Breeding the Pony Girl Pt. 13

Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 13

(This story is set in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is commonplace for serious crime, unredeemed debt, or voluntary self-indenture. All characters who are enslaved or have any intimate/sexual contact with slaves are 18 years of age or older. This is fiction; no one should ever be deprived of free will nor used sexually without his or her uncoerced permission.)

(Once again, the Breeding Barn, Nancy Bradford, and the noontime exploits of her herd of MILFs are the intellectual property of Mr.Smith27, used here by permission.)

*

(Lois Spalding's Perspective)

My risky behavior in pretending to be a pony girl slave had finally caught up with me, just as my boyfriend, my shrink, and my best friend had predicted. Rustlers had grabbed me while I was playing pony slave on my own ranch. They had stripped me, bound me, face-fucked me, and stuffed me into a wire mesh poodle cage, the kind used to transport slaves (as I had just become). Zip-ties held my ankles to the back corners of the cage and my wrists to the back center of the cage. The only other objects I "wore" were a slave collar, a gag, a butt plug, and a heavy black cloth bag over my head. The bag limited what I could see and hear, but I strongly suspected that I had been shipped over the border from Texas to Mexico, there to start a news life as a real, rather than pretend, slave slut. I was terrified for myself and worried because I thought the rustlers had injured my employee and friend, Hailie Wilson, who had obligingly tacked me up and steered me around the ranch. And the really shameful aspect of all this was that my mind and body were aroused by my helplessness.

At the end of a long truck ride, whoever owned me used a handcart to unload my poodle cage; I thought I was now inside some building but knew nothing else once the cage stopped moving. After a few moments of silence, I felt tugging as the zip-ties holding me to the cage walls were apparently cut. Then the "front door" of the cage audibly swung open.

To my astonished relief, the next voice I heard was that of my boyfriend and dominant lover, Richard Jameson: "Crawl out of there, pony girl." When I complied, someone lifted me to a standing position and cut the last zip-tie holding my wrists behind my back.

Richard spoke only one more word, the slave command "Present." Still disoriented, I complied, spreading my legs slightly and interlocking my fingers behind my neck, thus putting my nude body on full display. Then, blessed relief, the sweltering bag was pulled off my head. I blinked at the bright light as Richard pulled out the gag and stuck a water bottle straw in to give me my first drink in hours. I was too thirsty to do more than suck for a few minutes, after which he gently arranged my sweaty hair so I could see. He also patted my skin all over with a towel, removing some of the perspiration.

"Well?" He inquired, his face an odd mixture of concern and determination. "Don't you wonder what's going on?"

Since he had made no move to clothe me or release me from Present, I decided that I had better assume I was still a de facto slave, even though Richard was the one person in the world I wanted as a master. "Am I permitted to know that, Master?"

"Yes and no. I'll tell you what's going on, but I'm not your master, Lois." He sighed. "I apologize for kidnapping you, but I wanted to show you how easy it would be for you to lose your freedom. Don't worry--Hailie wasn't really injured. Now, however, if you can't or won't change, then this is the end of the road for us--Mary is waiting outside with some clothes to take you back to your ranch. But if you leave now, I can guarantee that within a year you'll be wearing a collar for real, either kidnapped or enslaved by a court order. And the next time that happens, I won't be there to save you--I won't even bid on you when you're auctioned off as slave meat."

A tear formed in the corner of my eye. "I don't want to lose you, Richard. I'm sorry I caused you so much worry--isn't there some way I can fix this?" Hesitantly, I broke position and reached out towards him with both hands.

"There IS one way, if you're willing." He said, suddenly looking almost as upset and uncertain as I felt.

"Name it!"

"We would need to work out a lot of details, but the bottom line is that you give me the right to protect you, by marrying me and becoming my FINO." [Free In Name Only personal services contract.]

Suddenly, my sadness shifted to joy. "I'd love that!"

[Skip five minutes of kissing and incoherent love talk. Damn, it felt good to be in his arms.]

When we came up for air, Richard again tried to be serious with me. "I want to take care of you, not take advantage if you. We're not getting married until we've worked out a pre-nup as well as the details of a FINO contract. For now, you must be really tired, so please let Mary take you home."

Still clinging to him, I replied, "I'll go home if you order me to, but there's one thing I want to start practicing right now, tonight."

