Breeding the Pony Girl Pt. 02

Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

(This story is set in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is commonplace for serious crime, unredeemed debt, or voluntary self-indenture. Eighteen years of age is the minimum for anyone in this world to be enslaved or to have any intimate/sexual contact with slaves.)

(Lois Spalding, owner of the Spinning Wheel Pony Girl Ranch, was obsessed with the idea of masquerading as one of her own ponies so that her pony boy stallion, "Stud," would screw her brains out without realizing who she was. The ranch's stable boss, Mary Jacobs, had dressed her boss up as a pony girl and was leading her to the mounting frame to fulfil this fantasy early one Sunday morning.)

(Lois Spalding's viewpoint)

It was a truly scary experience to be led as a pony girl across the compound of my own ranch. It wasn't so much that my body was exposed, although I was acutely aware of showing everything my Mom had taught me to cover up. When we first emerged from the big house, there was no one else in sight, anyway. No, the real problem was the sense of helplessness, of being unable to defend myself or have any control over what happened to me. As Mary had reminded me, dressed as a pony girl I was subject to the whims of every free person who saw me. The only similar experience I had was the morning I spent being slave graded soon after I turned age 18--and this time I was not protected even by the colored collar and tag that proclaimed me a temporary visitor to the world of slavery. Now, at least in appearance, I was a true slave, existing only to pull carts and sexually service free people.

Things only got worse when we reached the door leading into the barn where the mounting frame was kept. On the other side of that door was the ultimate, at least in my mind, bondage experience with the promise that I would be thoroughly shafted by my own well-hung stallion. And, I had to remember, the whole area was covered by video cameras that would record every second of my subjugation. Note to self: when this is over, give Mary another raise so she doesn't even THINK about leaking the video of what's about to happen.

At the moment, however, that thrilling prospect was still (barely) in the future. First, I had to suffer even more. With an apologetic grimace, Mary clipped the rubber-coated teeth of the twitch onto my nose, then opened the door and led me in. I followed her closely, tip-toing in those damn boots, fearing that the slightest misstep would cause me intense pain. She paused and felt me up thoroughly, twisting nipples and clit before grabbing my ass and tits (it may sound crude for a woman to describe her body in that manner, but when you're a slave, those terms seem natural.)

Mary then led me around to the back of the frame and, walking beside the frame with her arm stretched over the railing, guided me onto the frame. With a brisk slap and a sharp command to "Bend Over," she stretched me out before securing the twitch to a dangling cord. In the course of my life, I had read of someone being "led around by the nose," but now I knew how humiliated and helpless the victim would feel. Bent over and restrained by my nose, I felt someone tying my elbows, knees, and ankles to the frame, leaving my butt raised up high and spread invitingly. The position was thrilling in a dirty sense because I felt so open to penetration, but all I could see was the empty space and the mirror directly in front of me--turning my head would have brought instant pain. The mirror showed me a helpless, red-haired pony girl waiting to be mounted. Damn, what a rush.

All I could do was listen. I recognized the voice of the designated ponyboy whisperer for the day, a tall and stately young African-American woman named Hailie. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of her walking to the front of the frame, followed by the reason for my self-imposed bondage--Stud. Damn, he looked good and I was pleased to see that, as usual, his magnificent shaft was fully erect. If I hadn't already been dripping, I would have gushed at that moment.

I remembered to pretend I was blind, since only Mary knew that I could see through the sleep mask that I wore to conceal my identity. So I waited, forced into immobility, while Hailie's hand pulled the semi-naked stallion up until the huge mushroom at the end of his dick was only an inch away from my mouth.

Mistress Hailie brusquely told me to "open up and suck this horse cock, pony slut," an order that I eagerly complied with, at which point she released the twitch from my nose, thank heavens. I wasn't sure whether I could breathe around the huge object in my mouth, but the smile on my face was genuine. At last, I was able to sample the stallion over whom I had been literally drooling for the past several months. In my previous life, I had never objected to going down on a guy--in fact, I got a little thrill while exciting him with my mouth--but I can't say that it had been my favorite part of sex. That day, however, my slave property and temporary mate tasted fantastic.

