Pony, Introduced Pt. 02

He reached between my legs and tugged at the pole and its attachment point to the rubber hitch. He de-coupled them, leaving the hitch inside me, but detached it from the pole. Then he pulled the chastity plate that he had left dangling, and strapped it tightly against me. As with my chest harness, he tightened the strap, then tightened it even more, so it pressed that hitch hard inside me.

Suddenly there were flicks of hot pain against my ass. He slapped the crop into me several times, then said, "You need to stand straight." I realized I was still ever-so-slightly bent forward, and I straightened fully.

"Walk around." His voice was gruff and I obeyed immediately. I stepped forward in the teetering high heels, having to keep my balance. I was stiff-legged trying to keep the objects inside me from banging hard together with each move forward. My nipple bells jingle as I tried to walk in a circle around him, as he held my reins.

"Outside now," he said. And he drew me toward the open double doors.

I was alarmed. I have only been naked out of doors a few times in my life—mostly for youthful skinny dipping, hasty sex, and that one time, tied to the railing on his deck. It felt dangerous to step outside, where anyone could pull into his wooded driveway at any moment. He led me to the largest area of grass in the space behind the house. I had to walk even more carefully, to keep my stiletto heels from sinking into the soft ground.

"Do circles now," he said, and I began a stiff-legged walk around him. But quickly I realized that I must not have been doing it correctly, because he pulled something from his belt that I had not noticed before. It was a singletail leather whip. And he snapped it against my left thigh as I passed in front of him.

I couldn't help it; I squealed in surprise and pain. I tried to ask what it was he wanted, but my words were muffled by the bit gag in my mouth. He popped the tip of the whip against my ass. I attempted to straighten up further, to have the most soldierly posture possible, and I lifted my knees a bit more as I walked around in circles on the grass. I'm not sure if this was what he wanted, though. Because he kept peppering me with snaps of the whip against the most tender parts of my body. He even swatted at the soft undersides of my tits, which made the nipple bells chime furiously. Each bounce of the clamps sent new pain bursting through me.

I tried to go faster. The force of the movement necessary for speed made me collapse into myself slightly, to try and protect myself from the grinding of the objects inside of me. As soon as I began to droop, he replied with the flicks of the whip. On my calves, on my back. I straightened once more, and walked slightly faster. He jerked at my reins, my head twisted around sharply, and I looked into his eyes. The deep blue of them was blazing with lust, which made me want to please him more. So I stepped as high and swiftly as I could until he yanked the reins once more, and said, "Stop."

I froze, or attempted to. I was trembling so fiercely I was not still at all, but was some spooked and lathered creature that he was breaking to saddle.

He strode forward, wrapping my reins around his wrist until my head was held hard onto the side and I could not move, with him pressed up behind me. He reached down with his other hand to tried and fumble the chastity strap and buckle apart, realized he could not do that with one hand, especially not a shaking, lust-palsied hand. He loosened the reins so he could hold them while he unbuckled the strap. Then, when it was removed, he tightened the reins again. Then my head was wrenched to the side and pulled back, so I could not look at where I was going as he walked beside me, leading me briskly back down the pathway to the loft garage. Every time I tried to slow down so I could move my face forward, he swatted me hard on the ass and thighs with the whip. But at least some of the pressure shoving the rubber hitch into me was alleviated with the straps unfastened. It was easier to walk, a little. He did have to steady my wobbly steps a couple of times.

He left the double doors spread open when we returned to the loft garage, so the low-slanted golden sunlight flooded into the pretend stable he had constructed in the corner. Then he led me to the straw bales, which were piled waist high at the edge of the area. He shoved me face first against the bales, and pushed me forward until my legs were jammed into the straw, so all I could do was bend forward at the waist.

The ringing bells muffled when my breasts were pressed into the scratchy straw. My thighs, abdomen, tits were all being abraded once more, even worse than with the dandy brush. He pushed my face down into the bale for a moment, then pulled back until my head was arched back as far as it would go with my torso still being pressed into the straw.