He gently pushed me away. He could tell by my smirk that I was scheming about sex, so he asked, "And what's that, darling slave?"

My reply was prompt, almost giggling: "I need to practice servicing my new master."

Richard pretended that I was demanding a great sacrifice on his part. "If you really insist, but don't expect special treatment like this all the time. Bend over, pony slut!"

"Yes, Master!" I turned away from him, spread my legs, and bent over, placing my head on the narrow bunk at the side of the room. At the same time, I reached back with both hands, spreading my cheeks to offer both of my openings to him.

"Uhh!!" I grunted at the sudden intrusion between my labia. The only thing better than being taken by a dominant male is being stretched by the big cock of a master you love!

Half an hour later, Richard pulled up his pants, leaving me in a heap on the bunk while he went to the door and offered Mary the use of his guest room for the night. "Does that mean what I think it does?" I heard her ask. "Yeah, Ginger is now MY problem, Mary."

"About frakin' time, Romeo."

*****

We still had things to work out. The pre-nup agreement took too many lawyers because of the money involved, and it ended up with Richard and I each being a member of the other ranch's board of directors. The FINO negotiations were more private but equally complicated. Here, the issue wasn't money--I asked for only $5 per month and all the cock I could handle in return for surrendering my body to him. That was fine with him, and he graciously even agreed that anyone could use his new pony girl so long as he gave permission first.

The real issue was developing a schedule that ensured we could run our ranches and still spend time together, which was going to be a constant balancing act. Eventually, we agreed that I would need his permission if I spent more than two days a week at the Spinning Wheel. Richard developed a unique method of ensuring that his workaholic wife didn't neglect her slave duties. As part of his "payment" for the contract, he assumed responsibility for Hailie's compensation, converting her from my employee into his. THEN he deputized her to supervise "Ginger" whenever he wasn't around, making her my de facto slave wrangler/mistress. I soon learned that, if I stayed away from him for more than 36 hours at a time, Hailie would take me aside to insert a remote control vibrator into one of my lower openings, then turn it on intermittently to remind me that it was time to head back to the Jameson Ranch! She took a quiet joy in teasing me like that, watching me try to keep my composure in meetings with Mary (who now became my ranch manager) and other employees. Besides, whenever Hailie got me back to Richard sooner than scheduled, he gave her more time off while he took over "training" his FINO.

We had to wait until we were actually married/FINO'ed to work out most of the details. Still, being a FINO would eliminate any possibility of legal enslavement, including protective orders. To reduce the chance of kidnapping, Richard insisted that I have a passive GPS device implanted inside my left boob, one that could be activated by remote control to show my location. We also decided that Lois Spalding-Jameson would NOT be involved in day-to-day operations at her husband's ranch, or even take a tour and shake everyone's hand. We couldn't completely prevent rumors, but at least his staff didn't have a chance to compare their boss's new wife directly with Pony Girl Ginger. If he wanted me to appear as a pony at his ranch, either he or (usually) Hailie would tack me up and bring me there already in slut mode.

Despite these restrictions, I spent a LOT of time making love to my fiancé and almost equal amounts of time servicing my new owner. Somewhere in there we sandwiched in enough time to consult with Nikki Sheldon, the slave psychiatrist, in order to meet the requirements for a Texas FINO contract and try to further understand what motivated me.

I wore a beautiful dress to get married, not pony boots and bustier--too many business acquaintances were invited to the ceremony. Mary Jacobs, whom I had promoted to manager of the Spinning Wheel because I would be away too often, was the matron of honor and Hailie was one of the bridesmaids. The only unusual aspect of the wedding was the carriage that took us from the church door to the reception--it was pulled by a mixed team of eight ponies from our two herds, with my stallion Stud and his stallion Bart as the wheelers, the pair closest to the carriage so they could provide braking power when going downhill. I noticed that one of the other ponies was a much-slimmer Charlene, the former trainer who had taunted and harassed me before she was herself enslaved for credit card debt. Little touches like that told me that my new husband really did pay attention to me.

Not only did I NOT appear as a slut at my own wedding, but my wedding night was as vanilla and romantic as any virgin bride could expect. We spent a lot of time necking, kissing, fucking, kissing, showering, kissing, cuddling--well, you get the idea. Move along folks, nothing to see here.