*****

("Stud's" perspective)

That's what they call me on this ranch, although I think it's my job description more than a compliment about my appearance. Before the state of Texas fried a circle star brand into my backside, I was John Roundtree, but names won't matter until the end of my servitude.

If my freshman English composition instructor ever reads this, I know, I know--everyone before me wrote in the past tense while I'm writing in the present tense (see--you actually taught me something!) Big Whoop. I'm writing in the present tense because I don't want to dwell on my past.

So, let's get that out of the way. Four years ago, I played defensive tackle on my college football team, which gave me a full ride scholarship. Trouble was, I was an alcoholic. No, damn it--I AM an alcoholic, let's be honest. Booze cost me not only my football and academic careers but also my freedom--after the second conviction for DWI (Driving While Intoxicated), this time on a suspended license and causing an injury accident, I got an 8-year term of criminal slavery.

By the time that circle star brand had healed up, I realized that I had really lucked out. I mean, nobody wants to be a slave, but if you have to go there, I've got the ideal life. I have no access to alcohol, but unlimited opportunities to exercise and get my body in shape for future sports. Best of all, my main function on this ranch is to fuck pony girls! Almost every day, sometimes twice a day, I get a blow job and a long, fun coupling with a slave slut. All of my partners are in great shape--they have to be, because they do nothing but train for harness races. Most of them are young, and many of them have long legs, pretty smiles (when there's no bit in their mouths), and great boobs. I don't even have to ask them for dates--the ranch staff just hook the pony du jour up to a mounting frame and let me have her. And then, every few weeks I find myself in a horse trailer, trucked off to fornicate [I know, big word for a jock] with other young girls at various slave training establishments or entertainment clubs. The only thing the ranch hasn't done yet is rent me out as a porno actor, and I'm sure that's coming (pun intended) sometime.

Please don't misunderstand--I do not condone rape. In this case, however, neither the female nor I has any legal right to refuse (and what guy would turn down free sex?) Slaves are obligated to obey their owners, including sex on demand in any position or opening and with any free adult. Besides, I don't know what kind of chemicals the staff puts in these poor ladies, but most of them appear to be constantly turned on, with their cunts dripping long before the staff whisperer (usually a good-looking gal in her own right) inserts the head of my dick into the pony girl's twat.

What I'm about to write will make me sound like the most spoiled, ungrateful SOB you've ever met, but--I'm bored with all this sex. Each individual fuck is fun, but after months and months of screwing women restrained in exactly the same, impersonal way, it's getting a little hard for me to get hard every day, if you catch my drift.

Anyway, in order to retain this cushy job as a designated slave stallion, I try to keep my brain--the most important sex organ--turned on. I've come up with two ways to do that.

First, I've become almost obsessed with butt fucking. Provided you take precautions to avoid injuries or disease for the receiver, anal sodomy [Oooo, another big word from the jock--notice these words are all about my job?] is fun in its own right. Back when I was a football star, three different women willingly surrendered their puckered starfish to me, and once they adjusted to my size, all three of them claimed to enjoy it. I sure did!

Of course, butt sex is not on the menu at the Spinning Wheel Ranch, unless one of the feminized pony bois is due for an "injection". Let me be completely crude--an asshole is an asshole, and I'd be happy to sodomize a male slave provided that I thought the boi was willing and we took precautions against disease. For some reason, though, the ranch's owner and her stable boss (I'll come back to them later) keep assigning other pony boys to "make the bois happy."

The last time they held what they call a Social Corral, a sort of free form mixer of slaves and staff, they also removed our voice converters so that we could actually talk. I maneuvered a cute black-haired pony girl into a shadowy corner of the corral and eventually persuaded her that "if you liked having me fuck you" (and she claimed that she did), "wait until you try . . ." Well, you get the picture. That was a great evening, and the memory of cuddling her body and filling her tight rectum gave me weeks of fantasy material to sustain me in the (ho, hum) daily grind of grinding birth canals. (I told you I would sound spoiled!)

The other thing I do to keep up my sex drive is to be very alert and observant so that my love life doesn't decline into a repetitious same old, same old. For example, I try to find something particularly attractive about each pony girl that I'm mated with, to make the partner and the act unique and personalized. I may not know their names, but my long-term fellow inmates are individuals in my mind. Assuming that I've had sex with a female two or more times, I'll bet that I can pick her face OR her naked butt out of a line-up of other females.

