'The Groom and the Trainee', Segment IV

Merry Christmas!

*****

Sweet Cheeks lies supine on a wooden platform, thin mattress offering a degree of comfort. As Groom Edgar stands above, food bowl in hand, she looks into the handsome face. She finds the man to be attractive... in a paternal manner. With hair slightly graying at the temples, perhaps he is the father she never knew. Since her arrival at Dyson Farms he has been most kindly... his touch firm and directing but caring and tender... and yet degrading in so often taking liberty with her intimate girl parts... closely supervised toileting being just one of many embarrassing protocols.

The man sits to her side, spoon scooping.

“I can feed myself, Sir.”

“Yes, Cheeks, but that would mean removing your masturbation mittens and unbuckling your wrist cuffs. Bondage... for pony girls it is best.”

Yes, Sweet Cheeks and the platform bed are one, lying in four point restraint, arms held over her head at the corners, ankles likewise secured... and of course her legs obscenely parted, hairless cunny well exposed.

“And other than that, you should understand that here the rituals and protocols are framed to ensure a sense of dependency. A pony girl has needs... we take care of those needs. You’ll not have a worry or care in the world... other than to obey and perform.”

A spoon laden hand presents a pile of brown gruel. Sweet Cheeks, though hungry, demurs... passive resistance.   

“Oh come now, Cheeks. We can use a gastric tube. You would not be the first girl so fed.”

A free hand goes to the girl’s nose, a finger pushing into the right nostril, gently but hinting at the discomfort of being so intubated.

“You can do that sir... would do that?”

“Oh yes, we have some very nutritious concoctions for recalcitrant pony girls. Particularly those destined to work the fields. We make them nice and plump... better for long working days naked in the cool air.”

Sweet Cheeks shudders, bristling with the power... and her compelled submission... the thought that in addition to modifying pink parts... nipples and labia... a girl’s entire body is to be molded into... whatever. Groom Edgar smiles in seeing the reaction of fear and concern, withdrawing his finger as a mouth opens in acceptance. The spoon enters, the tasteless mush masticated.

The exchange gives rise to questions. Just who is Groom Edgar?.. so knowledgeable... able to play with a girl’s anatomy like a Maestro violinist. He toys... but with purpose... psychologically... emotionally... physically transforming. The supervised toilet, the nipple cones... her tender nubs handled with exacting care... becoming some exotic extravagant fare, an exotic recipe prepared for royal consumption... slowly pulled, twisted, further pulled to grotesque length... then finally suctioned into tight rubber cones. All performed with knowing exactness.

And there is the attention paid to her labia... examined and palpated twice daily... for now deemed too undeveloped for alternation. But for sure Sweet Cheeks is destined for the prominent dangling strips of pink girl flesh borne by Gum Drop.

Sustenance spooned and consumed in silence, Groom Edgar puts aside the bowl. Sweet Cheeks knows it is time for her nightly examination... more ignominy.        

“How do your breasts feel, Cheeks?”

“Like... you know... someone, something... is constantly pulling.”

With the words, fingers go to the rubber cones. Sweet Cheeks knows what is to come. Maestro is to play his violin... her body.

“That’s good,” fingers deftly peeling, unrolling the tightly fitting left rubber cone down to the nipple tip for removal.

The right cone is likewise rolled off. Sweet Cheeks gazes down in horror to see her nubs do not retract. Forced to spear forth some two inches when encapsulated, on prior evenings such have shrunk back somewhat to normalcy. Not on this evening. And Groom Edgar notices as well, smiling in satisfaction.

Putting aside the rubber, the hands return, Sweet Cheeks to endure the twice daily breast massage. It feels good... it feels distressing... it embarrasses... yet she must helplessly lie and accept the attention.

Worse, she feels twinges. The shame brings arousal. She berates herself. Groom Edgar compliments.

“You’re becoming fragrant, Cheeks... learning to enjoy a mastering touch. That is good... you’re here to be mastered.”

