'The Groom and the Trainee', Segment V

Happy New Year

*****

A new day in the stables, Sweet Cheeks stands on toes, bent at the waist, mitten covered hands held high behind her back by a cable strung from the ceiling. Before her is a full length mirror, her reflection filling the glass. Another protocol at Dyson Farms, psychological subjugation... made to observe one’s naked and bound capitulation.

She rides the horse, really just an upturned horizontal wooden plank, also held in place by cables, the gruff top edge just grazing the entrance to her mons. Labia parted, her moist pink flesh moistens the board.

She feels posed as would a swimmer about to take a dive. But there will be no splash. She cannot move.

“Comfortable, Cheeks?” Groom Edgar inquires, expressing paternal care.

“No, Sir... it’s... it’s straining my legs.”

“As intended. Calves, thighs, gluteus maximus... your buttocks... all need to be strengthened... and molded. How is your cunny?”      

“The wood... it’s rough... I have to stay on my toes... so that it doesn’t hurt.”

“Yes,” Groom Edgar chuckling. “Rather devious... working you on the horse. But it’s for the best.”

Standing to the pony girl’s left side, an arm reaches, a hand smoothing over a smooth young globe, Sweet Cheeks is exercised completely naked course. The muscling there is tensed. Clenched rock hard in maintaining the demanded pose, protecting her opening. With the soft covering of epidermis there is shapely allure.  

“It’s time we worked your nipples as well... another step... accelerate the stretching... just a little. We don’t go quickly in modifying a pony girl. In rushing, your titties would lose sensation... numb the skin. And we wouldn’t want that. You need to feel the crop... for correction... and encouragement.”

With the words, the hand retracts, Groom Edgar stepping to the pony girl’s front, fingers gently taking the nipples cones, pinching and smoothing down the inch and a half lengths, tugging toward the floor below.

“How’s my touch?” the defrocked doctor seemingly proud of his efforts.

“Like I’m being suckled.”

“Well you are. But we’re going to be adding some weight... during your morning rides. That’s why your hands and arms are held high, chest to the floor,” releasing to retrieve slim cords from his pocket. “Just a few ounces to begin,” winding a cord about the rubber cone covering the left nipple. “And then a little more every day. You’re going to a proud pony girl, Cheeks.”

Left nipple cone entwined, right nipple cone follows. Sweet Cheeks gasps when hands right and left each take a dangling loose cord and pull. 

“Hurt?”

Sweet Cheeks shakes her head, chagrined to find the gentle pulls to be instead sensuous. Indeed, Groom Edgar tilts his head, looking aside to the inner thighs where the edge of the plank darkens with more flow of moisture, cunny secreting. The evidence of arousal brings a knowing smile.

“Good. Girls of your ilk come to enjoy their submission. Now some weights... three ounces... get you acclimated... to control... to yielding... to subordinating your tender anatomy to modification,” attaching small baubles of metal to the end of each cord. “Weights... for fishing lines... cheap, easily procured... readily increased.”     

“Oh, Sir I don’t think...”

“But you will... take it. We know girls like you. You want to obey... want to perform... want to please... want to be displayed... so proud of subordinating to your masters.”

With the words, a finger pokes the weights. Sweet Cheeks gasps anew, closing her eyes in the shame of being oddly excited... of the realization... that Groom Edgar knows girls with her predilection... knows her.

“Edgar, tack Candy Bar for me,” the stern alto voice of Lady Dyson calls out,” strolling the long stable corridor, passing stalls to where she encounters the stressed trainee. “I want to work her at the end of a lunge line before running Gum Drop.”  

The sound of tapping boots ends. Sweet Cheeks opens her eyes, the regal owner, Mistress of Dyson Farms, riding crop in hand, observes.

“Well, well, well. My nose suggests my new girl enjoys riding the horse.”

Sweet Cheeks blushes unaware that evidence of her arousal is so apparent.

“It’s time for weighting her... nipples only for now,” Groom Edgar explains.

“So I see,” Lady Dyson stepping proximate, her crop hand extending. “You’ve progressed her nipples to well over an inch.”

“An inch and a half, Ma’am.” 

“And the labia?” the tip of the crop pushing about the weights... bringing another gasp of joy. 

“Still retracted... but with twice daily finger work I’ll soon have her in stretching cones there as well.”

“Good. And the vaginal walls? Breeding material?”

“Firm. This one will drop some foals for you... when the time comes.”

Lady Dyson nods, moving to the side. Sweet Cheeks turns her head, noting the woman seems to glow in observing a naked girl in toil... legs straining, direly protecting the entrance to her opening. A gloved hand smooths over the buttocks, examining.

“She clenches her buttocks delightfully. Nice basic shape... but in much need of development here, Edgar.”    

“She’s young, Ma’am. Development yes, but such will come soon. Diet and exercise.”

“Yes, you do marvelous work, Edgar. Have her in harness in no time.”

Lady Dyson returns to the front, peering into the face.

“Nice even features. Have you needed to shave her... other than the head?”

“Yes, some pubic hair... not yet requiring daily attention... quickly removed.”

“Well, when next putting her under the razor, shave her eyebrows. Even in baldness I detect a degree of pride in the girl... dignity. That won’t do. Pride is something we’ll bestow... proud to be mastered... to prance naked... to serve in harness. And dignity... well that will only come when she’s put in bit and bridle... and run under the crop”

A gloved hand reaches, a finger smoothing over the limited strips of hair above the eyes.

“Yes, it will give her an eery, alien look. Somewhat freakish... but needed. As I said, pride... any pride in appearance will come from what we bestow... what we permit.”