Then I felt him gather the long silky hair of the tail-plug and drape it over my right hip. The hair tickled against my knees as it fell out of the way down my leg. Then he was tugging against the rubber hitch lodged inside me. "It never did make it all the way in," he said as he began to withdraw it from me. It took some concentrated effort to remove it.

Once it was removed, I still felt stuffed full, only now the focus was on the large plug in my ass. I struggled faintly, partly for the renewed joy of feeling the straw scratch and abrade my skin, and partly to try to genuinely escape. But feebly.

"Stay still," he said, and he tied my reins to a hook on the wall so that I was held down and pressed tautly into the bale. My arms remained strapped, with the wrists by my shoulders. The nipple bells and rings pressed into me and against the bale.

That's when the whipping really began. I would have said that perhaps he was punishing me for not doing a perfect job as his ponygirl, but I believe he was honestly whipping me for sheer sadist joy, rather than any phony punishment scenario. I sank almost immediately into the languor of subspace, because each blow was a knifeblade of pain against my skin, and I felt the heated welts rising in a morass of pain. But some hits were so severe I was jarred out of subspace until I was shrieking into the bale of straw.

He seemed to like this, and hit me harder. I could hear the cutting of the whip through the air a nanosecond before each tongue of pain landed on my flesh. The sound of the whip impacting me was unlike any other sound of paddling, spanking, flogging, or cropping that we've done before. It was a wet cold sound in the air, with a white hot swick against my skin.

After more strokes than I could count, especially in my non-thinking state, he dropped the whip and walked up to me. He rubbed his hand briskly over the welts, and I wailed against the agony of it. Then I felt him up behind me, unzipping his pants. I felt him stroke his cock a few times, in excitement and anticipation. Then he was pressing me still harder into the straw, entering me, bumping against the plug in my ass.

Once he was deeply embedded in me, he pulled the reins back so my head was once more arched back sharply while his body pressed me into the bales. Everything hurt—the wrenched neck, the straw, like needles. My ass was being banged from within and without against an unyielding cock and an unyielding plug.

He fucked me. The bales were exactly the right height for fucking and it was a glorious sensation. I loved the sensation of him falling against me with each stroke. He threw his body into my welted backside, causing the sensation to reawaken more fiercely. He pounded into me until I felt like the straw must be embedded under my skin, then continued to pound into me more.

After several minutes of relentless thrusts, I felt him jerk slightly, then go rigid, then gasp and move in a long stream of orgasm. I felt him flood into me. I loved that moment, when he was satiated and gasping slightly, the limp weight of his relaxing body atop me.

After a few minutes recovery, he stood up and peeled me off the straw. I had scratches covering me, with a few showing tiny spots of blood where the skin was broken, but mostly just sharp stinging welts. I was covered with small bits of straw. It clung everywhere to my sweat-sheened body.

I stumbled slightly as I stood, still in the high platform shoes. He held my shoulders and turned me, pressing me down once more onto the single bale of straw, on my back. Then the straw had new flesh to assault, including the tender skin of my whipped ass.

He dropped to his knees on the thick wool blanket covering the floor and lowered his head until his lips touched my clit. It was an electrifying shock of sensation, and he repeated it over and over, sucking, biting, licking. Some of his oral techniques shook my whole body, making the nipple bells jingle and the plug inside me jump from the tension of the tail pinned beneath me.

He worked the magic he always did, with his hands and lips and teeth and tongue. Soon I was panting my orgasms, twisting in a frenzy of pleasure. Her fingers were inside me and I was coming and coming and coming.

As it always does, the feeling of the plug in my ass ballooned into something that feels twice as large after the first orgasm, renewing a sense of deep-blossoming pain. That pain was painted over with splashes of orgasms and the pulsing pain of the nipple clamp bells bouncing and pulling. For a while all I know was him and the pleasure and pain he brought me. Everything dissolved into a surge of explosive sensation.

Then I was aware that we were upstairs in the loft. I was laying cuddled into his shoulder. The straps and shoes were gone, the plug and bells. I was nude except for my over the knee socks, one of which had slouched down. I had no idea how we got from the last point in my consciousness until this one, but it didn't matter, because I was happy.

"Next time," he said, "perhaps we'll hitch up the cart."