Going beyond my sex partners, I pay attention to the staff members who control me, again trying to turn the encounters into individual, memorable situations. That's easy for me to do with the designated "pony boy whisperers" who set me up for each breeding. The two main whisperers are Mistress Hailie (a tall, elegant African-American whose cheekbones are almost as prominent and lovely as her boobs) and Mistress Susan (the original all-American brunette with a body that I imagine would look great as a centerfold in a magazine.) What's not to love about a beautiful assertive woman whispering dirty thoughts in my ear while she fondles my cock and leads me around by it? These women would probably whip me bloody for what I'm about to write, but the truth is that I often achieve and maintain my erection by imagining that I'm going to mount THEM and not the poor little pony girl they've selected for me today.

Extending that outward, I enjoy fantasizing about most of the female members of the staff, even that older woman whom they call "Mary." She's got to be at least 45 years old, but her self-confidence coupled with that lush body filling her tight jeans and blouse make her attractive even to a "kid" like me. A MILF, and she seems unaware of her charm.

And then there's "Mizz Spalding," who seems to be the owner or manager of this circus, a pure, 24-carat bitch. I mean, what is her malfunction? She set up this system where I do the majority of fucking around here, she compliments me when I win all my races, and then she takes her riding crop to me because she thinks I'm too "arrogant!" She seems to be unhappy and sour all the time.

SPOILER ALERT--if you're politically correct, don't read the next sentence. I can't help thinking that Ms. Spalding needs to get her brains fucked out once in a while. Maybe that would eliminate the stick she's got up her ass.

Speaking of her ass--a work of art. It's high and tight--not as well-muscled as the pony girls, because she's not dragging carts around in the Texas sun. But, that little extra padding on her derriere makes it look perfect in her jeans. I know, I know, I already told you I'm fixated on butt fucking and I think she really needs to get shafted--but, I mean COME ON: If I could invade that marvelous rear end once a week, I'd gladly sign up for life enslavement, and I think she'd be a lot happier on that schedule, too.

Okay, end (for the moment) of my male chauvinist sodomy comments.

I got off (and I often do) on the topic of her backside as an example of how I try to be hyper-observant, sort of a slave Sherlock Holmes, about my surroundings to avoid boredom that would otherwise interfere with my "work."

Like today, Sunday. It's not unheard of for me to get "called into work" to service some poor filly on the sabbath, but usually the staff sleeps in a little and no real work, including pony girl shafting, occurs until noon at the earliest. So, when Mistress Hailie puts my balls on a leash and goes into her whisperer act before 8:00 on a Sunday morning, I have to wonder what's going on?

Then I get a view of the filly I'm supposed to service. All the other pony girls in Texas have a deep suntan, but this girl's skin is almost milk white with a few freckles. Besides that, she's red haired, and I've never seen a red-haired pony girl on this ranch. The only female around here with red hair is . . .

Nahhh, you're letting your little fantasies get out of control. What would the infamous ice princess Ms. Spalding be doing tacked up like a slave pony and bent over for me to bang? I must be dreaming.

I'm still thinking about that particular wet dream when Hailie leads me around to the front of the mounting frame. Surely, when I see this girl's face, it will bring me back to reality--only, she's wearing a sleep mask. Sometimes, the staff blindfolds a pony girl the first time she's mated, although I would think that makes her more nervous rather than less. Yet . . . hold on, I could swear I see the glitter of eyes--brown, maybe? Through the mask. Why would I be able to see eyes through a sleep mask? Something else that doesn't add up about this situation.

By now, I'm fully alert as well as fully erect. I suspect my excitement is due to the fantasy of seeing that bitch-goddess Spalding spread out for me to shaft. OK, then, mission accomplished! The odds that it's really her bent over in front of me and eagerly gobbling my cock are infinitesimally small, but I think I'll go with the image. That mouth--which for some reason is wearing bright red lipstick, another oddity--is certainly wide enough and sensual enough to remind me of the owner. Since neither of us has any choice about the matter, I might as well indulge my fantasy and pretend I'm really having sex with Mizz Spalding. As usual, the horse whisperer has left my forearms and hands free, so I reach forward and grasp her head, holding it level while I gently face-fuck the unknown filly. Have to pace myself or I'll unload all over her--hum, the thought of giving the ranch owner a facial is enticing all by itself. No performance problems today, thanks!

