Breeding the Pony Girl Pt. 10

I called "Mr. Rider" and told him that OF COURSE he could borrow Ginger for the day and got the details as to where and when to deliver her and then retrieve her. I also confirmed that his "crack" team of pony girls would all wear the newly-mandated safety helmets with curved visors, concealing my identity. He grumbled that this spoiled the view when one of the ponies was giving him a hummer, and I agreed, trying to match his detached, condescending view of the purposes of pony girls, pulling, sucking, and fucking. He was rather vague as to how the vet students would use the ponies in their exhibit booth, which made me slightly nervous, but I figured I could handle being teased sexually by a bunch of graduate students.

Mary shook her head at the news of my latest risky "field trip," but as a long-time, trusted employee she realized that I DID owe Tex, so this wasn't entirely my fault. She still couldn't resist razzing me gently. "You just can't give up playing Ginger, can you? It's kinda dicey to turn you over to a bunch of young adults like that, but I'm sure you just can't wait to get yourself pawed over and played with."

She sighed, the added, "Tex wants you at the start of the parade route really early in the morning, and Hailie and I already have to get up early and take some of the herd down to the other end of the route for the ranch's own booth at the Expo. So, rather than waste the time stopping at a rest area to tack you up, why don't you make the entire trip in the trailer with the other ponies? If you behave yourself, MAYBE I'll stop and let you out on the way home that night. Otherwise, Bill might want to take Ginger out for a test ride when we get home."

She grinned, but by now she knew enough about my weird mind to realize that I would actually ENJOY making the whole trip as a helpless, voiceless, horny animal. I didn't think she would really let her husband play with Ginger--in the two years we'd worked together, she had never allowed him to even get a pony blowjob, although SHE had cuckolded him twice while she was in slave mode. Knowing her, Mary would make it up to Bill by playing pony for him sometime.

*****

I also had to beg off seeing Richard on the first day of the three-day Expo, saying I would make it up to him the next day. I didn't exactly lie to him, but how could I tell him that I couldn't watch the parade because I would be IN it, pulling a float?

After carefully shaving every hair below my eyebrows, I went to bed early the night before because I would have a really long day at the parade and fair. Not surprisingly, I couldn't sleep very well. In addition to the natural jitters I felt about turning myself (in pony mode) over to a bunch of unknown young people, I kept dreaming. Richard Jameson was making love to me except that, in the middle of our passion, Lois suddenly became Ginger. He ended up tying her face down over a fence rail, using all three of her openings while he told her she was a good little pony slut. Sigh--I've GOT to resolve that soon.

Up at 3:30 in the morning, giving myself multiple enemas and douches before lubricating both channels, just in case. I rubbed SPF 50 lotion all over my body both to protect against the sun and to give myself a glistening appearance. By the time Hailie knocked on my door, I had put on as much of my leather gear as possible without help. We had it down to a science, and in less than five minutes Hailie was leading Pony Girl Ginger out of a side door, around the corner so no one saw us coming out of the big house.

When we reached the stable yard, Mary had already loaded two other fillies onto the horse trailer and was just walking up with Stud in tow. I was rather startled when the huge young stallion began whinnying, tossing his head, and tugging towards me. I couldn't see his eyes very well because we were both wearing safety helmets with visors, but he clearly wanted to get close to me. I thought he was just horny, recalling the way he had thoroughly explored both of my lower openings during our last trip.

But then Hailie put her lips next to my ear. "I think you've got a boyfriend. Remember that hickey he gave you at the Breeding Barn?" She giggled innocently, but it suddenly occurred to me that Stud had seen LOIS with a hickey that same night and has smirked and winked every time we had met since that night. I was no superwoman, but there was a good chance that my prize stallion had joined the list of those who knew my "secret identity." Good thing he was silenced for the next five years.

After securing me, standing up, inside the trailer, Hailie activated the random vibrator circuit in my ponytail plug, which at least kept me from being bored during the travel. It also meant that I was squirming and shaking my butt lewdly a few feet in front of Stud, which seemed like teasing him unnecessarily.

Unable to see a clock or observe the passing scenery, I had no way to measure our progress. Finally, the trailer came to a halt; in the silence after the truck stopped, I was aware of a quiet hubbub outside. This early in the morning, that much sound meant we were at the assembly point for the Slave Expo parade.

