'Trainee to Pony Girl', Segment IX

“Your tongue tires quickly, Edgar.”

Lady Dyson rises from the hooded face of Groom Edgar. Though she prefers the more knowing and attentive oral efforts of housemaid Gabbie, there is psychic joy in the subjugation of the virile intact male. 

Granting the privilege of servicing her sex would be too permissive, therefore every milking session ends in hooding... never to expose herself to devious eyes... lowering the back of ‘masturbation’ chair, and sitting... her bottom covering face and head. Rimming and analingus follow, the sordid deed keeping her groom in his place. Later, in sharing her bed with Gabbie, his/her long tongue and heedful lips will offer ultimate gratification.  

“I think you should exercise it. Gabbie would be appreciative. Perhaps weekly analingus for him. And you can lick that plundered scrotal sac. He’d like that,” stepping to don her panties, jodhpurs and boots.

“I’d... ah... rather not, Lady Dyson,” Groom Edgar remaining sightless and well secured in the chair.

“Well you will. And you’ll begin now,” gesturing for Gabbie to straddle the hooded head and lower himself. “He takes care of you... your prostate. You should return the favor. And it’s good for your silly homophobia. Snipped... no balls... he’s more female than male. You, with all your medical training, are well aware. You need to modify your thinking.”

Lady Dyson smiles triumphantly as the cherubic body straddles and squats, first presenting his empty sac, the loose flesh remaining an erogenous zone. Gabbie giggles, hands lowering to the covered ears to guide the head, mouth and lips.  

Though Lady Dyson very much prefers her dominion over her many pony girls, her mastery of things with a penis can bring delight as well. As she peers at the deflated penis, Edgar not yet returned to chastity, she conspires.

“I’ll make you an offer Edgar... since you’re so much infatuated with the prospects of ejaculating for me. For your next monthly unlocking, Gabbie will sit, you will orally service him and he’ll fellate you... fully... to completion.”

Mouth covered, Edgar cannot reply. But in hearing somewhat energetic slurps, perhaps there is a growing acceptance... his reservations diminishing. Lady Dyson moves to the near wall, a riding crop hanging in wait. She grabs and steps between the well spread and upturned legs and thighs, hand lowering, crop to begin fondling first the hairless scrotum then moving to the penis. She smiles in seeing it stir, somewhat coming to life despite the lengthy milking and slow expulsion of sperm.     

“Yes, Edgar, your homophobia... it’s either eroding... or you’ve been feigning revulsion.”

Gabbie momentarily rises, allowing a lung full of air. Edgar gasps and denies.

“No Ma’am.”

“Oh but yes, Edgar. You’re becoming erect for me. You say ‘no’ but your penis says yes. This will become the only way you’ll again achieve full climax... licking Gabbie’s rectum. And be cheered. Gabbie is very good... his fellatio is almost as accomplished as his cunnilingus.” 

*****

It is morning. Sweet Cheeks hangs in suspension, withholding the contents of her bladder, sensing rumbling in her bowels. She must wait, indoctrinated over the many months to relieve herself only under the close supervision of Groom Edgar. To divert her thoughts of disobediently soiling the stable floor, she wriggles her shoulders and hips, feeling the now sensuous motion of her nipple and labia weights. Curious how she has come to embrace the unending body modifications.   

Finally come footsteps, Groom Edgar entering her stall. She is heartened to see the long narrow basin in hand, inviting relief.

“Good morning, Cheeks.”

“Good morning, Sir.”

The basin is tucked between spread thighs. Sweet Cheeks feels the glee of a penetrating finger, slipping between elongated labia, instantly finding the urethral sponge. Sweet Cheeks knows to open herself, letting her groom take control.

“You’re wet, naughty girl. Been trying to frottage?”

Such a question would formerly bring embarrassment. Now there is realization.... no part or aspect of her anatomy is to be veiled from her groom’s eyes and touch.

“And quite fragrant,” adding to the frank observation as a flow begins and is quickly curtailed, finger pressing.    

“The weights, Sir. They make a girl... well... I guess a little excited.”

“Yes, a girl such as you. And when you try to please yourself by squirming in your bonds.”

The finger releases... presses... releases... Sweet Cheeks aware of the Dyson Farms manner of expressing control... bodily functions subordinated. She hears her excretions ping the basin with each release. Finally allowed to finish, she then knows to move her bowels, the timing exacting, emptying herself there within the allotted one minute.

She begins to perform, the deed most humiliating.

“I hope you slept well. Lady Dyson is going to work you today. A few miles in harness then a timed half mile at full pace.”

“Will I be decorated Sir?”

“Oh, Cheeks, you’d not want to be run in any other manner... listening to your bells. Yes, full decorations... and more”

Sweet Cheeks closes her eyes. Despite the indoctrination, the intimacy stultifies, feeling her sphincter open, the sludge evacuating.

“More Sir?” sordid deed completed to bring relief.

“Yes, Lady Dyson wants you...” Groom Edgar pausing, needing sly words other than ‘to be gaped’. “Ah... she feels you may perform better for her with more insertions.”

“Yes, she likes a girl’s cunt... seeing, feeling smelling. But in being decorated I am already well stuffed, Sir.”

“Not your cunt... ah... not your vagina, Cheeks. She feels an anal insertion may suit you. Moderate.”

Moderate to start, Groom Edgar thinks but dares not add. At some point Lady Dyson will elaborate... that there has been a decision to address her anal fixation.

The basin is put aside. There comes cleansing, Sweet Cheeks’ pink openings wiped with a moist cloth as would a toddler in need of potty training. Such embarrassment... yet so acclimated.

“So a plug for you, Cheeks. moderate as I said. A number two,” the cleansing hand withdrawing then returning. “Comprised of rubber, firm but somewhat flexible.”

Sweet Cheeks feels the cool slickness of unguent at her gluteal cleft, suppressing a moan of delight as a finger works within and jiggles about.

“A number two, Sir. How many numbers are there?”

Groom Edgar moves from between the spread thighs and upturned legs to stand at Sweet Cheeks’ face and encumbered head. He holds before her an egg shaped lump of black rubber two inches in diameter, one end tampering to a more narrow neck where a flange is attached.

“The set goes to a size twelve. Now, to make this easy for you, Cheeks, press open your sphincter... just as you do when defecating for me.” 

Groom Edger returns to her bottom. Again, such intimacy. Before her training, simply discussing such a subject would bring embarrassment. Now she responds with obedience, replicating the just completed bowel movement to open herself for penetration, sensing little compunction as she feels knowing hands working. The firm rubber greets her anus then slips inward to fill her rectum. As her sphincter contracts about the narrow neck, she again suppresses a moan, veiling of what Groom Edgar is well aware... anal delight.    

“It feels large Sir.”

“You’ll acclimate. And we have inflatable insertions to work your anus... making you more supple here,” the fingers withdrawing, a hand playfully patting her right buttock.

Yes, inflatable... just as was the enema nozzle so often inserted during your punishments at the orphanage... Groom Edgar’s description intentional.

Sweet Cheeks feels the cool moisture of an alcohol swab. Jabbed, her morning hormone injection, she flinches, her weights swinging to resume self induced arousal, the number two plug enhancing her subtle joy.  

“I don’t know if I can run like this, Sir,” realizing when decorated... vagina stuffed as well... the sensations will distract. 

“Oh you will. That’s what the crop is for.”