Sweet Cheeks begins to well up, her emotions on a roller coast, enjoying Groom Edgar’s sensuous handling, now her appearance to be further altered. As Lady Dyson steps away, Sweet Cheeks looks into the mirror. Having acclimated... somewhat... to baldness... complete glabrousness will next come. Yes, eery... freakish... not a strand of hair anywhere.  

“And I want Candy Bar figged. She can be a little torpid. Some ginger root will help.”

The sound of tapping boots fades, Lady Dyson leaving for the training corral.

Groom Edgar notes the tears, rivulets streaming, a droplet to the floor.

“Your eyebrows will grow back... when permitted,” Edgar softly counsels.

“How I am to be shown... looking freakish?”

A hand reaches, a finger tenderly wiping the wet cheeks. Curious, Groom Edgar thinks to himself. The conditioning, the psychological duress, Sweet Cheeks is acclimating to her servitude... disappointed that her prospective appearance... all hair gone... will deter from any pageants. Even such otherwise insignificant strips of facial hair... when removed... will preclude her complete nakedness from posing before judges... some dozen eyes assessing... hands poking and prodding. She will not be a show pony looking like a creature.   

Groom Edgar smiles inwardly. The girl is succumbing. There is relent in not being displayed in her nakedness.

“You can be raced, Cheeks. Your conditioning has yet to begin. First proper muscle formation... many hours riding the horse... then the treadmill, training corral and finally to be harnessed and run. But you’ll need to be... presentable... as well,” the hands returning to the dangling cords, pushing such that the weights swing about, leaving no doubt as to ‘presentable’.

“Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir... what a Dyson Farms pony girl looks like. There will be more weights?” the tone seeming hopeful.

“Oh yes. And your cunny as well. You’ve seen Gum Drop.”

Sweet Cheeks nods, the reply seeming to bring cheer. The labial infusion. Is there odd attraction? Can she dichotomously feel the induced sensuality of labia turned to small balloons?   

“I can’t work the fields, Sir. Whipped, caned.... and you said made supple... you know... back there,” Sweet Cheeks’ head tilting and nodding, ‘back there’ being her fine posterior.

So, Groom Edgar’s brief description of what it is to work the fields has left an indelible impression, trainee Sweet Cheeks almost beseeching to either be shown or be exhaustively run in harness. Perhaps her aptitude for Lady Dyson’s training and curious body modifications can be heightened.

“Another hour on the horse and I’ll walk you, Cheeks. Leashed of course... whenever outside the stable pony girls are tethered. Would you like that?” 

Not having seen the outdoors for many weeks, Sweet Cheeks effusively nods her head.

“Oh, yes Sir. Thank you, Sir. So kind of you.”  

'The Groom and the Trainee', Segment IV

Merry Christmas!

*****

Sweet Cheeks lies supine on a wooden platform, thin mattress offering a degree of comfort. As Groom Edgar stands above, food bowl in hand, she looks into the handsome face. She finds the man to be attractive... in a paternal manner. With hair slightly graying at the temples, perhaps he is the father she never knew. Since her arrival at Dyson Farms he has been most kindly... his touch firm and directing but caring and tender... and yet degrading in so often taking liberty with her intimate girl parts... closely supervised toileting being just one of many embarrassing protocols.

The man sits to her side, spoon scooping.

“I can feed myself, Sir.”

“Yes, Cheeks, but that would mean removing your masturbation mittens and unbuckling your wrist cuffs. Bondage... for pony girls it is best.”

Yes, Sweet Cheeks and the platform bed are one, lying in four point restraint, arms held over her head at the corners, ankles likewise secured... and of course her legs obscenely parted, hairless cunny well exposed.

“And other than that, you should understand that here the rituals and protocols are framed to ensure a sense of dependency. A pony girl has needs... we take care of those needs. You’ll not have a worry or care in the world... other than to obey and perform.”

A spoon laden hand presents a pile of brown gruel. Sweet Cheeks, though hungry, demurs... passive resistance.   

“Oh come now, Cheeks. We can use a gastric tube. You would not be the first girl so fed.”

A free hand goes to the girl’s nose, a finger pushing into the right nostril, gently but hinting at the discomfort of being so intubated.

“You can do that sir... would do that?”

“Oh yes, we have some very nutritious concoctions for recalcitrant pony girls. Particularly those destined to work the fields. We make them nice and plump... better for long working days naked in the cool air.”

Sweet Cheeks shudders, bristling with the power... and her compelled submission... the thought that in addition to modifying pink parts... nipples and labia... a girl’s entire body is to be molded into... whatever. Groom Edgar smiles in seeing the reaction of fear and concern, withdrawing his finger as a mouth opens in acceptance. The spoon enters, the tasteless mush masticated.

The exchange gives rise to questions. Just who is Groom Edgar?.. so knowledgeable... able to play with a girl’s anatomy like a Maestro violinist. He toys... but with purpose... psychologically... emotionally... physically transforming. The supervised toilet, the nipple cones... her tender nubs handled with exacting care... becoming some exotic extravagant fare, an exotic recipe prepared for royal consumption... slowly pulled, twisted, further pulled to grotesque length... then finally suctioned into tight rubber cones. All performed with knowing exactness.

And there is the attention paid to her labia... examined and palpated twice daily... for now deemed too undeveloped for alternation. But for sure Sweet Cheeks is destined for the prominent dangling strips of pink girl flesh borne by Gum Drop.

Sustenance spooned and consumed in silence, Groom Edgar puts aside the bowl. Sweet Cheeks knows it is time for her nightly examination... more ignominy.        

“How do your breasts feel, Cheeks?”

“Like... you know... someone, something... is constantly pulling.”

With the words, fingers go to the rubber cones. Sweet Cheeks knows what is to come. Maestro is to play his violin... her body.

