Sweet Cheeks has not used her hands in many weeks, the craggy metal mesh of the masturbation mittens precluding handling and gripping anything... particularly touching her skin... and her quim... as intended. But now the limited use of her arms, held immobile behind her back, adds a new dimension to her submission.
Ankle cuffs removed, leash clipped to her collar, Groom Edgar tugs, Sweet Cheeks struggles to turn on the thin mattress of her platform bed, place her feet on the floor and rise.
“Good girl. Slowly. Don’t topple.”
The dichotomy of her care intrigues... led about strictly bound... but with such attentiveness... that given a toddler learning to walk.
In standing the nipple cones respond to gravity, somewhat dipping in reminding of their constant presence. And with her first step, the cones of her labia brush her inner thighs, making her mindful of the slow, steady transition... her pudendum to be turned to an exhibition of her Master’s control.
Yes, the curious device... a modified breast pump... has finally been used to suction, stretch and ultimately encase her inner labia in tight rubber cones... just as with her nipples beginning weeks ago. The twice daily finger work of Groom Edgar, rolling about the sentient flesh and pulling with fervor, has been replaced... the cones offering constant modification. Yes the hiss of suctioning air and the snap of rubber on nipples right and left has now been joined by the sound of snaps at the entrance of Sweet Cheeks’ mons. Pink strips approaching two inches in length result. Such now join the grotesque presentation of elongated nipples.
So yes, Sweet feels her Master’s control... first at the nipples... now at the labia.
Groom Edgar leads to the long corridor separating stalls right and left. Step, step, step, her sentient pink female parts sway about to announce her alteration... it’s bizarre... yet the sensation thrills.
Into a stall near Gum Drop, in seeing the low bench framed by broad straps of foam lined canvas Sweet Cheeks feels like a condemned prisoner led being to the gallows. But she reminds herself... yes... she will hang... yet not in death... but in unending humiliation.
Why does such thought bring about twinges?
“You’ve seen Gum Drop... know how to present yourself,” Groom Edgar gesturing between the waiting straps.
“Yes, Sir.” moving accordingly, stepping up on the low bench, parting her thighs to the maximum without losing her balance.
“Good girl. You seem reluctant, Sweet Cheeks. But you’re quite fragrant. To have your own Ben wa bell... it excites.”
Right thigh encircled then the left, Groom Edgar smiles in detecting much moisture as he adjusts the straps high between the thighs.
Pony girls, he thinks to himself, they hate the degradation... yet they crave it... not understanding their own needs... their hunger.
“I have a pair of nipple rings we can try. Would you like for me to remove the nipple cones for a while... give you a feel for some breast jewelry in addition to your Ben wa bell?”
A sheepish Sweet Cheeks offers no reply, Edgar adjusting the straps. Finally, as Edgar cuffs the ankles, he notes Sweet Cheeks nodding in concurrence. He chuckles.
“Yes, you’re ceding, Sweet Cheeks. Accepting your status, letting your deepest desires govern.”
Having so often put up a naked form, within moments Sweet Cheeks finds herself in full body suspension, resting prostrate, weight born by thick canvas straps and ankle cuffs, balanced by cables hooked to her ear grommets.
Having so often seen Gum Drop, the sensation should not be foreign. Yes, she tells herself, it has finally come, trussed as would a prized pony girl. The odd glee... it overwhelms.
Sweet Cheeks looks before her. Just as when riding the horse there is a large mirror reflecting her full nakedness. The psychological subjugation seems endless... made to observe one’s bound body while idly hanging. Hairless, even her eyebrows regularly shaven, her own image brings repulsion.
Vulnerable, sex gaping... breasts dangling... immobility thorough... there are contrasting emotions. Sweet Cheeks tears up... such a sense of helplessness. Yet there is solace. It is Edgar... a part of her justifies... her groom... he who knows her so well... physically... mentally... emotionally. The notion soothes. He is here for her. Though he can do with her whatever he wishes... there will come no harm... not physically. She hangs as would treasured artwork.
But what of her psyche... her vanquished pride? She quashes such a question. That is not for her to consider.
“I’ve stopped wondering why there’s never any need for lubrication in vaginally stuffing a pony girl,” Groom Edgar remarks in stepping between the widely part upturned legs. “Such secretions,” fingers diddling between the encased inner labia. “You’re all so naughty... ‘please don’t penetrate me, Mr. Edgar’. And then I find a welcoming wellspring... a river of arousal.”
The words come as Sweet Cheeks indeed feels the penetration, her labia parting, the two inch plus Ben wa ball being worked inward... so slowly... so tenderly.
“This will rest right at your cervix. Your girly anatomy... the pubo coccygeus muscles... will suction it... hold it tightly in place.”
As the sphere glides inward, Sweet Cheeks feels the smaller ball greet the entrance to her love canal. She sighs in delight, then admonishes herself.
This shouldn’t be... the humiliation... the objectification... spread open for viewing... being hung like a decoration. Yes, the conflicting thoughts... the sensations... overwhelm anew.
She feels the fingers retreat. She cannot help but wriggle about, as she has so often seen Gum Drop when so hung. She closes her eyes in shame... hearing the Ben wa bell ring... announcing her futile attempt to pleasure herself... realizing... that she enjoys... realizing that Groom Edgar knows so well that she enjoys.
Drat his knowledge... his awareness... of a girl’s most intimate parts.
Yes, Maestro Edgar plays, a hand pushing her naked form, having her swing in suspension to enhance the motion of that which so wickedly tantalizes.
“Seems to fit rather well. Over the years I’ve gotten to know a girl’s size... internally.”
Stepping back, he admires, knowing of the pony girl’s self induced pleasure as she wriggles in bondage, the bell tinkling.
“I’ll let you relax and enjoy the subjugation for a while. Then perhaps some nipple rings... and some treadmill work”
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