll show you what I got."

My mistresses disappeared inside their cottage and I remained standing to attention, having not been ordered otherwise. Their laughter could be heard clear through the walls and my imagination ran riot at whatever they were about to do to me. They re-emerged carrying some objects made of pink material, and moved to either side of me, front and back, with what I realised was some new clothing in hand.

"Leg up, Pretty in Pink, and I'm touched to see your little pecker stayed nice and hard while we were in the house. You're a very horny boy today. Now, let's get these on you, that leg, now the other, good, and I'll just pull them up," said Mistress Shami,

I stood there, silent and with growing ... excitement, which surprised me ... as my owners arranged the hot-pink ruffled knickers on my bottom and threaded my cock through the special hole that had been sewn into the front of them. Next, they added a hot-pink tutu just above the knickers, which did nothing to hide my small cock, and then they finished me off with a matching ruff that they buckled over my collar. Mistress Rashida brought out a mirror from the house and let me look at myself.

This was undeniably my life now. I had no control left, and only one choice to make. I could resist, uselessly, making us all miserable, or, I could give in totally and completely, could become a bright pink ponyboy with a penchant for frilly knickers or whatever else my mistresses put me in. It wasn't so much overcoming the humiliation as letting it become part of me, letting the thrill in and then using it to be the best Pretty in Pink I could be. I made the only choice I could.

"Dance for us again, Pretty in Pink," said Mistress Shami.

I neighed prettily to her and waited for the music to begin. In the frilly knickers, I had to work harder to make my bottom wiggles noticeable, and my mistresses rewarded my willingness to debase myself with real applause, sincerely meant. I so loved their applause that I sank deeper into my pony mind, and I found there was a new ease to my body that meant I could dance with something more like the fairy footsteps they wanted.

I turned and wiggled my frilly bottom to them, to more applause, and I felt the ruff wiggling in time and found that the whole ensemble moved with a pleasing symmetry. The bells were still a problem, and the pain grew and grew through the performance, but I accepted it just like the knickers, tutu and ruff; it was what my owners wanted to give me, and I wanted to take whatever they gave me and love it.

I completed the performance and drew some more applause from my mistresses. They brought out matching knickers, ruff, and tutu for Head Girl and dressed her in them, then they set us to learning to do the dance in time together, which meant I had to try and reach Head Girl's level of grace, from which I still fell far short. Mistress Rashida told me I'd reach it in time, but she didn't spare the crop even once.