Not surprisingly, when Hailie backed me out of the trailer we were beside a large Conestoga wagon near a gaggle of unknown pony girls. Four of them in various ethnic and hair combinations were already harnessed up as the back third of the team, but one of the other girls, a blonde with very generous boobs and more baby fat than most ponies possess, was otherwise occupied. She was kneeling to suck off a 20-something ranch hand whose face looked vaguely familiar. Then I noticed that the girl's rump carried a still-red, raw brand from Richard's Jameson Ranch--a capital J intertwined with the circle and upward arrow of the male gender symbol. That jarred my memory--the guy had been one of three people who trained me when I was boarded at the Jameson Ranch some months ago.

In the early morning light, I vaguely recognized Abby Rider, who was trying to organize her float. She had noticed the new brand on the kneeling girl, because she asked the guy (who talked with Abby as if it were normal to have his cock down a girl's throat in front of a free woman) whether that pony had enough training to be part of the team.

He laughed. "Don't worry! Until a month ago, Charlene here actually worked TRAINING ponies to trot, although I have to admit that she spent more time flirting with the other hands than actually working. And when she DID do any work, she always acted as if she were SO superior to the other trainers as well as the slaves, like ice wouldn't melt in her cunt." With a sound of protest, the kneeling woman tried to back away from him, but he clamped onto her head with both hands and re-inserted himself. I remembered that she had indeed lorded it over everyone including me, cock-teasing the guys into doing her work while using my mouth to get her off when they weren't around.

"Anyway, Charlene got into credit card debt. When the bank repossessed her, they gave Mr Jameson, their biggest depositor, right of first refusal. She's spent the last month getting the full pony girl experience. Besides," he continued, staring hard into the new pony's eyes, "this slut knows if you give her a bad report today, my partner and I will get to play with ALL her openings ALL weekend. And you'd love that, right, Charlene?" Her eyes dropped and she nodded her head. A few more seconds and he unloaded down her throat, then casually zipped up and helped Amy strap the ex-pony trainer into the team harness. Charlene had been an absolute bitch while training me, but I still felt sorry for her plight now. It reminded me that I REALLY needed to stop risking my own freedom by playing these games. Too bad I enjoyed them so much!

*****

Although the Conestoga wagon was supposedly a "lightweight" reproduction of the original, it was difficult even with twelve females to start it moving. Along with the other ponies, I ended up with a few stinging whip marks on my butt, although I was glad to realize that Abby's father had taught her how to avoid breaking the skin when she swung a whip to "motivate the livestock."

Once we got moving, the submissive exhibitionist in me really enjoyed performing, semi-naked, as we paraded between two long lines of spectators. My excitement was stoked by other concerns; I realized that the damn wagon had such momentum that it might run us over if the vet students didn't apply the handbrake correctly. Plus, I was still mentally cringing every time I heard the whip snap--poor Charlene seemed to get more than her share of "motivation." As the parade went on, I also began to worry about what the other ponies and I would have to do as exhibits at the Expo booth after the parade.

I resolutely pushed those concerns aside and tried to enjoy the trip. Who doesn't love a good parade? First, I concentrated on my trotting form, moving in unison with the rest of the team--we got better at that as the march wore on. Endorphins came from the exercise. It was a bright fall day with a refreshing breeze that, in conjunction with my internal arousal, ensured that my nipples protruded like missile nose cones while the bells attached to my nipple rings bounced and rang merrily with each stride. I bet Santa Claus would much rather have THIS kind of team--12 mostly-naked sluts--pulling his sleigh! I felt a lot of moisture between my thighs and noticed a suspicious shine on the thighs of the girl harnessed in front of me. Wearing the safety helmet, it was difficult for me to see the faces of the spectators, but the whore in me noticed an awful lot of hard-ons bulging in the pants of male on-lookers as the team approached. I really enjoyed the image of a pony girl team, a combination propulsion system and mobile harem. Twelve ponies, 36 horny holes, no waiting! I tried to imagine what kind of an orgy one could have involving twelve ponies, and how masters and mistresses might use us eager little sluts with minimal adjustments to the harness. The lead pair could suck and the trail pair would just bend over and offer two openings apiece (that's 4 pieces of tail), but what was the best way to penetrate the middle girls? Maybe put mattresses or mounting frames inside the wagon? Yeah, my mind was really drifting into subspace.