“That’s good,” fingers deftly peeling, unrolling the tightly fitting left rubber cone down to the nipple tip for removal.

The right cone is likewise rolled off. Sweet Cheeks gazes down in horror to see her nubs do not retract. Forced to spear forth some two inches when encapsulated, on prior evenings such have shrunk back somewhat to normalcy. Not on this evening. And Groom Edgar notices as well, smiling in satisfaction.

Putting aside the rubber, the hands return, Sweet Cheeks to endure the twice daily breast massage. It feels good... it feels distressing... it embarrasses... yet she must helplessly lie and accept the attention.

Worse, she feels twinges. The shame brings arousal. She berates herself. Groom Edgar compliments.

“You’re becoming fragrant, Cheeks... learning to enjoy a mastering touch. That is good... you’re here to be mastered.”

Sweet Cheeks blushes, once again her groom’s knowledge concerning things girlishly private brings both admiration and frustration. He plays such magical violin. Yes, masterfully. 

The nipples made supple, Groom Edgar reaches for the horrid device Sweet Cheeks knows to bring transformation... forced transformation. It appears to be a modified breast pump, suctioning strongly as fingers squeeze an attached puffolator. The right nipple is pulled firmly, engulfed, and then when a trigger-like lever is pulled, with a notable click a fresh rubber cone... seemingly tighter and certainly longer... is snapped into place covering anew a length of sensitive flesh.

“Ugh,” the exclamation of discomfort bringing Groom Edgar to smile.

“You’re becoming acclimated to elongation, Cheeks,” a finger playfully tapping her nose. “You squealed the first time. Do I detect a level of acceptance,” spoken as the device is reloaded,    

Left nipple similarly encased, the device disappears and Groom Edgar slips down the side of the mattress. Sweet Cheeks closes her eyes... more shame... more play... Maestro to intimately examine as the outer labia are splayed, the inner labia brought fully into the room light, the vaginal opening gaping.

“Yes, Quite moist, Sweet Cheeks. You’re coming to enjoy being examined... being handled.”

“Must you Sir... every day?”

“Twice per day. You have no privacy here at Dyson Farms, Cheeks. You’ll be shown and put on display... at Lady Dyson’s whim. So an intimate gynecological examination will become quite acceptable... in time.”

As per twice per day, the fingers slip past the outer lips and gently pinch the inner labia,... limited on a girl of Cheeks age... then roll about beginning a tugging action just as with the nipples. Sweet Cheeks comes to realize... the horrid device bestowing tight rubber to her nipples will also be applied... first suctioning then, with a pull of a mastering finger and a click, likewise encase her precious girl parts below.

When? When will her beauty lips succumb as well?

The Maestro’s touch brings more twinges... and for sure more moisture. Sweet Cheeks begins to smell herself... more ignominy. She berates herself, stifling a quest to plead... for more attention... to likewise toy with her clitoris... to finally bring climax... to light the fuse leading to an explosive orgasm. She feels sheepish with the thought. Drat the unending chastity! 

Her thoughts worsen. There comes the sound of squishing, her cunny sopping wet, fingers turning her vagina into a wellspring.  

Then she thinks of Groom Edgar’s words... gynecological exam. Could it be?

“Are you a doctor, Sir?” the finger work continuing, the sensation both arousing and demeaning.

“You’re maturing here nicely, Sweet Cheeks. In bathing Gum Drop, you’re aware of the... ah... presentation... the Dyson Farms look for pony girls. You’re going to be so proud... and so excited to be run... sensing your girl bits flopping about.”

“Well?” her question not to be evaded.

“I have medical training. Yes. You’re in good hands... and fingers,” Groom Edgar humorously adds.

Should this bring comfort? Awareness that... though extensive and bizarre modification is to come... her body will not be the instrument of a Maestro... to be played... but instead a sculpture... clay for an artist.

“So not a doctor?”

“I was,’ the fingers of left hand and right managing to coax tufts of labial flesh from the vaginal opening... to be tugged forth and rolled about firmly... more firmly than other morning and evening sessions.

Sweet Cheeks feels more open and vulnerable than ever, gasping with unwanted joy, arms and legs tugging at her restraints.

“The medical board chose to retract my license,” Groom Edgar fesses up. “And Lady Dyson graciously assures my... financial requirements.” 

Should this alleviate concerns... naked and bound body subjected to the caprice of examining, marauding hands and fingers... but clinically trained?

“In a few weeks, Sweet Cheeks. While working your buttocks, legs and thighs on the horse, you’ll also have another set of training cones. More stretching. You’ll come to enjoy the feel. And we go slowly... your girl parts will not lose any sensation. Trust me, I know.” 

Yes, you’re a doctor... license revoked for obvious reasons, Sweet Cheeks thinks but dares not say...  medical training bastardized.     

'The Groom and the Trainee', Segment III

 Groom Edgar holds up the masturbation mittens... carefully. The outer mesh steel covering can engender cuts and scrapes. Sweet Cheeks knows to step forth and offer her hands for encapsulation.

“You’re aroused, Cheeks. Gum Drop’s cunny is not the only source feminine fragrance.”

Hands again rendered useless, tiny padlocks left and right are clicked closed. A hand lowers, fingers grazing the vulva, index finger slipping inward with ease. Sweet Cheeks knows not to resist, parting her feet in welcome. Constantly naked, she is open and vulnerable... to examination... to penetration.

“It’s... it’s horrible, sir,” nodding to where Gum Drops futilely continues to stimulate herself, hips rocking, full gratification not to come.

“Pointed words... but your love pouch speaks louder,” hand withdrawing, a wet finger presented.

