'Trainee to Pony Girl', Segment XIV

Wrists cuffed to the back of her neck collar, Sweet Cheeks otherwise enjoys freedom of motion for the first time in months. Though hitched to a cart, master Lady Dyson in tow, she can go anywhere, the outback acreage of Dyson Farms large, the paths many.

She steps. Her bells ring. She senses equine pride, determined to keep her feet and the Ben wa bell and nipple bells in cadence. Sans a directing hand on the reins, Sweet Cheeks will show off... not only her fealty but her new found ability... the ingrained discipline. Without being regularly cropped... nipples and labia... Sweet Cheeks can sense her insertions... vaginal... anal. Yes the devious Ben wa ball titillates with each step, ensuring her feminine juices flow like a wellspring.  Her butt plug has increased in size. Another source of pride... her sphincter stretched such that a number six slips within, Groom Edgar needing limited effort.

A slow pace, with her conditioning the effort is facile. Thus it is not enough. There is no challenge. She barely needs to take a breath, lung capacity vast. The late morning air of early Spring cools. In her nakedness the residual perspiration of the daunting three mile uphill jog brings a chill. Needing warmth, she increases the pace... slowly... the bells... such must ring sonorously... impress Lady Dyson.

All the paths leading downhill, Sweet Cheeks chooses one to not only bring Lady Dyson to the track but offer good vistas as well. She wants her master to enjoy. Within a quarter mile, Sweet Cheeks feels a hand. Her right cheek... fingers tenderly smooth over the rippling muscling, the skin soft yet thin, subcutaneous fat at a minimum with the many miles of treadmill work, hours riding the wooden horse.

Yes, Lady Dyson enjoys the view... but not the terrain. As stated, the buttocks... so nicely sculpted. Lady Dyson will relax and watch.

Within a mile, Sweet Cheeks decides a quicker pace will demonstrate her conditioning. Her exhibitionism begins to blossom.

‘I am naked... bound... trained... disciplined... body well sculpted... conditioning sublime!’ her thoughts reveling in sensing the refreshing wind created by her own footwork.

Yet, the path becomes precarious. With the idyllic view there comes a narrow segment, a gully of moderate depth to the right. With the euphoria of the vaginal twinges, no stinging crop to counter the steady pangs of pleasure, Sweet Cheeks throws caution to the mild wind of Spring time. There comes miscalculation in the footwork... a slip of the right foot. This brings the knee to buckle. The cart veers, the wheel goes off the edge of the path. Lady Dyson senses the danger, stepping from the seat of the cart despite the pace. She stumbles but catches herself. With the cart empty, Sweet Cheeks can more readily restore control, not tumbling into the gully. She stops. But the damage is done.       

“Steady girl,” Lady Dyson’s voice calm as she approaches “Steady.”

Sweet Cheeks feels pain. Nothing like the tolerable sting of a correcting stroke of the crop. Her ankle... twisted. Of more concern her knee... buckling to the side with the misstep, such motion for sure to damage the ligaments. A sprain... worse... a tear?

Tears come. But in the world of the human equine, there is no pity. Pushing athletic performance brings risk... and with it possible injury. As Sweet Cheeks wails in agony, she is shocked to see Lady Dyson retrieve the bit and reins from the cart.

“Don’t move,” she commands.

Docility ingrained, Sweet Cheeks obediently stands, tears flowing yet opening her mouth to accept the bit. 

“Enough words for you, pony girl,” tying off the attached reins to assure her human equine cannot bolt.

Lady Dyson steps back, arms akimbo, a woman of authority. She assesses. The right wheel rim is warped, spokes bent. If the cart is to make the return journey to the stable, it would need to be pulled slowly, no rider to encumber the wheel. 

“See what happens when you’re not closely supervised. I directed that you walk me to the track. You trotted... too fast... choosing a dangerous path. And too much enjoying your insertions, I suspect.”

With that Lady Dyson steps forth her hand again lowering, palm up. Though in pain Sweet Cheeks obediently steps to greet, humbly offering herself... her quim... for knowing palpation.

“Yes, quite wet. I should have been cropping you... kept your attention away from pleasing yourself,” two fingers slipping inward to greet and push about the Ben wa ball

Lady Dyson releases Sweet Cheeks’ waist belt from the prongs of the cart. Then one hand resumes the pleasing attention to her mons and the other begins stroking the nipples as well. Though teasing, no ultimate ecstasy to come, Sweet Cheeks is grateful, her master knowing to stimulate a flow of endorphins to counter the pain.

“Can you stand on your foot... full weight?”

Sweet Cheeks so tries. She grimaces, not able to fully support herself.

“Probably sprained. But your knee is more critical.”

Lady Dyson withdraws her soothing hands to retrieve a cell phone from her pocket. She presses, then speaks.

“Edgar, we’ve had an accident. Path number 5, about a mile down from the top of the hill. Sweet Cheeks is injured, the cart not rideable. Hitch Candy Bar to a cart to take me back to the stable and bring a work pony for Sweet Cheeks. She cannot walk.”

Stowing the phone, Lady Dyson returns her attention to Sweet Cheeks.

“You need to be kept well bound and strictly supervised, Sweet Cheeks. Never again off the reins. See what happens.”

The tears continue... not only of pain, but remorse. She will not show off her speed and stamina... not today. And she will not be masturbated... finally brought to full climax.

“Edgar is a doctor, as you know. He’ll handle you. But keep in mind, in many cases horses with your type of injury are destroyed... shot. As a pony girl... you’ll just hang in suspension... and hopefully fully recover.”