The training, the indoctrination, the modifications progress. Sweet Cheeks more and more bonds with the knowing groom, noting his hands and fingers are so... well... not only caring... but exacting. He knows a girl... knows her most intimate parts.
The medical training is evident. Sweet Cheeks is regularly weighed. Calipers measure the thickness of her epidermis. Regular samples are taken for analysis... blood, urine, stool... her diet and caloric intake monitored and adjusted, her body mass to be perfected. The shavings, head... yes the eyebrows... pudendum of course... all accomplished without a nick... slowly... with the precision of a surgeon... a doctor’s hands. Despite the constant nudity, exposing all a girl has, Sweet Cheeks cannot fully acclimate to having her most intimate female anatomy so clinically handled. Deep within, does she want to acclimate? Dispense with the thrill of yielding to he so knowing. Masturbation mittens in place, she cannot tend to herself, blushing endlessly... supervised bladder relief... urination well controlled by a single digit. There is particular ignominy when attention is required during menses.
When time comes for labia stretching, she finds herself moistening with Groom Edgar’s simple directive to lie back on the examination table and spread... Sweet Cheeks finding odd eagerness in drawing her knees to her chest then parting her thighs... most obscenely... opening herself for knowing fingers.
In secreting... and the pose indeed brings her to secrete... she can smell herself... her excitement... her arousal... douching and normal feminine hygiene forsaken at Dyson Farms. Strangely, though embarrassed, Sweet Cheeks is sanguine... in her own way communicating the enjoyment of submitting to he who masters... that she moistens for her groom... welcoming his touch... his handling.
And then, in applying special lotion, pinching, rolling about between thumb and forefinger, and gently pulling her labia... minutes which seem to become hours... she finds herself repressing words of gratitude. Yes, the chastity, the hormonal build up continues... and continues. The near masturbation of labia stretching becomes welcomed. Though the finger work will forever alter her appearance... she does not want it to end.
The ears... finally... not so much pierced as having holes punched within... as stated through the thick cartilage just behind the ear hole. With a circlet of metal inserted into the opening... yes, a grommet... when fully healed the mirror reveals the presentation to be hideous. Yet, it is for him... for Groom Edgar... that her look is altered.
‘Good for pony girl poise,” Groom Edgar comments in leading Sweet Cheeks to the treadmill for the first time. And Sweet Cheeks quickly understands, the grommets hooked to cables above, proudly holding high her head as she is run... and run.... and run... on the rotating canvas.... stamina... leg work... tempo. And when the elongated labia are finally deemed sufficient... ... the daily finger-pulling finally producing enough elongated flesh for advanced stretching... cones are slipped in place. With this the simple exercise turns to slow arousal, the motion of Sweet Cheeks’ own anatomical parts inflaming her loins.
“Another step, Sweet Cheeks,” the paternal authoritative voice of Groom Edgar proclaims months into her training. “Your own stall. Your own collar. And no more masturbation mittens.”
Sweet Cheeks lies in four point restraint, as always when not being exercised or tended to. In presenting a thick collar of leather, Sweet Cheeks smiles, lifting her head, proud in her advancement, permitting Groom Edgar to encircle her neck and buckle in place.
“And cuffs of course,” releasing her wrists and carefully unlocking the masturbation mittens.
“Oh, thank you, Sir. Thank you.”
“You’ll rest in suspension... like a big pony girl.”
Having assisted in grooming Gum Drop, Sweet Cheeks knows too well what such entails, dangling from cables... held spread open and vulnerable.
She finds curious acceptance. Some things which would have brought consternation many weeks ago now seem like sensible steps in her capitulation. Yes, to hang in the nude, every body part accessible to examination and cleansing. It’s pony girl life at Dyson Farms.
Wrist cuffs buckled in place, there comes the directive to sit up.
“The stretching will come easier... and more quickly,” Groom Edgar advises in gently drawing Sweet Cheeks’ arms behind her back.
Well aware of pony girl comportment, Sweet Cheeks draws up her hands, elbows bending, assuming the reverse prayer position mandated of every pony girl.
“Good girl,” Groom Edgar clipping the wrist cuffs to the back of the neck collar. “Comfortable?”
“A little... tight... Sir.”
“It will feel that way... for now. In time the tendons will loosen... and then I’ll bind your hands and wrists higher. It’s important... to appear to be supplicating,” Groom Edgar reaching to lift the hands even higher.
Sweet Cheeks huffs, the discomfort intolerable. Gratefully, Groom Edgar releases, the bound hands slipping lower past the shoulder blades. She cannot help wondering how the many Dyson Farms pony girls can tolerate such a pose. But then she realizes in time, she shall as well.
“So a nice run on the treadmill and I’ll hose you down, bathe and put you up in suspension. Not a full day, but I can better weight your nipples and labia while hanging prostrate,” fingers going to tug at the ever present nipple cones.
“How much Sir, longer?”
Groom Edgar shrugs.
“You’re nearly three inches here,” fingers flicking the covered nipples, standing at full attention with Groom Edgar’s touch. “And the labia can be worked faster while in suspension. But it’s Lady Dyson’s decision. She relishes the notion of modifying a girl... as you’ve come to realize. Change a girl’s appearance at her whim. When she begins to run you in harness... that’s when she makes a decision... what a girl’s pink parts will look like... how receptive to the crop.”
Sweet Cheeks quivers, thinking of the suffering, having seen her Ladyship so callously flick a girl’s nipples with the correcting length of leather.
“Will she... you know... use the crop... down there?” Sweet Cheeks nodding to wthere her rubber coated labia drape between bound and spread thighs.
Groom Edgar smiles.
“She’ll use the crop wherever it pleases her. So when the time comes.... run for her... hard... and fast... and obediently. Do your best to please. But perhaps this will take your mind off the required measures of discipline.”
Groom Edgar holds before concerned eyes a configuration of baubles, thumb and forefinger grasping a steel ball of some two and a half inches in diameter. Hanging below by a thin filament is a smaller ball of one inch, below that a bell. Sweet Cheeks recognizes the wicked trinkets. She both smiles and blushes.
“Yes, time to have your cunny stuffed... while exercising. And if you’re a good girl for me... maybe while hanging in suspension.”
“Oh, Sir. It drives Gum Drop crazy... makes her so wet.”
"And will do that for you as well. I think I’ve sized you right, Sweet Cheeks. Obviously know your cunt... ah... your vagina... by now. The upper ball must be of size to be held tight near the cervix. The lower... well that will bob about, stimulate and tease. And of course the bell... ringing to proclaim your subjugation. Let’s test your restraints and get your cunny stuffed... for some treadmill work."
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