Sweet Cheeks blushes, once again her groom’s knowledge concerning things girlishly private brings both admiration and frustration. He plays such magical violin. Yes, masterfully. 

The nipples made supple, Groom Edgar reaches for the horrid device Sweet Cheeks knows to bring transformation... forced transformation. It appears to be a modified breast pump, suctioning strongly as fingers squeeze an attached puffolator. The right nipple is pulled firmly, engulfed, and then when a trigger-like lever is pulled, with a notable click a fresh rubber cone... seemingly tighter and certainly longer... is snapped into place covering anew a length of sensitive flesh.

“Ugh,” the exclamation of discomfort bringing Groom Edgar to smile.

“You’re becoming acclimated to elongation, Cheeks,” a finger playfully tapping her nose. “You squealed the first time. Do I detect a level of acceptance,” spoken as the device is reloaded,    

Left nipple similarly encased, the device disappears and Groom Edgar slips down the side of the mattress. Sweet Cheeks closes her eyes... more shame... more play... Maestro to intimately examine as the outer labia are splayed, the inner labia brought fully into the room light, the vaginal opening gaping.

“Yes, Quite moist, Sweet Cheeks. You’re coming to enjoy being examined... being handled.”

“Must you Sir... every day?”

“Twice per day. You have no privacy here at Dyson Farms, Cheeks. You’ll be shown and put on display... at Lady Dyson’s whim. So an intimate gynecological examination will become quite acceptable... in time.”

As per twice per day, the fingers slip past the outer lips and gently pinch the inner labia,... limited on a girl of Cheeks age... then roll about beginning a tugging action just as with the nipples. Sweet Cheeks comes to realize... the horrid device bestowing tight rubber to her nipples will also be applied... first suctioning then, with a pull of a mastering finger and a click, likewise encase her precious girl parts below.

When? When will her beauty lips succumb as well?

The Maestro’s touch brings more twinges... and for sure more moisture. Sweet Cheeks begins to smell herself... more ignominy. She berates herself, stifling a quest to plead... for more attention... to likewise toy with her clitoris... to finally bring climax... to light the fuse leading to an explosive orgasm. She feels sheepish with the thought. Drat the unending chastity! 

Her thoughts worsen. There comes the sound of squishing, her cunny sopping wet, fingers turning her vagina into a wellspring.  

Then she thinks of Groom Edgar’s words... gynecological exam. Could it be?

“Are you a doctor, Sir?” the finger work continuing, the sensation both arousing and demeaning.

“You’re maturing here nicely, Sweet Cheeks. In bathing Gum Drop, you’re aware of the... ah... presentation... the Dyson Farms look for pony girls. You’re going to be so proud... and so excited to be run... sensing your girl bits flopping about.”

“Well?” her question not to be evaded.

“I have medical training. Yes. You’re in good hands... and fingers,” Groom Edgar humorously adds.

Should this bring comfort? Awareness that... though extensive and bizarre modification is to come... her body will not be the instrument of a Maestro... to be played... but instead a sculpture... clay for an artist.

“So not a doctor?”

“I was,’ the fingers of left hand and right managing to coax tufts of labial flesh from the vaginal opening... to be tugged forth and rolled about firmly... more firmly than other morning and evening sessions.

Sweet Cheeks feels more open and vulnerable than ever, gasping with unwanted joy, arms and legs tugging at her restraints.

“The medical board chose to retract my license,” Groom Edgar fesses up. “And Lady Dyson graciously assures my... financial requirements.” 

Should this alleviate concerns... naked and bound body subjected to the caprice of examining, marauding hands and fingers... but clinically trained?

“In a few weeks, Sweet Cheeks. While working your buttocks, legs and thighs on the horse, you’ll also have another set of training cones. More stretching. You’ll come to enjoy the feel. And we go slowly... your girl parts will not lose any sensation. Trust me, I know.” 

Yes, you’re a doctor... license revoked for obvious reasons, Sweet Cheeks thinks but dares not say...  medical training bastardized.