The next morning, after he woke me up with his mouth on my clit and labia, was a different story. I knew that today we had to formally initiate the FINO agreement, but Richard had refused to tell me any details. He reminded me that it was my idea to surrender control to him, so stop trying to top from below. Yes, Dear.

Still, it was not a big surprise when he stopped me from getting dressed, instead going through the now-familiar (and thrilling) process of ordering me to collar, reverse, back hands, and so on while I was still naked. He also carefully removed my engagement and wedding rings, since slaves are only permitted jewelry that passes through my body--the platinum nipple rings were fine, but not the wedding ring! For the third time, Richard put me gagged and bound into a poodle cage, although this time at least he dispensed with the horrid bag.

When I found out what he intended to do, I wished he HAD put my head in a bag, but by that time I was in no position to argue. My damn husband (and soon to be beloved master) used a hand cart to calmly roll my nude, caged body through the crowded main lobby of the hotel, dropping the cage for five long minutes while he fumbled around about settling the account and checking out. One of the bellmen spent the entire time staring with unabashed admiration at my tits! And THEN Richard pushed me, still slave naked, right out the front door to a waiting truck with a power lift on the back gate. The doormen were equally interested in examining his caged slave. I was blushing all over as the lift slowly, SLOOWWLLYY moved my cage up and finally deposited me inside the truck and out of public view.

*****

Richard had warned me that he was going to give me the full slave experience, which included hours on the highway in the darkened back of a truck, not knowing where I was being shipped (slaves have questions, but only masters have answers). When the truck finally backed up, with a warning beep-beep-beep, and deposited my cage at a loading dock, I was not really surprised when the standard warning spiel began with "You are at the Long Horn Slave Market for processing as a slave..."

What DID surprise me was that the wrangler giving me that warning was Chad Warwick, a pimply-faced former employee of the Spinning Wheel who had lost his virginity doing a damn good job of dominating Pony Girl Ginger! Six months earlier, I had foolishly given Mary a written order that authorized any one of my employees to plow Ginger in any hole he wanted--and Mary had handed that order to Chad, the youngest (at 18) and scrawniest part-time ranch hand in my employ. When I had balked, Chad had not hesitated to use the strap on me and quickly established psychological dominance over the recalcitrant pony girl.

After that, Chad had made use of the permission slip that I had signed personally, allowing him to get rid of his virginity by using the mouth and vagina of what he had described as a "useless, over-the-hill, ass whore of a slave cunt." On my enthusiastic recommendation, he got a job at the Longhorn.

He didn't know my identity that night, but this time when I reached the Lomghorn someone (I suspect Mary!) had made sure he knew exactly who I was. After he finished the warning speech, Chad cut the gag holding my mouth stretched into a grin--and while he was at it, he thoroughly groped my boobs. THEN he greeted me. "Why, hello, there, Ginger--or should I say Mizz Spalding? I always thought you were born to the collar, and you certainly look great down there on your knees. You've got nice tits for such an old mare."

When you're under slave discipline, either temporary or real, at a slave market, there is only one correct response to such a comment: "Thank you, Master." His grin was a mile wide as he connected a leash to my collar, helped me stand (my hands still being restrained behind my back), and ordered "heel, slut." He couldn't resist chuckling as he led me over to a podium, ordered me to kneel again, and clipped the leash to the podium while he went over my processing.

Having been through the same market less than year ago (when Mary and I had kennelled ourselves to get branded), my slave photos and data were up to date, so there wasn't really any "processing" he could inflict on me. That didn't prevent Chad from adding me to a group of six other naked women so we could practice Block Positions (slave yoga, only raunchier) for half an hour. Soon I was prancing back and forth, begging someone to buy me and stuff all my holes. I definitely knew it was a set-up when, in addition to Chad grinning at me, I saw two other familiar faces--Jesse Foster, the vice president and operations manager of the market, and a muscular African-American named Dave, who had controlled and gang-banged me on my previous visit. Sigh--who am I kidding? If you've read the rest of my humiliating odyssey, you can guess that the sight of those three familiar faces gawking at my humiliation actually increased my arousal!