All in all, the parade was a real blast. When we reached the Expo parking lot, Abby drove us smartly around to the loading docks before finally calling whoa, applying the brake and jamming the bits back in our mouths. Several other young people, apparently also veterinary students, came to take charge of us. When you're standing helplessly, it still seems to take forever to get released from such a big rig. Finally, a young brunette woman whose nametag said "Kathy" separated my reins and pulled me aside. She gave me a long, welcome pull on a water bottle while I waited my turn to use the pee grate, then she mopped me down, catching the various fluids between my thighs. Kathy seemed to be almost as turned on as us ponies, bubbling with happiness while she told me what a sweet pony I was and played with my nipples to keep me interested.

I found out why a few minutes later, when I was the middle of three pony sluts led into the large building, ending up at a sign that announced, "University of Texas Slave Veterinary Science--Experts in Slut Care." On one side of the large booth was a slightly smaller sign, centered over three sawhorses, that read "Pin the Tail on the Pony Girl (You must be 18 to play)." Oh, boy, now what?

As I watched, Charlene was dragged to stand in front of one of the sawhorses, then given a slap on her bottom and a push on her shoulder along with the familiar instruction to "Bend over, pony slut." How often had I given that same command at the Spinning Wheel? Only this time I was one of the sluts being bent. The young guy who had flipped Charlene over nudged her ankles apart and clipped them with a spreader bar, just as Kathy towed me to a second sawhorse and put me in a similar position. Before I could blink, I was well secured, bent double with my reins secured to the far side of the sawhorse while the spreader bar holding my ankles apart was itself wired down to the near side. Of course, my forearms were still restrained and my voice converter collar remained on. I definitely wasn't going anywhere or doing anything. Someone--presumably Kathy--ripped out my ponytail plug without waiting for my muscles to stretch, then shoved three fingers covered with lubricant back in. I couldn't see much in my humbling new position, but to my right I heard the guy who had immobilized Charlene speaking to a group of exposition visitors.

"One of the essential daily tasks in caring for a pony girl is installing and removing her ponytail. Many people think this is just about aesthetics, making the slave look more like a real horse. Actually, the plug serves several other functions. The plug contains sensors to monitor blood pressure, heart rate, and other vital signs; the same plug can be used to administer medications. It also keeps her anus well stretched in case you need it for other uses." There was a ripple of suggestive laughter, mostly from male voices.

The student continued, "Besides, that plug is a constant reminder to the pony of her subordinate status, her readiness to serve people in any way; to a pony, the plug just feels good." (Yeah, right, kid, I thought. Let's trade places and we'll see how "good" it feels when I ram the equivalent of a large flashlight up YOUR asshole. Ignorant people.)

Then he got to the point of his monologue. "Still, inserting the plug under normal circumstances takes a considerable time period because the pony's muscles and sphincter have to adjust to the intrusion. That's particularly true when putting the tail on a newly-enslaved animal like this one." I heard Charlene's voice, translated into a horsey snort of pain. I guess this kid (I mean, master) had slapped her still-healing brand. Great bedside manner for a future slave veterinarian, I thought, and then was startled when he slapped MY butt. "Older mares like this one, who've been taking tail plugs and OTHER things into their colons for years," (another burst of snickering) "are much more relaxed about these intrusions." (I resented that remark, even if it WAS true!)

"The point, ladies and gentlemen, is to offer any free adult the opportunity to practice tail plug installation in a faster, more humane manner that's actually fun for the pony as well. We use a fingertip vibrator to stimulate the clitoris" (another sudden sound from Charlene, a snort that suddenly turned into a whinny of pleasure); the animal ALMOST reaches a sexual climax, at which point she temporarily relaxes her anal sphincter, and [brief pause] the tailplug pops right in without pain." Charlene nickered quietly.

The vet student finally came to an end. "All right, folks, please form three lines for the chance to try this out. I'll need to see some ID to ensure you're 18 years old, and then there are boxes of small, medium, and large latex gloves to protect your hands." Yeah, but what protects the ponies? I wondered. Sigh. Well, Lois, you wanted to be a helpless pony slut being used sexually by strangers--be careful what you wish for!

And then I felt a vibrator buzzing on my clit, and my mind just went away for a while...

(To be continued)