Sweet Cheeks blushes in shame. Why is she aroused? she asks herself.  

“Your masochism... your need for subjugation... it is what it is, Cheeks. At Dyson Farms, it will be addressed. But never satiated. Ultimately that would not please you.”

Groom Edgar twirls a finger. Sweet Cheeks obediently turns to face away.

“Present,” the command softly uttered.

Sweet Cheeks responds to her early training, fully parting her feet, bending at the waist and arching her back, indeed presenting... a set of buttocks... girlishly shapely and under development... a tight puckered sphincter... the entrance to her hairless mons.

Can a girl ever become accustomed to the humiliation of so exposing herself? blushing deepening.

She feels hands... tender and caring. Fingers smoothing over her nakedness, squeezing in assessment of the gluteus maximus muscles. Then such palpate the thighs... outer and inner. 

Sweet Cheeks finds sensuality... oddly hoping an impaling finger returns. But she also finds the touch to be clinical. Objectified, her muscling is under evaluation. 

“Lady Dyson will be making a decision about you, Sweet Cheeks. For sure your buttocks will be well developed... that’s what we do here. But for show... for competition... or to work the fields?”

“For show, sir?”

“To be entered more or less in beauty pageants. Stripped naked of course, judged for... well... elements of appearance... shape... form... and comportment... level of obedience.”

Sweet Cheeks shudders. Still not acclimated to baring herself to a presiding male, how will she ever face an audience? Groom Edgar laughs, feeling her somatic reaction.

“Deep within, you’d enjoy, Sweet Cheeks. Perched on a pedestal, dozens of eyes examining. Hands assessing. Your most intimate anatomy open for viewing...”

The words bring Sweet Cheeks to feel twinges, vagina sopping, her scent even more evident. She doesn’t want to be subjected to such degradation... or does she?

“And if Lady Dyson wants you in competition... raced... you’ll be run... daily... for miles. Stamina maximized, weight well monitored, special diet... and hormones. Build the muscling... and you’d most likely develop a nice sized clitoris. Testosterone can do that for a girl.”

With that an examining finger goes to her gaping portal, deftly finding the clitoral hood and diddling suggestively. The simple, quick touch brings a brisance of joy... and a letdown when withdrawn.

Drat the strict chastity! Sweet Cheeks feels a rivulet of feminine essence ooze to her inner thigh.     

“I’m going to bed you and feed you. I’m sure riding the horse and the excitement have tired you.”

“And working the fields sir?”

“You’re best to avoid that... if you can. It’s grueling. You’d be well caned and whipped. And... well... the field hands... they’re gruff. To properly perform I’d need to fatten you... and... you’d need to be opened... for your protection.”

“Opened?”

In response, a thumb goes to the rear portal, pressing against a tight sphincter.

“As I said... the field hands... they’re gruff. Lady Dyson always wants them to be happy... but vaginal penetration is forbidden. No unwanted foals. So you’d be made supple here,” the thumb smoothing up and down, Sweet Cheeks grateful for no penetration.

With that, Groom Edgar steps back and offers a playful but firm swat to the right buttock.

“Food and bedtime. I need to feed Gum Drop as well... if she can stop frottaging. And I think you want to urinate for me.”   

More horror! To relieve herself in a most ignominious manner... closely supervised! Worse... a man’s finger... pressed to her urethral sponge... her flow under another’s control... becoming a man’s fountain... performing at his gist!

“Come now, Cheeks,” Edgar sensing reluctance. “That’s how we do things here. All body functions under guidance... the intimacy... the humiliation... the capitulation.  It is best for you.”

Sweet Cheeks glumly moves from the stall turning toward the back of the structure, stepping on toes  past other stalls... always moving on toes, Groom Edgar following. She feels his gaze, aware that a knowing eye appraises her gait... for sure to advise Lady Dyson when the time comes... show pony... competitor... or lowly draft animal. 

Into the training stall, no suspension cables or straps, Sweet Cheeks knows to move to the odd toilet facility, part her legs and straddle. She is being trained to relieve herself standing, a steel basin with drainage between her thighs, oddly shaped in being narrow yet long, capturing both the splatter of her bladder, and the excretions of her bowels.   

“Good girl,” Edgar noting she places her covered hands on the wall before her, leaning forth, patiently awaiting a penetrating finger and the command to open.

“Must it be like this?” her plea tearful, the humiliation intense.

A well versed finger enters her portal, going to the urethral sponge and hooking in place.

“Oh Cheeks, you’d not want this any other way. You’re blushing divinely. And your quim... so slick... so welcoming.”

The digit finds the urethra, rubbing about. Such thrill... such degradation. How is it the man knows... is so aware?

“Open,” the command finally comes. A flow begins, the sound of splatter embarrassing. And then it stops... control... control... the finger pressing closed her inner plumbing. 

Sweet Cheeks whimpers. Not like this!

'The Groom and the Trainee' Segment II

Sweet Cheeks swabs about the fragrant chamois, listening to Gum Drop purr as would a cat. Well worked, Sweet Cheeks must assume the girl has been run for miles, the naked form hanging most lethargically. She marvels at the conditioning, no evidence of distress despite relative immobility, swinging in tethers as soapy hands work. She feels the smooth, hairless warmth, a blemishless covering of fine skin enshrouding firm, well toned muscling. Does it thrill that in time, with unending exercise and training, her own young form will be so developed?

And the buttocks... large, rounded to notable prominence... and well cropped, the red welts of Lady Dyson’s crop not yet fading. The marks are even, the skin not broken. Such excoriation seems to be for encouragement... not punishment... bringing forth effort... stimulation... to be run to a girl’s breaking point... and beyond. To counter the near ecstasy of the vaginal insertions... the tantalization of the ringed nipples.