By the look on her face, this masked filly is as disappointed as am I when the whisperer suddenly jerks my cock out of that sensual mouth and begins to lead me back around the stand. Just as well--I'd probably get whipped again if I came prematurely and denied this pony girl her full ration of horse cock in her cunt. The ten steps it takes to maneuver me back around and up onto the platform give me a chance to regain my composure and back off from ejaculating.

Still, I can't help wondering what kind of fresh-caught slave meat has absolutely NO tan--and no brands either--on her upthrust backside. Her buttocks are nicely-shaped but seem to have a little more fat on them than I've ever seen on a pony girl before. They do look familiar, though. Now, where have I seen a rear end like that before? Oh, crap. This poor girl's behind reminds me so much of what I imagine (I've never seen her naked, of course) Ms. Spalding's butt must look like in the flesh. And damn, what magnificent flesh! Deep breaths, John, stay calm--start running through the playbook of my college football team, or you'll shoot off before you even get mounted in this cunt.

Mistress Haile's warm, firm hand doesn't help much as she puts my cock up to the pony's slit. This girl is dripping, not at all like (I imagine) that tight-ass bitch Spalding would be if she were about to get screwed. Uhh. Damn, she feels good--start pumping, but slowly. Make it last! While I'm at it, might as well run my hands over these magnificent, soft spheres. Lord, she has a perfect butt.

*****

(Lois Spalding's perspective)

Most of the time, when you finally reach a place that you've been planning and dreaming about, the reality is not nearly as fantastic as you had imagined. Not this time, boys and girls! That first thrust when Stud rammed into my dripping cunt was far better than I'd ever imagined. With his hands tightly gripping my buttocks and his oversized cock sliding in and out of me every few seconds, I was instantly transported into female nirvana. Yet, at the same time, I was acutely conscious that all this was happening in public, and that Mary at least knew that her boss was such an incredible slut that she voluntarily surrendered to get Stud to ravish her. No choice about that, now, but I'd die of humiliation if Haile or another employee recognized me. Still, I had to be honest: the risk of being outed like that only increased the thrill of being taken.

Somewhere, as if at a great distance, I heard Haile and Mary talking. They were sitting down, watching the monitor that tracked my vital signs as reported by my butt plug. (Come to think of it, I'd almost forgotten that I had something up my butt, not to mention the jingling bells clamped to my nipples, which should tell you how distracted I was by that magnificent cock.)

Mary chuckled quietly. "40 seconds of fucking and she's already climaxed for the first time."

Haile replied, "Yeah, this filly is really hot to trot. Talk about a slut--this one was born to the collar!" I flushed with embarrassment. My god, if Haile ever learned who that "slut" was, I'd never be able to look her in the face again.

I was glad to hear that Mary spoke up for me, even though Haile didn't know who I was. "Oh, come on, girl. You've had your hands on that animal's cock plenty of times, and I see how much you enjoy playing with it. Don't tell me you never daydreamed about letting him inside you."

Haile replied, grudgingly, "Well, yeah, but that's just a fantasy. This poor filly is experiencing the reality, and she seems overjoyed to have him banging her. I'd be afraid to actually have him pounding me like that. Still, I have to admit, it might be a great way to go!"

Overcome by sensations, I more or less tuned them out for the next few minutes. I couldn't remember the last time a guy had made me feel so marvelous--not my ex-husband, that's for certain! I'm sure I climaxed at least once more, although in truth I was so excited I don't think I ever came down from the first peak. I emerged a little bit from my trance when I heard a sudden commotion, starting with the barn door banging open.

"Mary," said a voice I recognized as that of Jim Hargrove, one of the senior hands. He sounded under control but concerned. "Need some help. Two of our weekend visitors were driving on the practice track and managed to collide while racing. We got four pony girls down. I don't THINK they're hurt too badly, but I left Bob trying to keep them calm."