'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!