As Sweet Cheeks waits, the acute pain subsides, turning to dull throbbing as her ankle swells. There is the frustration of being silenced, Lady Dyson assuring the bit is tightly buckled about the back of her head. And the remorse burgeons. Sweet Cheeks would like to humbly apologize. Instructed to walk, she disobediently ran, gleeful in her relative freedom.
It will not happen again, she wants to plead. But pleading to what end? The strict Lady Dyson will be sure it does not happen again.
Finally there comes the sound of leather on wet flesh. Then into view comes Candy Bar, pulling a cart, Edgar seated and behind, tethered to the back of the cart by reins leading to a bridle, is an enormous girl... nude and no doubt a work pony... hairless as with all Dyson Farms girls... and both tall and of substantial girth.
Sweet notes that Candy Bar is not decorated as is she... no nipple rings or bells... no Ben wa bell hanging between the inner thighs. However, the stretched labia are hideously plumped and of bright pink.
“Took you a while, Edgar.”
“I was infusing Candy Bar. You know a girl can’t fully run with fat lips. And the only work pony not in the fields was Butterscotch. And you know her condition.”
“Yes, going to drop a foal for me. Next month?”
“She’s in the third trimester, yes. But probably due in eight weeks.”
Sweet Cheeks is aghast. With wrists tethered behind as are those of Sweet Cheeks, both chest and belly are prominently presented. The source of girth for the naked pony girl... work pony... breasts full, stretched nipples nearly at her navel, thighs of tree stumps, belly protruding... is not entirely derived from diet.
“Well, she’ll have to do,” Lady Dyson stepping to Candy Bar, crop in hand.
She lowers the tip, jostling the well exposed gelatinous labia, smiling gleefully as Candy Bar moans in sensing the distant pleasure of so being fondled.
“So a slow ride for me. Slower for you Edgar. Have Butterscotch carry Sweet Cheeks... and tow the empty cart. Needs a new wheel... but it will make it back. I’ll want a full report on Sweet Cheeks... right ankle... right knee. And keep her in the bit... and silenced. When she next uses that tongue... well...” Lady Dyson shrugs with a wicked grin. “It won’t be to speak.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
The reins of work pony Butterscotch are released from the back of the cart. Lady Dyson, having issued orders, mounts the cart and departs, crop flailing right nipple then left. Groom Edgar steps to Sweet Cheeks, stooping, inspecting first the swollen ankle then knowing hands go to the right knee, fingers gently pressing here and there to bring a grimace.
“Well Cheeks, you’ll not be walking... for now. Ankles heal... in time... but that knee... best get an MRI. And you’re fortunate. Though expensive, Lady Dyson will peel a few hundred dollars from her considerable fortune. Pony girls get the best of care... you know that by now.”
Attention returns to work pony Butterscotch, Groom Edgar taking the loose reins and guiding proximate to where Sweet Cheeks stands. He pulls lower.
“Down,” the huge figure instantly dropping to her knees and further lowering, forehead pressed to the dusty soil of the path. Knees well parted, the huge buttocks part as well. Sweet notes the gluteal cleft reveals a stretched sphincter, open and seeming to welcome penetration.
Sweet Cheeks also notes both the bloated belly and the plump breasts. The nipples... extended as with all Dyson Farms human equines... graze the dusty path.
“Gag bit,” Groom Edgar comments, “a girl will do anything to relieve pinched tongue and lips. Makes controlling a girl very easy. Do you need to urinate, Cheeks? It’s two miles to the stable... and we’ll need to go slowly.”
Sheepishly, knowing how she is to empty herself, Sweet Cheeks nods.
“Well step to Butterscotch. Try to keep most of your weight on your left leg. Lift your right and press your sore knee on Butterscotch’s back to steady and open yourself. You know how to urinate for me.”
Sweet Cheeks does indeed. But to follow instructions means the splatter will wet Butterscotch. It cannot be helped. Yet, Sweet Cheeks realizes... such is farm life... the girl undoubtedly to be hosed down before being put up at day’s end.
Gingerly, Sweet complies, hobbling forth, raising her right leg, carefully resting her wounded knee on the work pony’s back, knowing to lean forth as Groom Edgar steps behind. Reaching under the muscled buttocks, the Ben wa bell is grasped and pulled back, deft fingers slip into her neglected slit, instantly pressing the urethra. And the process... twice daily... sometimes three... begins.
Sweet Cheeks blushes despite the frequency, having to so perform for a man can never bring complacency. She opens... a flow begins splattering Butterscotch’s left buttock and thigh... then it’s curtailed, Groom Edgar exercising his dominion. Then there comes release... more flow... then the fingers press anew... and then release. Such a humbling protocol.
“Good girl. Now straddle Butterscotch... as if riding a horse.”
Though enormous... no doubt strong in working the fields... the girl is many months pregnant! Groom Edgar notes the look of concern.
“She’s a work pony... therefore she is to be worked.”
Sweet Cheeks complies straddling the huge form. Despite the wet, partially sitting in her own excretions, the smooth, soft warmth pressing her opened thighs, it feels good. Her stretched labia graze the pony girl’s back. She is mindful of the tribbing... girl on girl frolicking. It brings an unwanted brisance. Sweet Cheeks darest not admit it to herself.
Groom Edgar distracts, releasing Sweet Cheek’s wrists from the back of her neck collar, separating. Then guides her arms left and right down and under the broad chest and breasts of work pony Butterscotch. When resecured together, Sweet Cheeks realizes she and the work pony are one.
Burden great, it does not end for the work pony. Lastly, Groom Edgar wheels forward the crippled cart and attaches the prongs to Sweet Cheeks’ waist belt. Butterscotch will carry... child, Sweet Cheeks and also pull.
And Sweet Cheeks thought her mission... to be run in harness, bit and bridle... was challenging.
“Hold her breasts for support, Cheeks. But be aware she’s probably letting down.”
Such indignity!
Groom Edgar again takes hold of the reins, pulling upward with a command. Sweet Cheeks is amazed that the work pony arises from kneeling, forehead off the path, plump but powerful legs laboring with limited effort to stand, stooped forward in bearing Sweet Cheeks’ entire weight.
“Come,” Groom Edgar to lead on foot, turning and resuming the journey down path 5.
Yes, the gag bit is effective, work pony Butterscotch instantly following. Sweet Cheeks, breasts pressing the shoulder blades, extended labia frottaging the small of the back, senses unwanted stimulation despite her injury. Every step jostles her Ben wa insertion... and there are no strokes of the crop to distract the from the erotic thrill.
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