Breeding the Pony Girl Pt. 08

The twitch forced me to look straight ahead, but I heard a TV camera being moved in for a tight shot of my mouth, which was already hanging open and salivating at the prospect of a meal of man meat (I found out later that there were already floor-mounted cameras to show the invasion of my throat and shaved beaver). Someone shot a last squirt of water into my mouth, and then an unknown wrangler led Arnold up until his bulbous head--the little one--was JUST beyond my mouth's reach. I risked getting my nose tortured by trying to reach him with my tongue but couldn't quite make it. I also heard the sounds and felt the vibration as someone, presumably Stud, moved between my widespread thighs and some wrangler's hand spread my labia in preparation for the penetration. My heart was racing and I couldn't wait to get impaled on what looked like two feet of major-league dick. Thank heavens that someone took pity on me and finally removed the twitch clamp.

Then Sofia's voice boomed through the speakers again. "Honored guests, I'd like you to help me with the countdown to this double penetration. Let's start with FIVE!" As my anal plug began to vibrate, the audience joined in with her, shouting "FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE!"--at the end of which Sofia told my two perspective partners, "Fuck that slut!"

I felt like a car caught on the tracks between two on-rushing railroad trains. In a split second I was gasping for breath around Arnold's awesome auger head while Stud's muscular thighs bruised my spread buttocks and his prodigious proboscis plunged into my pussy. (To be honest, I thought of all those words after the fact, trying to describe the physical and emotional impact; at the time I was just conscious of being more completely possessed, more thoroughly FUCKED than ever before in my life.) And then the two young stallions adjusted to each other so that I was buffeted back and forth as they took turns impaling me and partially withdrawing.

What a rush. The third time I exhaled, I attempted to give voice to my excitement, and a microphone amplified the lust-filled moan that came from my voice converting collar. I should have blushed at the volume of applause that acknowledged my sexual surrender, but I was too busy trying to live through the moment.

It's difficult to explain how overwhelming this experience was. A girl has to have some secrets, so forgive me if I don't tell you about my youth--suffice it to say that I had been DPed and once even made airtight (three at once.) If you've read the previous portions of this tale, you know that, over the preceding several months, I had been spit roasted by two good looking wranglers at the Longhorn Slave Market, and again by two dominant lesbian women at the Tribade Training Ranch. Still, that night at the Breeding Barn Café was one of the ultimate sensual experiences of my life. First, I had to accommodate two VERY well-hung young stallions, either one of which would have been enough to get me off. Then, I had to accept their usage while I was in one of the lowest, most submissive forms of slavery imaginable--reduced to a pony girl with my arms and legs restrained and unable to even communicate as a human being because of the voice conversion collar. Finally, all this happened in full view of hundreds of wealthy and slightly inebriated people, many of whom I knew. As a sex-crazed bimbo pony girl, I was already the object of their amused scorn and jokes; I could only imagine what would have happened if someone had "outed" me as Lois Spalding, wealthy, businesswoman. I would have had to move to another planet to live that down, and the possibility of such an eventuality contributed to the fantastic stimulation I felt. Mary later showed me a video of the closeups that the Café had thrown up on the screens, and I found it difficult to recognize myself. Sex, submission, and humiliation--the trifecta of stimulations.

(Stud's perspective)

OK, the first time I thought I was kidding myself, but now I'm starting to believe that, for some strange reason, my ice princess owner, Mizz Spalding, is playing pony girl, bent over in front of me while I screw her brains out.

One Sunday morning four or five months ago, one of the ranch's pony whisperers had me mount a pony that I had never seen before nor (until tonight) since. There were a lot of strange circumstances associated with that mating, but the bottom (pun intended) line was that I had the opportunity to bang this VERY shapely pony girl with red hair but whose ass had none of the tanning, musculature, or branding found on every other female slave at the Spinning Wheel Ranch. Because this unknown filly seemed to resemble Mizz Spalding, I had fantasized that I was servicing that uptight BITCH who owned me. (I didn't hate her because I was her slave. I had accepted the reality of my criminal enslavement, and even my responsibility for the situation. But this woman bugged me--one minute she was whipping me because she claimed I was arrogant, and then the next she was staring, slack jawed and stiff nippled, at me while I pounded a filly as instructed. Why was she on my case?)

Anyway, back to that Sunday morning. While I was balls deep in this redheaded girl, who seemed to enjoy the coupling as much as did I, a distraction had occurred so that all the free people in the barn left the two of us alone for a few minutes. I decided to use this opportunity to indulge in my personal obsession, sodomy. With no one around, I extracted the tail plug from her rear portal and substituted my own ramrod. Having breached her sphincter, I took a few minutes to gently stretch the redhead's intestines before resuming my usual pistoning. Once she adjusted to the intrusion, she seemed to enjoy getting shafted like that, and even pushed back against me. That filly's back door felt tight, warm, and simply fantastic, and the skin on her magnificent cheeks was like warm velvet. I also got to imagine that, for a change, I was giving Mizz Spalding a pain in the ass instead of the other way round. Probably the finest four minutes of fucking in my entire life up to that point, before I blasted into her butt and then popped the tail plug back in to hold my little critters inside her.

