A Ponyboy in Pink Ch. 02

"I hear you, Nova. Where on Earth did all these new slaves come from, anyway?"

"Coach tour, if you can believe it. It went careening off a hillside somewhere mountainous with terrible roads, and we put a portal in before it landed and captured everyone on board. Two new elves, thirty-three males and twenty-nine females. I got the rest on consignment from the government, the harvest of one of those spells they hide in the human world. Volunteers!"

"Just like Pretty in Pink, then," said Mistress Shami.

"Was he now? Well, no regrets, you little cutey, that sweet little cock of yours certainly shows me you're enjoying your new life. Whinny for me? Oh, how lovely. Is he for sale?"

"No chance, Nova. He's one in a million. It's a rare slave that craves humiliation like Pretty in Pink does."

"Off with you, then. We head out in half an hour."

Nova's words rattled around in my head as my mistresses took Head Girl and me to a cart and got us hitched securely to it. I was disappointed that I wouldn't be carrying an owner on my shoulders all day, but I'd enjoyed the last half-hour, and that was enough for a good slave like me. Craving humiliation, though? Was that right? True, I'd grown to love my mistresses and their ways, had grown used to being dressed in pink and to all the remarks about my cock -- it wasn't like they'd shrunk it down ridiculously, it was just a good fit for Head Girl. But then, they could have made Head Girl's pussy wider with magic, but they didn't. They'd chosen to shrink me instead, and every time it was mentioned, it made me remember who owned me and what was in their power. Everything.

And that constant reminder made me feel so owned, so controlled, and so like a part of the family I had always wanted to be. I stood, hitched to the cart, with pink harness, pink hair, pink lipstick, pink earrings, pink garter and pink crotchless knickers, and it wasn't just the pink buttplug that kept me horny. Oh no, it was the knowledge that every time anyone looked at me, they saw me for the person I really was. A sweet-natured ponyboy slave who would do anything to please his owners. They were going to humiliate me every day of my possibly four-hundred year lifespan, and I was going to crave every moment of it if it meant they kept me and used me and cared for me.

I ruminated on my cravings as the market streets grew busier and the slaves were gradually loaded onto the carts. With my blinders on I had to turn my head this way and that to see them all, but it was well worth it, for here was the whole range of human reactions to enslavement by the elves. One cart was loaded up with middle-aged white women who were slim, in good shape and with expensive haircuts. As they were brought out in a line, their shackles let them try to cover themselves at least a little bit, but when each was transferred to a cage, they had their arms locked over their heads and their legs spread, standing and shaking. Tears of shame rolled down their cheeks.

I couldn't see all the carts, but I did see a few. One was filled with men my age -- eighteen to twenty, I'd guess -- who moved without hesitation and who never once tried to cover up their nudity. I thought they must be voluntary slaves like me, lost young ones from all over the world who had found the same spell-book I had on a dusty library shelf or in the back of an antiques shop, and cast it as soon as they were ready to serve a superior sex. Each could easily be destined for the same life as me.

Another cart was being filled with much older men -- forties, fifties and even sixties. They came out in a struggling, jostling line that overflowed with useless attempts at escape and even violence. Every try made them dizzy and sick, thanks to the spells that had been worked over them, but none of them gave up the struggle. One by one, magically strong elves pushed them up into cages and shackled their writhing bodies there, then walked away without a word. The males' shouting grew so loud that an elf decided to magically mute them, and calm came over the carts again.

Our cart's load were brought out. Five ludicrously pretty young girls from at least three continents, and three lean Asian males who huddled together to try and stay away from the cages. None could have been more than nineteen, and each had a 'V' painted on their belly -- the slave-sign for a virgin.

They would be highly prized as pleasure slaves, personal servants, or perhaps human pets, and from what I had picked up as my mistresses chatted to other elves we met around the city, virgin slaves were usually cherished by the one elf who would own them their entire lives, who would be able to mould their sexual awakening in just the way they liked. My cock twitched as the slavegirls went past, and I saw two of them looking at me with a horrified smirk. I stood proud. They too would learn to take pride in their slavery soon enough.

