'Trainee to Pony Girl', Segment VIII

Sweet Cheeks forces herself to end her reverie... the counseling session of orphan Susan Cheevers, a name seeming foreign to her.

‘Sleep... I must sleep,’ again wriggling, sensing the once bizarre now acceptable comfort of the  stretching weights hanging to bring slow modification to nipples and labia.

Yet, her mind pictures the busy pen filling the notepad of Dr. Bob, documenting her thoughts and feelings... so often being punished... finding contrition... yet her fingers in violation again and again. That she found the penetrating enema nozzle to be less than objectionable... that bristles. That such is now noted in files stacked on Lady Dyson’s desk... that brings consternation. That Groom Edgar has also reviewed her files and subsequently discovered her to be curious about anal penetration... gaping a girl... that brings horror.       

Her answer... to the question... how did that make you feel?.. it haunts. Hearing mocking laughter as her bowels filled and filled... the matron’s lecturing words... explaining the punishment to the other girls.

‘See how Susan squirms, girls. Such suffering she brings herself... having her anus stuffed and stretched... her tummy filling. And it’s all beyond her control. She’s helpless. I’ll decide when she’s had enough. And then I may not permit release. I’ll make her hold and hold... and she’ll think about where naughty fingers shouldn’t play. So learn from this lesson I’m offering. No fondling... no frigging... if you do you’ll be here kneeling for me... bare buttocks high... head low... tummy bloating. Now... tell the girls how you feel, Susan.’

‘Please no more, Matron.’

‘She says that girls... the same plea as her last punishment enema. But here she is again. It seems she enjoys this... possibly more then when her fingers play.’     

And her reply to Dr. Bob... ‘there’s something about the vulnerability, doctor, ceding, offering myself to the matron... that she could do with me whatever she wanted... stuff me, stretch me, fill me... humiliate me before the other girls. It’s suffering... but I almost feel it is something that fulfills a need.’  

Sweet Cheeks recalls the doctor’s nod... an affirmation... and the silence as he wrote... then reading back his note as the pen pointedly underlined his writing... ‘something that fulfills a need’.

It brings to mind an exchange with Groom Edgar... her needs... to be nurtured... a hunger to be sated. Then comes to mind her interview with Lady Dyson, Sweet Cheeks learning that she is free to leave Dyson Farms. Yet here she is, well into being trained as a human equine... endless workouts... bound in nakedness... parts pink modified at a woman’s whim... nipples and buttocks cropped... exhibited and examined by precocious boys... excretions closely supervised. And all in chastity, the promise of orgasm being a carrot to be dangled but withheld.  

*****

“Come Edgar. No drama, take off your clothes and sit in the chair. You know how much Gabbie adores intact men... and I too have an affinity for a naked man... when he’s under lock and key.”

Groom Edgar visits the farmhouse. Things to discuss, Lady Dyson explained, and that Gabbie wants to use her key.

“I’d rather not, Ma’am.”

“Always so shy. But you have no choice in the matter. Besides, ‘doctor’,” sneering the term, “you know better than I that the prostate gland needs attention.”

Chardonnay in hand, Lady Dyson leads from her office den to an adjoining room. There the naked housemaid Gabbie awaits, smiling in expectation, standing next to what Lady Dyson has termed her masturbation chair. Really a gynecological examination chair with standard stirrups for the feet and legs. Straps have been added to make her pony girls ‘comfortable’ in bondage while they entertain their Master. And the chair back can be lowered, the ‘patiuent’ positoned to lie supine, legs bent, calves and feet high.  

“Strip and sit, Edgar. I’m sure you’re eager for release... it’s been a month. Don’t have to tell you how to position yourself.”

The words ‘blackmail’, ‘extortion’ come to mind. But Edgar must face his circumstances. Having been accused of molesting young girls during physical examination, he needed some $200,000 in bail money. He surrendered his medical license rather than contest the matter, crumbling his finances. When he decided not to appear in court and face the many charges, skipping out on bail, he became easy prey for the likes of Lady Dyson. Impoverished and on the lam, he accepted an offer he could not refuse. Room, board, high pay... deferred into a controlled bank account... controlled by Lady Dyson... in exchange for his services. With the added proviso that he additionally surrender control of his masculinity. That to be placed in an ineluctable chastity device.      