Even though there were cameras all over the area, no one ever punished me for cornholing that tall redhead. For weeks after that tryst, I looked eagerly at every female on the ranch but never saw any auburn-haired women. Except, as I've said, for the famous Mizz Spalding, and even MY twisted mind couldn't come up with an explanation as to why SHE would end up at the other end of my dick on a mounting frame. But it was a nice fantasy.

The last time I saw the ranch owner was this afternoon, watching as her minions loaded Clarabelle and me onto a horse trailer. I had figured out that it was time for the Spinning Wheel Ranch to send another consignment of ponies to the Breeding Barn Café. (The ranch had loads of fillies to send but only a few stallions like me.) Always before, such a consignment consisted of one stallion plus two or three fillies. This time, however, I'm certain that Clarabelle and I are the only two slaves on the trailer because the truck starts moving as soon as she and I were hooked in. They stop somewhere partway through the trip, and I hear a lot of shuffling and scratching on the other side of the trailer divider. And then, when we arrive at the Breeding Barn, that strange redhaired pony reappears miraculously from the trailer. Only this time, this pony called "Ginger" has the ranch brand on her butt, plus a very light tan on the rest of her body. Since (as I know) she's been a pony slave for at least four summer months, why isn't her skin darker? Working the night shift? (joke)

Add all this up, and as the self-described "Slave Sherlock Holmes," I have to conclude that there is a real possibility, however small, that the woman bent over in front of me, choking on that damn stallion Arnold (who beat me in a race two months ago), really IS Mizz Spalding, ice princess and tight-assed bane of my existence.

All this internal debate has helped me avoid cuming too quickly; it distracts me when I'm enjoying myself too much, and the thought that I might be shafting the bitch goddess is the icing on the cake.

(Insert about five minutes of grunts, moans, one muffled call of the pony girl, and the sound of flesh on flesh here.)

Arnold is speeding up, grabbing her ears and face-fucking her frantically. I gather the guy has already shafted one pony girl this evening, which is probably the reason he hasn't finished in her mouth yet. Ginger is clearly having difficulty with breathing, but the little moans and whinnies that come out of her converter collar indicate she's truly enjoying this. I try to distract myself by watching Arnold's beefy face so I don't get too desperate myself.

Suddenly, Arnold climaxes and staggers backwards; the first blast must have gone into Ginger's mouth but the rest seems to spray all over her face. He's finished.

Ginger and I, however, are not. Someone sticks the tube from a water bottle into her mouth while she coughs and frantically tries to deal with the sticky load she just swallowed. Once she catches up on air and water, she issues another triumphant pony call, evoking much laughter from the audience. I'll take credit for that orgasm, which must be her third this evening.

Just then, the handler's sultry voice comes on the public address system again, this time giving me one of the finest gifts of my life: "Let's hear it for Arnold!" (a scattering of applause.) "Now that Ginger, here, is free to show us how happy she is to get used, there's one more opening we need to stretch for her. All those in favor of Stud cornholing her?"

This is followed by even more applause. Someone pulls back on the leash loosely attached to my scrotum, forcing me (reluctantly) to withdraw from that sopping vagina. But the same hand pours water soluble lube over my prong as someone else reaches a latex gloved hand in and jerks the pony girl's tail plug out, then guides me into that marvelous passage that I tried out several months ago. Damn, she feels good; I'm forcing myself to be gentle at this point, for fear of tearing her. Come to think of it, I KNOW this girl can accommodate Little Stud up her wazoo, because she already did it once!

True to her billing as an insatiable slut, Ginger (or whoever she really is) lets loose a triumphant horsey cry and begins pushing back, firmly, in an attempt to engulf even more of my dick.

Neither of us can last much longer. An idea pops into my head, and I suddenly know how to solve the "Mystery of the Redheaded Pony Whore." I lean forward across Ginger's gyrating back and bite down firmly on the side of her neck, trying to mark her with a hickey. My teeth sink into her as close to her jaw as I can reach. She jerks in surprise, then again presses backwards onto my cock just as she comes to a VERY audible, shuddering climax and collapses.

*****

(Lois Spalding's perspective)

I registered that Stud had bitten me, but at the time it was just one more element of pleasure-pain in a much more complex sexual experience.

As I recovered consciousness after that epic mounting, I felt Stud's sticky cock slapping across my face--Arnold had already given me a facial, but it was a tradition of the Breeding Barn to allow stallions to "mark" their bitches after using them. Thank heavens I had multiple enemas that afternoon! All this happened in full view of the clientele of the Breeding Barn.