Head Girl noticed me noticing the girls and snorted a warning, and I looked back at her and whinnied an apology. They might be pretty, but she was my world, and nothing compared to her. She smiled back at me, recognising the submission in my eyes, then she returned her gaze forward and took up a resting display posture which I copied. Passing elves paid our owners compliments on their fine animals, and a few even asked if I had a price. No sale, but the approval went down well and my mistresses got to advertise their new transformation service.

Once all the carts were full of human slaves, all on display in their standing cages, the convoy of wagons pulled away from the market and snaked its way slowly through the twisting market streets until we found one of the city's main roads. From there, it was a straight shot west to the countryside, and I settled into the pleasant rhythm of my running, pulling body, while my erect cock bounced up and down and the buttplug kept up its stimulation. Head Girl and I synchronised our strides, and our owners only struck our backs or shoulders with the whip when we got too excited and sped up with their precious cargo. I knew I deserved every stroke.

It took an hour's fast run to reach the first village where we set up shop for a few frenzied minutes of trading. One of the virgin girls from our cart was bought by a woman with a ponyboy pulling a cart, and I could tell from the way the elf inspected her that the same fate awaited for her as had befallen me.

With our load barely lightened, we sped on to the next town, a larger place where we stopped in the heat of the midday sun and three of the virgin slaves we carried were exchanged for large sums of gold. Two of the Asian males went to an elf who made them get on their knees and bark for her, and she led them away crawling in the dirt on long leashes, with their cocks shrivelled up in fear. The female slave we sold went to an elf who looked just as young as she -- perhaps a recently converted elf buying her new slave. She held the girl by the hand and took her off to her new life.

My mistresses and the other elves in the convoy ate a pleasant lunch and watered the human animals pulling the carts, then they whipped us up into a faster run to reach the final town of the day. Mercifully, the road was of a high quality, and with the lightened load, the going was easy. When we arrived there and parked up the wagons outside the town square, it became clear the local elves were showing their disapproval at being last in the pecking order by staying away.

Nova stomped across the stone-paved town square where our carts were parked to form the impromptu slave market, then she looked up to my mistresses on the vehicle and addressed them. "I need to put on some kind of show or these elves will take it as some kind of insult. I draw the order of the towns out of a hat -- everyone knows I'm fair about it -- but they've taken offence just like I knew they would. Did you bring the stuff?"

"We brought it, of course," said Mistress Shami.

"Right, Pretty in Pink, it's time to get you unhitched so you can show off your dance moves. Don't disappoint us!" said Mistress Rashida.

"I'll start spreading the word around," said Nova.

My owners hopped down from the cart and unfastened me from it, then they put me on a long leash and led me into the centre of the town square, in front of the watching eyes of two dozen elves and twice as many human slaves, plus the convoy we'd come in with. Mistress Shami had me limber up by running quick circles, and once Mistress Rashida had unpacked her bag, she called me over to get me 'dressed to impress', as she called it.

She started by adding pink eyeshadow and eyeliner to my face, then she took some pink satin tubes and encased my legs in them. To this, she added my biggest, frilliest pink tutu and tied a pink bow to the end of my living tail, then she declared me ready to go. Mistress Rashida took up a music cube and started the jaunty tune playing -- this was to be just one of the several dances I had learned from her -- and she unhooked my leash to give me freedom of movement.

A few laughs peeled out of our watching audience as I started to prance around. From an eighteen-year-old schoolboy to this in just a month, my transformation had been dramatic and complete. All those eyes staring on at me awoke something inside me, and I blushed at the realisation that I was having fun showing myself off. I chose to enjoy it -- what else was a ponyboy to do? I had been degraded and stripped of my manhood, but now, I was free to accept whatever gifts my owners would give me, like the opportunity to show off.