Hands smoothing about, Sweet Cheeks cannot help asking herself... about the Ben wa balls. She will no doubt be so impaled... should she be deemed worthy of bit, bridle and harness. 

What does it feel like... the constant stimulation? Dare she ask... Groom Edgar? Volunteer for impalement.

Masturbation mittens locked in place... could vaginal insertions lead to her only climactic relief?

Yet, Gum Drop is not brought to orgasm... such wickedness

“Do they really... you know... tie you together... with another girl... to be bathed.... and you know... like rub each other?” Sweet Cheeks whispers into an ear stressed by a hooked grommet.

“Yes, we’re allowed to trib from time to time... when Lady Dyson wants to be amused. It’s... it’s... well... a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.”

“So that’s it... to...”

“Most times we don’t get off... if that’s what you’re asking. She uses the cane... if she thinks a girl is... you know... close... about to climax without permission.” 

“It seems... so... cruel.”

“She wants us frisky... that’s the word she uses. You’ll see. You’ll be running for her... trying your best... in pleasing her... in trying to please yourself. And if you’re good... very good... she’ll have Mr. Edgar... well... finish you. He’s... superb. He’ll get to know your cunny better than you do. And he’ll certainly be there more than you... deeper and more often,” Gum Drop snickering. “So be a good girl... be nice to him.”

Sweet Cheeks moves to the front, hands going to the breasts, swabbing there ever so gently, taking the extended nipples into right hand and left. She has never considered herself homosexual, telling herself it is for Gum Drop’s good, the cropped strips sore, the removal of the rings quick yet painful. She rolls about her fingers, ever so carefully pulling in a milking motion, ostensibly to clean. With the touch, Gum Drop sighs, Sweet Cheeks glad her tender massage is welcomed. 

‘Just us girls’, Sweet Cheeks rationalizes... simply helping the poor girl. Yet the twinges renew, Sweet Cheeks looking over to where Groom Edgar stands nearby, preparing for the next procedure. Will he notice... a soapy hand disobediently giving herself a quick frottage?

“Someday... after you’ve been run... and need to be bathed... maybe we’ll be strung... together. We become close here. It’s... well... out of necessity. When fully trained you’ll not have mittens... just be kept in constant bondage. It’s Lady Dyson’s thing. As I said... kept frisky.”

“So other then Edgar....”

Gum Drop laughs, cutting off her words.

“There’s no cock here... if that’s what you’re about to ask. Not in the stables. The fields yes. But you'd not want that. There’s exhausting exercise to counter the hormones, the insertions, the sting of the crop and Mr. Edgar’s hands and fingers. So when we’re bathed together... do learn to enjoy. No inhibitions girl... put all that silliness aside. Particularly if Lady Dyson takes a liking... to your tongue work. For oral she has a neutered boy she keeps naked in her chambers... but at times she likes variety.”     

Distracted in thought, Sweet Cheeks doesn’t realize her fingers have progressed from cleaning the lengthy nipples to palpating sensuously. She is alerted to the unintentional erotic effect when Gum Drop purrs anew and begins stirring, hips wriggling in frustration, her body swinging in the many restraining cables.

“Step closer,” softly blurted.

Sweet Cheeks so moves. Gum Drop thrusts forth her tongue, alacritously finding a cone covered right nipple and drawing between her lips to bring a pang of Sapphic delight. Her attention is swift and quickly ends.

“Well, I see you girls are getting along. Naughty girl, Gum Drop,” Edgar admonishes. “Step away Sweet Cheeks. Empty the bucket. And for you, Gum Drop, perhaps a cold water rinse?”

“Please no, sir... I... I...” 

“Yes you wanted to acclimate Sweet Cheeks to pony girl life at Dyson Farms, tsk, tsk tsk.”.    

Edgar places aside a tray of implements and turns on the spray hose. Gum Drop is grateful, the flow is warm... soothingly warm.

“And you were talking,” directing the flow to rinse away the soapiness. “About?”

“Sweet Cheeks was asking... about bathing... you know... when Lady Dyson wants to be entertained.”

“Yes. If a girl wants to get herself off here, tribbing can happen... at times. And you girls like showing off... to Lady Dyson... and her guests.”

Guests! The notion brings alarm. Sweet Cheeks to display her nakedness to the unknown!

Groom Edgar, snaps his fingers, gaining Sweet Cheeks’ attention and pointing to a towel.

“Keep your hands busy and away from your cunny.”

 Sweet Cheeks returns, noting that Gum Drop helplessly swings about in suspension as she dries, Edgar stepping between well parted thighs.

“If you’ve not before seen a girl infused, watch closely. It’s most subjugating... good for a pony girl’s psyche. Bringing conflict... emotional unease... but physical joy.”

Sweet Cheeks completes her task, obediently moving to stand behind at Edgar’s left side. She will watch, vicariously sensing shame, the girl spread so wide open.

“Hands to your head and keep them there, Sweet Cheeks. Until I get you back into the masturbation mittens.”  

Sweet Cheeks complies, watching intently as hands reach forth, pinching the lengthy draping inner labia, rhythmically tugging in a milking motion... left, right, left, right.

“First we stimulate.. bringing more circulation,” Gum Drop moaning with the touch, “and loosening things up. Notice the coloring... pink turning to red,” Edgar pedantic anew. 

The milking motion stops, the fingers gently slapping then tweaking, the dangling four inch lengths becoming toys. Then Edgar reaches to the tray.

“Then we tie off, trapping the increased circulation within the lips.”

Slim cords, appearing to be for dental hygiene, are knotted about left labium then right at the base, fingers working well into the vaginal opening. Then the fingers resume fondling, flipping the lengths back and forth.