Next, I heard Sofia's sensuous, mocking voice: "There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. You sometimes hear a slave being described as 'Born to the Collar,' and I think you've just witnessed a true example of that in Ginger. This little filly has now taken almost a foot of cock in EACH of her three openings, and all that penetration seems to do is make her climax more strongly than before. Let's give a hand for the redheaded puta, shall we?" This was followed by the loudest roar I'd heard all evening, which occurred just as, with shaky legs, I stood up from the mounting stand. The only way I could think to acknowledge the applause was to kneel down facing the audience and kiss the floor, abasing myself and evoking another round of clapping before Sofia led me away.

Once out of public view, Sofia led me to another grate to pee, then turned me over to Hailie. Gone was the judgmental trainer who had aroused me, belittled me, and sent me off to be rammed at both ends as a public whore. Now Hailie was kinder and more maternal than my mother had ever been, cuddling and wiping and stroking and generally encouraging me. You can say that any good slave handler knows how to administer after care to protect the merchandise, and that would be true. Looking back on it, I'm sure she had long since recognized just how self-destructive my sexual proclivities were, and as my loyal employee--and I like to think as my friend--she did her best to glue me back together when the consequences caught up with me. Even knowing that in the back of my mind, however, Hailie's treatment of me over the next 15 minutes was so loving and reassuring that I can never think ill of her.

At the end of that time, I had been wiped down and cleaned up, watered and even fed a little chocolate. Haile didn't say anything, but I knew that we had to hurry to prepare for the second half of my self-inflicted debauchment: three hours in the Petting Zoo performing, as Mary had put it, as a pony prostitute.

Considering how Sofia had just marketed me as an insatiable slut, I had no doubt that the Breeding Barn had found three customers each willing to pay top dollar to top me for an hour at a time. The businesswoman in me regretting that the management didn't share that income with my ranch--we just got a flat fee for each filly and stallion we rented to them. But the not-so-closeted submissive part of me really didn't care about the money, except to think that being rented out as a pony piece of ass--actually, three separate pieces of pony ass over three hours--was delightfully wicked, yet another way to let myself be helplessly exploited as a sex toy. The thought of someone else profiting by selling access to my body gave me such a rush that my perverted mind began to play with the idea of being a slave street walker, call girl, or glory hole cocksucker. I had to pull my mind up short, reminding it that I was already sufficiently at risk being left in bondage to be used by a stranger in almost any way he/she chose. Going beyond that as a pretend slave sex worker was too risky even for me.

A few minutes before 7 p.m., Mistress Hailie, resuming her usual role as a demanding slave wrangler, marched Pony Girl Ginger to room 2D in the Petting Zoo. The room contained many restraints as well as a daunting array of butt plugs, strap-ons, nipple clips, riding crops, and the like. Two cameras monitored the place, but we knew from the painful experience of Molly B that the management was unlikely to intervene except when the customer seemed intent on dismembering or killing the slave.

When I first negotiated the contract to supply fillies and stallions to the Breeding Barn, the manager had told me how they ran the Petting Zoo; at the time, I had never imagined that I would be one of the animals to be "petted!" In the daytime, the Petting Zoo was often staffed by trainees from the nearby Parker Equestrian Center or even (I had been surprised to learn) by free women who enjoyed giving their husbands or lovers a nooner by playing pony. (These women had signed Texas Free In Name Only agreements to serve their lovers. In retrospect, if I had had such a lover I could probably have played the same game at much lower risk to my body and reputation!)

These daytime trainees and imposters typically found themselves bound to a breeding bench and left for the use of whatever customers wandered by--on more than one occasion, a free woman pretending to be a pony had ended up being used by a stranger rather than her lover! On a Friday evening such as this one, however, the livestock were almost exclusively genuine pony slaves leased from the various ranches. To give the paying customer more freedom to exploit such premium merchandise, the handlers removed the pony's forearm binder and instead chained her in an X-shape, with the key left by the door so that the customer of the hour could rebind his rental in different positions.

This was how I found myself that night, hanging from two chains in the ceiling while another two chains held my ankles well apart. I still wore my safety helmet and visor (thank heavens) as well as a tight bustier, voice conversion collar, high-heeled pony boots, and of course that damned butt plug (Hailie had flushed out my rectum and coated both openings with lube, but anyone who has been reamed by Stud is certain to feel tender back there for several days.) Facing away from the door, I waited with beating heart, unable to even see my temporary owner unless he/she chose to adjust my position.

I can't have been waiting more than three minutes when the door opened and closed behind me.

"Well, will you look at this redhaired slut! We're going to have a lot of fun together, girl." The voice was not only somewhat slurred in pronunciation but VERY familiar.

Shit! My own horniness had put me into this position. For the next hour I was going to be the helpless toy of my son-of-a-bitch ex-husband, Jack Herrera. And he was drunk, as usual.

(To be continued)