This dance was a quickstepping number with some stationary parts, and the whole thing made my cock and balls wiggle around to cries of delight from the watching elves. "Shake that little thing!", "I'd have gelded him, personally!", "My petmale's one is smaller!", "Come here little cutie!", the voices followed me as I circled around the crowd. When I stopped to jiggle my pink-knickered bottom in front of them, in perfect time with the beat, hands shot out to pinch me and made me jump up in the air to gales of laughter. I kept dancing in the hot sun, always maintaining a wonderful smile on my face despite the humiliation, and the crowd began to grow.

Good boy, Pretty in Pink, keep going, came the words in my mind, a thought message from one of my owners. I let the rhythm take me over, and as I came to the end of the dance I realised I was expected to keep moving. I started the whole thing again but in the opposite direction, circling back around the laughing but happy crowd as it grew thicker with the arrival of ever more elves. I made every step perfect, and every landing made my tutu float up and down just as my cock wobbled, completely erect, in front of me.

Coming to a stop, I gyrated my hips with the music then jiggled my bottom so that my tail flicked back and forth, and this drew a round of applause and more catcalls from the crowd. A few of the watching elves had grown turned on enough to have their slaves drop to their knees and start to get them off -- the show was creating the right kind of excitement for all involved. I kept up the pace and started to add some twirls here and there, which my mistresses thought messaged me to keep doing.

My breathing grew harder as I danced on and on, and some of my muscles started to ache, but my cock stayed hard as ever and I felt grateful to the crowd for egging me on with my fancy show. They were helping to break me even further, and that was what my owners wanted for me, so that was what I wanted. Or what I wanted to want. My mistresses sent to me that I would do one more lap, and I should make it the fanciest yet.

I added in a sweet whinny with every step and twirl, and I exaggerated every movement of my hips, bottom and cock until I'd got the whole crowd clapping and laughing at the camp display. When I finished the lap, Mistress Shami had me rest a few minutes while she poured some magic into my limbs to pep them back up again. With the crowd obviously waiting for more, she sent me back out into the square and told me I should do the slow dance this time.

As the new music struck up, I started the long, flowing steps that we had practised just a handful of times. My mistresses had told me I was a natural at this, and I had to admit it did feel good to perform this ponyboy ballet. I twirled in tight, but slow, circles, then leapt into the air between steps and held the leaping pose as long as I could before switching feet to land, then starting the sequence again. The leap and the twirl made me stretch out, to really show off my ponyboy cock and the buttplug I wore under the tutu, and I smiled through the absolute exposure that I was now enduring. All for my mistresses.

The ponyboy ballet lasted just a few minutes, but every second stretched out to eternity and a permanent blush burned on my cheeks. Some of the elves cheered as I went, some clapped, and some laughed, while others gasped in ecstasy as they watched me dance while their kneeling slaves brought them off. Here I was then, a ballerina ponyboy with pretty pink attire, giving it my all. I sashayed and twinkled through the final steps, and came to a halt next to my mistresses in display posture, legs apart and hand-hooves raised, while the crowd whistled and applauded.

"And now," cried Nova, "I declare the travelling slave market open for business! Step right up! Try before you buy! ..."

"Good boy, Pretty in Pink. You'll get both your mistresses' strapons in turn tonight, and maybe even Head Girl's too if you can take it. Oh, look, here come some of your admirers!"

A gaggle of elves and slaves approached us and the elves gathered around me and started to run their hands all over me. They especially enjoyed fondling my cock, which Mistress Shami had enspelled to stop me from cumming, but I felt elven hands picking out every muscle and sinew, every curve, and some even played with my mane and tickled my pony ears.I stayed perfectly still as they explored me and inspected me like the livestock I was.

"Good show, good show! A pleasure to meet you -- I'm Siddra, the mayor of this town. Is he available to hire? I'd just love to ride him round the square a few times!"

"You can ride Pretty in Pink for free! Ponyboy, let me take the ruff off your neck, then kneel and accept your rider," said Mistress Shami.

I knelt down on the hard stone surface and waited for the mayor to ready herself. My mistress established that the mayor was a keen rider and knew how to handle a human pony -- what she wanted from me was a chance to ride something a bit different, something prancing and graceful. She stripped off her skirt to reveal a dominant, hairy pussy and long boots, then she planted herself on my shoulders and tapped her feet against my chest: rise.

