This is the final posting. Look next week for ' Trainee to Pony Girl'. Readers please give thought to whether Sweet Cheeks should ultimately be trained as a show pony, a racing pony... or relegated to work the fields of Dyson Farms.
Enjoy. (and purchase some stories)
CB
*****
Sweet Cheeks languishes in suspension. She is tired. Yesterday after an hour riding the horse... fully decorated... as the donning of belled nipple rings and vaginal insertion has come to be termed... she was run exhaustively on the treadmill.
Groom Edgar seemed pleased with her output.
So this morning she rests, having endured the embarrassing toilet protocol... bladder controlled... emptying her bowels within the demanded one minute time frame... Groom Edgar moved onward, informing that he would return for bath and grooming after tending to the remainder of Lady Dyson’s herd.
“Big day for you, Cheeks. Lady Dyson wishes to see you... in her study. You need to be on your best behavior... and look good,” Groom Edgar finally returning to her stall.
“In the farm house, Sir?”
“Yes. She interviews a pony girl... before the next segment of training. To assure that you’re... ah... acclimated.”
Groom Edgar works the nipples then the labia, detaching the weights, peeling away the rubber cones. He next turns on a spray hose, dousing his charge with warmth, then coating with soft soapiness, a chamois smoothing about finely sculpted nakedness. Sweet Cheeks finds the tenderness much welcomed, no longer embarrassed in being so brazenly objectified. The hands both cleanse and inspect, gently pinching here and there to assess both the thickness of the epidermis and the muscling beneath... very much developed over the months of rigorous training.
“I won’t know... you know... what to say... to Lady Dyson,” the comment coming as Groom Edgar begins whisking about a straight edged razor, head and eyebrows.
“She will ask questions. You will reply. Then she will explain the next steps,” moving between the widely spread thighs, the blade working about the complex folds of the yawning vulva.
“Not a work pony,” the concern evident in her tone.
She finds herself so accepting, a man having unfettered access to a girl’s most intimate anatomy. .
“That’s to be determined, Cheeks,” Groom Edgar chuckling.
“If I’m... you know... made to do that fellatio thing... I’d... like it to be you Sir. I will please you.”
“Yes, Cheeks. Wanting to please me. That happens... it’s termed the Stockholm Syndrome... bonding with your captor. Yet ultimately it’s Lady Dyson who is your captor. I am her servant... in a way, a captive as well,” hands going to the elongated labia, grasping and playfully pulling... left... right... left... right... replicating a milking motion.
Sweet Cheeks moans. It pleases, inhibitions dispelled.
“Thank you Sir, that feels...”
“As I said, Cheeks, we know how to stretch a girl here at Dyson Farms... and in a way that increases the sensitivity.”
The milking stops, Groom Edgar noting that despite the fragrance of the soap, his deft handwork has turned Sweet Cheeks’ love pouch into a redolent lather.
“Can you smell yourself Cheeks? You’re enjoying my touch.”
Groom Edgar reaches for the spray hose, smiling in noting there comes no reply, the pony girl shy in her arousal. He rinses, again the warmth most welcomed.
“It would be... well... nice to be....you know... not be so smelly there, Sir.”
“But Lady Dyson likes having a girl most odorous. So you’ll be smelly... as you say. It proclaims a girl’s status... makes an announcement... don’t you think?”
Groom Edgar dries with a fluffy towel, again hands and fingers roving everywhere, the nude form a freshly painted object of art.
“I think I’ll infuse you, Cheeks. You liked seeing Gum Drop made so presentable... nice plump girl lips. But for you, not fully... maybe 40 to 50 cubic centimeters of saline. Make you somewhat plump here,” a finger grazing the lengthy, free hanging pink strips. “You’ll feel the little red balloons... the transformation... but be able to walk about. And I’m sure Lady Dyson will find interest in your reaction.”
The suggestion both stuns and excites, Sweet Cheeks recalling the concupiscence of Gum Drop, so fervently attempting to bring herself to orgasm, bloated labia swinging about, stimulating her mons as she helplessly hung in suspension. But in so presenting herself to Lady Dyson? Such an obscene exhibition!
“I am to meet with Lady Dyson... like that?”
“Yes. You won’t be decorated. She interviews and inspects only when a girl is completely nude... no jewelry... no bindings. So you need to display deference in some manner. I suggest telling her you asked to be infused... that you wanted to endure the humiliation of so exhibiting yourself.”
Sweet Cheeks has no reply, becoming pensive. Observing the infusion of Gum Drop brought a deviant thrill. Groom Edgar knows this... knows her... knows her thoughts... her penchants... her needs... her hunger. Deep within she realizes... he will nurture.
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