“Am I going to get off?” Edgar bluntly inquires.

“You mean will I allow Gabbie to bring you to ejaculation. No, of course not Edgar. Why should a woman like me ever permit male ecstasy. You’re to be milked... slowly... make that otherwise useless strip of man flesh ooze into a dog bowl. But keep your glands primed.”

An obedient Edgar reluctantly disrobes. It’s a monthly ritual, knowing to place his hands to the back of his head and lend himself to inspection. Lady Dyson steps forth, free hand lowering, sensuously palming the steel encased penis and scrotal sac burgeoning with male essence. Edgar closes his eyes, feeling Lady Dyson’s thumb tenderly rub about. 

“Expensive, but well worth the money. Well crafted tungsten steel and precision surgery. It must be so frustrating for you, tending daily to so much feminine pulchritude in the stables and your little pecker can’t even stiffen to lend tribute. Have you ever tried to pull out, Edgar?”

The design of the chastity deice is standard... with modifications insisted upon by Lady Dyson. Having read of the ability for some males to ‘pull out’, disobediently slipping a flaccid organ from beneath the control ring, she had such surgically embedded under the skin at the four, eight, and twelve o’clock positions around the pubes. Other than a reversing surgical procedure, once the steel mesh cock cage is locked in place, the male phallus is not to be touched. When unlocked, the cage can be removed... hygiene and occasional relief for milking... but the control ring stays. It is part of Edgar.    

“No Ma’am.”

The hand releases, rising to sensuously diddle the left nipple.

“Do try. I’d like to watch that sometime. Now sit. Gabbie wants to suck your cock and idolize the erection he can no longer achieve.”

Resigned, it is Edgar’s turn to endure the humiliation he daily bestows on the bevy of Dyson Farms pony girls. He sits, feet in the stirrups, Lady Dyson to watch, taking a comfortable chair opposite.

“After reading your latest briefing on Sweet Cheeks, I reviewed again the psychiatrist’s reports from the orphanage.”

As Lady Dyson speaks, Edgar knows to surrender himself to his keyholder, idly sitting while Gabbie works the many straps... wrists, arms, ankles, thighs secured. Though climactic relief will not come, he knows that a prostate milking will offer hormonal release... spurring a flood of dopamine and oxytocin... terminating the jitters brought by endless chastity. For that he is grateful. And he is indeed aware of the need for prostate stimulation. Just not by another male. Though castrated... a male all the same.   

Restrained to the point of near immobility, Gabbie slips the necklace from his neck. Edgar closes his eyes with the ignominy of feeling dainty manicured fingers work about his male package. Then comes the sound of a click and the steel is slipped away. It is Edgar’s turn to be put on display...objectified... feeling his long neglected manhood instantly begin to engorge, celebrating emancipation.

“The laser hair removal was well advised, Edgar. Besides obviating the need to shave there and avoiding irritation, it provides for a cute display. You have a nice cock... of moderate size... but nicely shaped... well cut.”

Gabbie puts aside the key and cock cage then returns to kneel between the well parted thighs, hands cradling a plump scrotal sac. A prodigious tongue extends, voraciously licking the upstanding shaft. Then the lips open... mouth engulfing... the stiffness taken notably deeply. Edgar both moans with the unwanted pleasure and grimaces in disgust. 

“Oh, Edgar. Such silly homophobia. Gabbie has no balls... no longer a man... and he certainly can’t harden like you. You need to learn to share,” Lady Dyson chuckling and sipping her Chardonnay. “No ejaculation, Gabbie,” she forewarns. “A little deep throating to prime him, then some ice and fill the dog bowl.”

“Must it be like this,” Edgar protests.

“Yes. Penance Edgar. Think of those young girls you fondled... lying on an examination chair just as you are. Wonderfully ironic... the form of retribution.”