The Long Horn had developed another twist on Block Positions since Mary and I had performed there. Because these positions and the suggestive slave mantras were intended to arouse the slaves (including those "temporary slaves" who were only here for grading), someone--I suspect Jesse Foster's wife, Shirley, who seemed to really understand submissive motivations--had added one more step. At the end of a vigorous 30 minutes of fondling, twerking, stretching, and generally flaunting themselves, the slaves' final position was kneeling, thighs wide apart, with hands interlocked behind heads--and each slut ended up two feet from the edge of the platform, facing the wrangler who controlled her. I was panting heavily with my bare breasts rising and falling, looking up at Chad Warwick, when he (and the other wranglers) all stepped up onto the platform in front of their respective charges, unzipped, and instructed the girls with the single word "mouth." So I again ended up with a mouthful of (this time 19-year-old) nerd cock.

To reinforce the point, Chad talked quietly to me the entire time I was licking and sucking him. "That's right, Mizz Spalding--you may have been the rich bitch lady who first hired me, the 18-year-old still in high school, but now all you are is a naked cock whore on your knees, servicing me or any other free man. You love that taste, don't you, slave?" He bent over to firmly tweak my breasts and nipples, then again stood tall, one hand controlling my head as he slowly skull-fucked me. Like a dutiful slave, I smiled and tried to worship him with my eyes the whole time he used me. Once again, I marvelled at the ability of this pimply-faced teenager to impose his will on me, although to be fair I was highly susceptible to such domination. When I finally brought him off, he jerked his cock out from between my lips to give me a sticky facial.

After Chad had milked my ignominy as much as possible, it was time for me to go meet my master. Chad and Dave decided that the appropriate method to guide me out to the front entrance was to walk one on either side of me, each one fondling the butt cheek nearest to him. By unspoken agreement, Chad's fingers were the ones that got to goose me the whole time. I still couldn't get over how masterful this guy was--I hoped that Jesse appreciated what a gem I had recommended to him. I'm sure that both men could smell my arousal.

Just before we reached the lobby, Chad halted me. Apparently acting on specific instructions, he snapped chrome carabineers through my nipple rings and tied a big red bow between them--I was gift-wrapped and ready for my new owner.

I was also collared, cuffed, dishevelled, and wearing "more cum than clothing," as the saying goes. I should have been embarrassed to be marched out into the lobby of the Long Horn, where 40 or more clothed, free people were milling around, and then made to kneel next to the Concierge Desk in front of friends including Mary, Hailie Wilson, and Nikki Sheldon. But all I had eyes for was my groom and master, Richard. I'm sure our smiles would have illuminated an entire city.

I was so relieved and horny at the same time to see him that I almost missed the fact that Nikki was pregnant--I only noticed the slight bulge in her pantsuit when Mary asked her when she was due. The reply, indicating that she was already in Week 33 (of 40), gave me renewed respect for her physical conditioning--I would have guessed less than half that time.

I opened my mouth to congratulate Nikki, but Master Chad gave me a "gentle" whack across my gift-wrapped jugs with his rubber strap, reminding me not to waste the time of free people with slave chit-chat. There is a cliché in the industry, much more truth than humor, to the effect that, while well-behaved children should be seen and not heard, well-behaved slaves should be obscene and not heard (except when climaxing).

So we got down to the business of the FINO contract. Richard and I had labored over the wording, trying to be generous and fair to each other, but my Daddy taught me never to sign anything I hadn't read and understood. So I went over it all again, initialing each page as I stood, the only naked woman in a group of fully-clothed free citizens. As I mentioned before, this contract was unusual in a couple of ways. While Richard Jameson was the person I was agreeing to serve--in practical terms, my Master--Hailie Wilson was also designated as my supervisor, to whom I owed complete obedience unless she ordered me to do something contrary to Richard's wishes OR something that violated other restrictions of the agreement. I was in the weird position of being simultaneously the owner and executive officer of my own ranch, a member of the board of directors of Richard's ranch, and yet the obedient servant not only of Richard but also of Hailie Wilson, an employee of both ranches. Knowing the personalities involved, I thought the deal would work out even though on paper it was a hopeless snarl. I did NOT look forward to explaining this to my board, although I held more than 80 percent of the voting stock in the corporation. Thank heavens they had all signed non-disclosure agreements.