In watching Sweet Cheeks presses together her thighs, the concupiscence of many weeks of chastity, sensing the delight of such manipulation, bring again twinges.    

“And she’s ready... labial infusion. Well trussed... exposure complete... vulnerable to whatever is to be done to her, can you sense a pony girl’s surrender... feel her concern... feel her helplessness... but also feel the sublime sense of capitulation?”

A hand reaches to the tray, grasping a hypodermic needle with a frighteningly large barrel... filled with clear fluid.

“Saline, to infuse and give a girl some nice plum beauty lips. Give a girl a welcomed sense of exposure... a tantalizing physical sensation.”

The needle pricks the red left labium. Gum Drop lurches in her bonds.

“Please... not too much, sir.”

“Oh Gum Drop, you’d not want moderation... not when you can idly sway in suspension... and feel the warmth... frottage yourself to sleep... show me... show the world... a nice fat set of lips.”

Sweet Cheeks gawks, the plunger pressed... the saline flowing... the red strip swelling... slowly... slowly... plumping... plumping... redder... larger... larger... a girl’s precious anatomy becoming a man’s plaything... a bright red balloon.

“The saline will be harmlessly absorbed. But bring such subtle ecstasy. Gum Drop will wriggle about... trying desperately to bring herself to orgasm... but will fail... finally dozing off in the frustration of unattainable joy... ready to be run tomorrow.”

The needle withdraws, the once long thin labium now a saline filled sphere of some two inches in diameter. In thought, Sweet Cheeks is tempted to be disobedient, a wet vagina needing attention.

How is it Gum Drop can take this, lurching again as the right labium is stabbed, the process repeating.... slowly... slowly... the barrel emptying, the labium engorging.

“Eighty cubic centimeters. Good girl, Gum Drop. Such nicely stretched labia. You’ll be so proud.”

The empty syringe is returned to the tray. Edgar brings more humiliation, hands returning to again toy, flipping about the balloons, then palming, turning his head back to Sweet Cheeks to pridefully display his handiwork. Gum Drop moans, squirming with diabolical pleasure. 

“Your turn will come, Cheeks. Some stretching first... another set of rubber cones for your little cunny when it better matures. In time you can have a nice prominent pudendum... just like this. Want to play with her? Just don’t stimulate her clitoris. That’s forbidden”

Hands remaining on head, Sweet Cheeks gawks. Does she want to toy with a girl’s most intimate bits? She can sense Gum Drop’s tantalizing joy. Indeed as Groom Edgar releases, fingers going to remove the strings entrapping the saline, Gum Drop begins wriggling about her hips, the swollen labia gently swinging side to side, brushing inner thighs right and left. The pony girl moans then paroxysmally attempts to thrust hips, stressing the canvas bonds... her frustration palpable.   

“She’ll work and work through the night... trying for climax... inachievable climax... finally to sleep in exhaustion. With any clitoral stimulation... denied of course... she’d come. A simple feather would do. Over time, the saline will dissipate, but her lips will be a little longer... and fleshier. And tomorrow, when Lady Dyson runs her she’ll strive... to please... to take the sting of the crop... buttocks... nipples... buttock... nipples. And such will feel good to her... hoping for the word from her ladyship... that her performance and output are satisfactory. Yes, to be masturbated... fully... to orgasm. Like you she squirts, Sweet Cheeks. All Dyson Farms pony girls ejaculate for her ladyship.”

Groom Edgar steps away, letting a mesmerized Sweet Cheeks watch and watch, the reddened flesh waggling about. He smiles inwardly in knowing the girl becomes more and more eager every day... to be harnessed..  to be run... to likewise feel the sting of leather... and yes... to be restrained in suspension... and finally be brought to climax. For a girl of Sweet Cheeks’ ilk, the humiliation... the subjugation... it’s addictive.

“Some anal attention, Gum Drop? A nice stout butt plug?” 

'The Groom and the Trainee'

This will be a free story. So far two postings. I may add to it from time to time.

Enjoy... and purchase some stories. Lulu.com. Be sure to give yourself access to explicit material.

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The Groom & the Trainee

Copyright 2022

by Chris Bellows

“She’s well watered and ran okay for me... but rather uninspired. So don’t bring her off,” Lady Dyson handing a set of slim leather reins to her groom. “I want her eager and frisky to be run tomorrow. I think instead... why not infuse her. She can frottage herself to sleep. And I think our little trainee pony girl Sweet Cheeks will find interest.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

A gloved right hand goes to the bald head of pony girl trainee ‘Sweet Cheeks’, patting affectionately.

“She spent some time on the horse? I want those buttocks strong and protrudimg... especially since I’ve named her Sweet Cheeks.”

“Oh yes, Ma’am. She can now endure for nearly an hour.”

“Good. And I see she’s encased in nipple cones. Such nice titties she’s going to have for me,” the cylinders of tight rubber the girl’s only covering other than mittens.

“It will require time, Lady Dyson.”

“Yes, and persistence. But all skin stretches... don’t have to tell you that. And soon the labia,” Lady Dyson peering down to assess a hairless vulva.

The hand retracts, Lady Dyson stepping to the stable door, riding boots tapping the age-old floor planks.

“For me... a cool glass of wine, a hot bath and a warm, wet tongue. Goodnight Edgar.”

“Goodnight Ma’am.”

In departing, trainee Sweet Cheeks can divert her respectful eyes from the imposing owner and chatelaine of Dyson Farms to the sweat coated nakedness of pony girl Gum Drop. Despite her weeks of indenture, she always finds infatuation when a well worked pony girl is returned to the stables and placed under the attentive yet demanding care of Groom Edgar.