I let her steer me by my bridle, and I took her at a moderate pace around the square. Every step I made was exaggerated and showy, and I gave my highest whinny whenever I thought she wanted some response from me. She settled into her riding position and I sensed the heat of her crotch against my collared neck, and felt the wetness from her start to build and flow down my back. She whooped and hollered, and I pranced for her enjoyment as she showered my performance with compliments.

When she had had her fill, my mistresses offered me round for rides to all-comers. I carried another elf who enjoyed using her crop to motivate me to jump higher, and whose perfect balance told me she must have spent a lifetime riding ponyboys and ponygirls of all kinds. Next, a pair of Japanese slavegirl twins got themselves onto my shoulders with the help of a little creative harnessing, and they squealed their way around two long, careful laps while my cock began to ache and I forced myself to focus on my footing. It would have been one thing to drop a skilled elven rider -- easily strong enough to land without hurt -- but quite another to damage an unskilled and unenhanced slave.

A succession of elves and slaves took their turn on me and the slave market thronged with excited customers. My lithe body attracted a lot of compliments, as did my clothing and the cosmetic touches that had dandified me so completely. A few elves offered to buy me, but my mistresses declined the offers, and turned them into a conversation about magically converting a ponyboy to look just like me, for a suitable fee. I hoped I was able to help them with their budding business venture.

With my lungs burning and my muscles singing in pain, my mistresses finally brought me to a stop as the sun hung low in the sky and the last of the slaves were sold or returned to their cages for the trip back to the city. I rested and looked around: the cart I had pulled with Head Girl was empty, so all the virgins must have been sold and taken away. Only a handful of slaves were left now, which meant business must have been brisk.

The mayor sauntered over and struck up a conversation with my Mistress Shami, "Are you up for doing some business? Can you stay the night?"

"We're contracted to pull this cart back to the city, I'm afraid."

"No, I already asked Nova -- it's empty so she can just hitch it behind another empty one and pay that elf a little more for her trouble. I covered the cost in advance."

"Sounds like you've thought of everything! What business did you want to discuss?"

"Well, for one thing, I have a delegation from another city coming tomorrow to talk about trade arrangements, so I thought perhaps another performance from Pretty in Pink?"

"That could be arranged -- he loves flaunting himself like this, you know. It comes naturally to a frilly boy like him."

"I can tell, such a cutie!"

"Oh he is. Was there something else?"

"As you'll have gathered, I'm quite the equestrian myself. My wife and I have a stable of six ponies, three male and three female. My stallion's gotten too prideful -- he's a great big hunk of a thing and he knows it, and I've given up on trying to beat it out of his stupid hide. So, I thought rather than wipe his mind, maybe it was time for him to have a little change of role. Pretty in Pink doesn't seem to be held back by any silly male pride, so can you change my stallion to be just like him?"

"Just the same? Same size? Shrink all the, um, relevant bits down? Do you want the same colour scheme too?"

"I don't want him to be a stallion when you're finished, and he needs to know that, so shrink away. Everything, whole body. As for the colours, would some kind of bright purple work? Then I could call him Purple Princess."

"I can do purple!" Mistress Shami laughed.

My mistresses unhitched Head Girl from the cart and leashed us both, then led us away to the mayor's residence amid a wide green field on the outskirts of the town. In a fenced paddock, my mistresses strapped me to a fucking bench and had their way with me. They were generous enough to let me cum as much as I liked, and when they were tired, the mayor took a turn with her strapon while one of her human slavegirls knelt and sucked me off.

The next morning, we all watched as the poorly-behaved stallion from the mayor's stables was brought out and turned into a mirror image of me. I could see in his eyes the moment he realised he had been too prideful, the moment he regretted thinking he was more than just a slave. Mistress Rashida thrilled as she taught him to high-step like me, and I saw tears well in his eyes as a purple bow was tied around his ensmalled cock to match his new purple mane. He would break, I thought. He and I were meant to be the prettiest of ponyboys.