Gabbie’s head bobs, fingers smoothing over the hairless scrotum. Then, fellatio skills apparent, he abruptly withdraws, sensing pending eruption. Lady Dyson outright laughs, ultimate ecstasy denied, erection waggling about... appearing to be a puppy begging for a treat.

“Bitch!” Edgar uncharacteristically effusive.

“I assume you’re referring to my maid. He does have an uncanny awareness of the male reproductive process... can feel the ejaculatory muscles begin to tremulate. Now, let’s talk. Can’t think of a better time for a discussion and attaining a man’s attention than when he’s being milked.”

With the words Gabbie withdraws, returning with a bag of ice and the required dog bowl. Needing to be numbed, penis flaccid, Edgar gasps, Lady Dyson again laughs, the ice bag applied,

“Concerning Sweet Cheeks, Edgar. Your latest report. Her seeming fascination with gaping... Cream Puff made forever opened for ease of penetration. I went through the psychiatric reports once again. The girl more or less volunteered herself for punishment enemas. It could be said she deliberately put herself in violation of the rules... earning more than one high colonic. For most, the first would be the last... behavior thereafter modified.”           

“Ahhh,” Edgar’s discomfort apparent, Gabbie’s left hand pressing the ice bag, the fingers of his right working below the control ring, massaging the perineum and searching for the anus.

“Calm yourself and listen, Edgar. Good boys get an extra treat. Fill the bowl and I’ll have Gabbie hood you. You know what the means.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“I’ll be running Sweet Cheeks often, assessing her racing capability. You’ve been measuring her clitoris... reaction to the hormones?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Only one millimeter to date.”

“Good. Every pony girl’s body responds differently. Too big and it precludes showing her... pony girls with a penis attract eyes... but not the votes of judges. But to race her, she needs stamina and muscle... so the injections are necessary. But this anal fixation. The psychiatrist was quite emphatic in one of his reports, counseling her immediately after an enema punishment session. Quoting Sweet Cheeks... concerning earning frequent mandated visits to the orphanage locker room shower... she said it’s ‘something that fulfills a need’.”

Edgar lurches, feeling penetration, one finger then two slipping past his sphincter, deftly finding the neglected male gland. Lady Dyson smiles.

“Your penis is already drooling, Edgar,” viscous fluid streaming into the bowl from a now flaccid phallus. “I don’t want you unlocked more than once a month, but in between you must be soaking your underwear. Perhaps some doses of anti androgen between milkings will help,” Lady Dyson teases, chemical castration well known to the former doctor.

“No thank you, Ma’am.”

“Well... back to Sweet Cheeks... an anal fixation... and something that fulfills a need. Her masochism and exhibitionism are more than apparent. The one report where she attended her counseling session attired in a brief towel... the limited size selected by her... only to let it slip away such that she knelt before the psychiatrist completely nude... says a lot. Do you recall reading of it?”

“Vaguely,” Edgar gasping with the assiduous finger work within.

“Very good, Gabbie. He’s already expelling sperm... effluent nicely cloudy.”

Edgar looks to see Lady Dyson is correct, glands secreting the seed of life.

“After the girl evacuates her bowels for you, you wipe her clean of course.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Standard protocol... to bring humiliation... to degrade.”

“And her reaction? She objects?”   

“No, Ma’am. Well... at first, yes. Now she thanks me for the attention there.”

“All these things... so much evidence. You must be aware, Edgar... of another need... one we have not addressed.”

“She does not want to be a work pony, Ma’am. The pegging...”

“So no penile penetration... yet an affinity for enduring an inflatable enema nozzle... which fulfills a need. Begin gaping her. And as to pegging? Who knows what a girl of her predilections truly wants. She can be gaped... and raced... and be prepared to be put under the penis when it’s time. We do have to a address girl’s needs here at Dyson Farms... all of them... keep her happy.”

With the command, Lady Dyson rises.

“He’s oozing clear, Gabbie. Milked clean. Good job. Now hood him and lower the chair back. Time for his treat,” Lady Dyson slipping off her boots and unbuckling her belt.