“Come, Gum Drop,” his voice low but firm, a controlling hand taking in the slack of the leather reins.

The well tethered pony girl follows as Edgar leads further into the stable structure. Sweet Cheeks notes the perspiration, listening to the small bells chime at the breasts and between the thighs.

The well muscled girl is hairless... head bald... and nude of course, other than standard restraints... high leather collar immobilizing the head, wrist cuffs holding the hands and arms useless, high to the back of the collar in the reverse prayer position,... and a thick leather waist belt making the girl and a riding cart one when properly secured.

With the reins leading to bit and bridle Gum Drop knows to obediently follow the guiding hand. Resistance and lack of attention is known to bring instant self induced pain to the mouth and tongue.

“Watch closely, Cheeks. Gum Drop is well versed and learning the protocols will save you some anguish when it’s your turn in harness... and to be groomed after a good run,” Edgar becoming pedantic once again.         

“First it’s to the suspension harness... and note Gum Drop only moves under direction. When I stop... she stops. When I move, she moves. We let you prance about as a trainee... a young filly... but when your time in harness comes... you’ll move only under supervision.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now Gum Drop has been acclimated... conditioned... to feel safe and secure only when in complete bondage. Even when she’s being run she is strictly tethered. And of course is now sensing my control at the end of the reins.”

As Edgar leads to a set of broad strips of canvas hanging from cables attached to the stable’s beams, Sweet Cheeks visually examines. The buttocks, well shaped but massive, are striped, Lady Dyson quick and generous with the riding crop. Protruding nipples, three inch long strips of firm crinkled pink turned to bright crimson, have no doubt also endured snaps of the crop.

The bells ring with each footfall, one each dangling from rings at the base of the nipples right and left. And a third, attached to a vaginal insertion, flops about at the pudendum, without doubt tantalizing pink and flushed strips of well exposed inner labial flesh.

Sweet Cheeks understands that in time her own beauty lips will be so presented.

She notes much moisture streaming down the inner thighs. Sweat? She knows it to be a mix of secretions.

Edgar leads between the hanging canvas. Gum Drop knows to step up onto a low bench and widely part her feet. The vaginal bell now hangs freely and with motion curtailed is silenced. Sweet Cheeks senses embarrassment for the girl as the scent of feminine arousal wafts in the stable air.

Gum Drop is stimulated! Painful cropping, bondage, humiliated in complete exposure of all a girl has to present... and her arousal is evident. 

Knowing of the pony girl’s deviant sexual excitement, Sweet Cheeks feels the frustration of the pony girl’s denial. Wrists well secured, there is no relief to be had for Gum Drop. Nimble fingers cannot bring herself to satiation. And with the thought Sweet Cheeks looks to her only covering. She is nude as well... but for thumb-less mittens... bag-like, gruff metal mesh locked in place and covering hands right and left.

‘Masturbation mittens’ groom Edgar has termed the curious garb. Such cruel chastity!

And indeed Sweet Cheeks has found it to be irritating and potentially painful to so much as rub her knee, her young skin notably sensitive.

How is it she will ever endure the riding crop?    

“Left thigh first,” Edgar interrupting her thoughts in continuing his lecture.

The words come as the reins are tied off and one strip of canvas, lined in foam, is slipped between powerful legs then pulled high, attaching the free end back to the cable above to form a loop encircling the upper thigh. The right leg is so encumbered and Edgar takes cuffs from the nearby wall, buckling in place about the ankles.     

“Steady girl,” Edgar firmly advises as knowing hands lift the left ankle from the bench and secure the cuff to a ceiling cable. Right ankle done as well, Gum Drop hangs in suspension, weight born by the thigh straps and ankle cuffs. Then Edgar works quickly to move to the pony girl’s front and hook slim ceiling cables to grommets set deeply into the cartilage of the ears. He next works to adjust the cables assuring that Gum Drop hangs comfortably... relatively comfortably... three feet from the floor in full suspension, knees bent, ankles and calves drawn up, belly to the floor, head held at waist level.

“You’ll soon have your ears done as well, Cheeks. Very simple bondage for the head,” commenting as the bridle is finally unbuckled and the bit slipped away.

“Comfortable?” the tone that of a father putting to bed a young child.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you. You’re so kind. Must you do... you know... the infusion?”

“You heard Lady Dyson. You need to better perform for her to be brought to full climax. And its only two little pin pricks... and then hours and hours of enjoyment for you.”

With the exchange, Edgar releases the cuffs and removes the high neck collar, his attention bringing a sigh of relief as the arms unfold and the cuffed wrists lower to more comfortably rest secured together at the small of the back. The thick waist belt is unbuckled. 

“Next come the bells, Cheeks. We’d not have her making a raucous as she tries to masturbate herself during the night. Pony girls can be so naughty,” humorously suggested in a tone of gentle admonishment.

Sweet Cheeks watches in amazement despite having before observed the removal. Fingers of the left hand pinch the lengthy left nipple and pull vigorously, stretching the three inches to a grotesque length. The action serves to thin the nub so that the fingers of the right hand can grasp the ring and with a gentle twisting motion draw the circle of steel and attached bell toward the tip. As such are slipped away the attached bell chimes and Gum Drop gasps with the quick agony, the tender flesh sore from vigorous cropping.

“One more,” Edgar advises with a smile, pinching and pulling the right nipple as well to bring more ringing and another gasp.

Sweet Cheeks glances to her own nipples, firmly encased in rubber, the constant suctioning for sure to bring similar bizarre presentation to her own breasts. As Edgar steps away to stow the rings and bells, Sweet Cheeks cannot help staring in wonderment. The glands of Gum Drop are not masculine in shape but less than feminine... mounds not rounded hillocks. It’s been explained that pendulous breasts do not well serve a pony girl, weight and floppiness there ungainly in being run exhaustively.

It seems at Dyson Farms only the presiding equestrienne is bestowed with normal feminine charms... Lady Dyson well endowed.   

Next Edgar steps to the rear. In positioning himself between wide spread thighs, Sweet Cheeks moves to stand behind. In alarm and again sensing embarrassment for Gum Drop the tethers of canvas hold the girl in a most humiliating pose. Buttocks parted, there is the puckered ring of her anus. Below the meaty outer labia yield and another bell hangs between long pink strips of the inner labia. Such humiliation... open for all to view.

Such ignominy, all a girl seeks to modestly veil on display... and such vulnerability.

Edgar notes the look of both concern and wonderment.

“Yes, well bound, spread open for examination... so helpless. Yet such enjoyment,” the fingers of the right hand going to the mass of moist pink flesh.

Edgar toys, fingers parting the labia and easily gliding inward to bring another sigh of joy. Then his hand retracts, held up for examination. The fingers are slick having gathered an abundance of juices. Sweet Cheeks knows such is not perspiration, the stable air becoming more redolent.

The left hand gestures ‘come hither’. Sweet Cheeks steps forth. She knows to lick clean the offered right hand.

“It is important... the subjugation. It leads to surrender... to obedience... and in time the need to please. Gum Drop is kept on the edge... so close to full orgasm... but yet so far. She runs and runs... bringing herself to the brink. Yet in constant denial. Climax must be earned.”

Edgar turns back to the abject display of a girl’s must precious anatomy, the fingers of the right pushing aside the abundant labial flesh and gently grasping the bell.

“Cough, Gum Drop. Be a good girl.”

Gum Drop complies, and with her response the hand pulls downward, slowly, steadily and firmly. A line of filament comes into view then an attached small steel ball, gleaming in wetness. 

“Cough again. Be a good girl for me.”

Another obedient response. Sweet Cheeks marvels at the groom’s knowledge of the female anatomy, coughing temporarily relaxing the pubo coccygeus muscles and the vagina. The small ball further lowers. More fine filament comes into view and finally a larger sphere of steel. Such completely exits the vagina with an embarrassing plop.

As Edgar pridefully holds up the configuration... large ball affixed at the cervix, small ball tantalizingly rummaging about to stimulate the vagina, bell tingling between the labia to announce the girl’s degradation... Sweet Cheeks is amazed. Her young and tight quim for sure not to accommodate such deviant trinkets. Yet Gum Drop has endured the distant unending pangs of pleasure with every footfall during a long afternoon run.

“Ben wa balls... with a clever adaptation. Lady Dyson enjoys the rhythmical cadence... the ringing bells, the sound of leather on wet skin. It can enthrall. Particularly in knowing that the sting of leather becomes welcomed... countering the pleasure of an unattainable orgasm.”

Edgar puts aside the modified Ben wa balls, stepping forward, hands reaching to the underdeveloped chest of Sweet Cheeks.

“You’ll be running for her... in time, Cheeks, performing for Lady Dyson,” fingers going to the rubber cones of nipples undergoing modification. 

Gentle tugs, bringing a girlish squeal, the groom’s touch knowing and sensuous. Sweet Cheeks is chagrined, knowing it is a squeal of joy... and that Edgar’s smile evidences his awareness. The girl is learning to find delight in a controlling touch.

“Your cunny will come. As Lady Dyson said... all skin stretches,” the hand lowering to graze at a hairless mons, bringing another squeal.

Edgar releases. Going to the wall, he returns with a bucket.

“Time to empty yourself, Gum Drop.”

This protocol always brings Sweet Cheeks to grimace. Positioning the bucket beneath, portal now cleared of impediments, Gum Drop may now urinate without hindrance. But at Dyson Farms a pony girl does that under close supervision... always under close supervision.

Edgar steps between the parted thighs, right hand going to the vaginal opening, index finger working within. Sweet Cheeks closes her eyes, too well aware of the intense humiliation, the debasement of having male fingers so penetrate.

She herself is being trained to so empty herself, vicariously feeling a knowing digit find the urethral sponge, pressing to bring both embarrassment and a sense of loss of control. The urethra is found, there comes the command to urinate, a stream begins, the bucket below pinging, and then the marauding finger more firmly presses to curtail the flow.

“Hold for me, Gum Drop,” Sweet Cheeks so often hearing the same command.

Yes, a most basic function is performed under close supervision, all dignity surrendered.

Sweet Cheeks is learning but still not fully conditioned. Gum Drop in turn dutifully withholds... waiting... waiting... until she is permitted to resume... the finger allowing full relief... only to again press... the deed requiring much time... the groom’s control fully demonstrated... any remaining self respect decimated.

A man... his finger... penetrating... bringing such debasement in exercising such dominion. 

“Good girl,” finally permitting full bladder relief.     

Bucket removed, Edgar unravels a spray hose, preparing a second bucket with soap.

“Would you like to wash her, Cheeks? We like to have the pony girls bond. Sometimes Lady Dyson strings the girls up... hands over head, wrists held high, face to face, titties to titties... and permits them to trib... vulva to vulva while being bathed. It’s quite amusing to watch.”

Sweet Cheeks is horrified. Yet she senses twinges between her legs in thinking about such a libidinous scene. The masturbation mittens... ensuring chastity, ensuring she has needs... ensuring such are never satiated.

In silence she holds up her hands, reminding of the locked covering of steel mesh rendering such  useless.

“I’ll get the key. You can bathe her while I prepare the saline. And Sweet Cheeks, do not touch her vulva. No cleansing there. Pony girls are kept ripe.”