"On your toes, Cheeks. Always on your toes.”
Groom Edgar softly admonishes, leash in hand, turning to observe his naked charge, gently tugging to bring acceptable tension to the neck collar.
He smiles in seeing each footfall cause the nipple cones to bobble about, knowing such accentuates the girl’s sense of being forcibly altered. A free hand reaches forth, a finger diddling right nipple cone then left, assuring the girl’s awareness. She sighs in faint joy.
“Yes, Sir. Thank you for walking me, Sir,” obediently prancing as directed, mitten cover hands carefully held away from her skin.
“To the fields, Cheeks. Harvest time. As you know, Lady Dyson likes to give out pumpkins to the children. And you do enjoy being walked,” pausing, a free hand reaching to the thighs, fingers deftly slipping within a well exposed pudendum to graze and find wetness. “At the end of a leash,” chuckling.
Arousal! Outdoors, for all to see, the girl’s naked and bound exhibition excites!
With a smug smile, Groom Edgar resumes leading along the soft dirt of the path. He cannot helping thinking of the years of planning, Lady Dyson long funding the care of Sweet Cheeks, and other girls, at the nearby orphanage. The girls are well cared for. In return for her Ladyship’s generosity, there is restitution. The orphanage twice per year performs psychological evaluations for Lady Dyson’s review. Plus there is a demand that any punishment for misbehavior be in a very specific form and manner, the response to such punishment closely monitored and recorded.
Thus when Sweet Cheeks came of age... time for her departure from the institution’s adolescent care and attention... her file of evaluations was thick. Yes, not much of her mental and emotional make up... her penchants and predilections... escaped thorough analysis.
Lady Dyson’s investment paid off with Sweet Cheeks. An estimated one in ten girls coming through the orphanage will have the ingrained masochism and exhibitionism required... the raw clay to be molded into obedient, physically sculpted, mentally subjugated, and emotionally needy human equines.
“Your time at the orphanage, Cheeks. Do you recall being punished?” Groom Edgar prompts, well aware of the reply in having reviewed her files ad nauseam.
“Oh yes, Sir,” the voice soft and contrite.
“You were naughty... frequently naughty.”
“At times, Sir.”
“And how were you punished?”
“Well... the matrons...”
“Did they beat you?”
“Oh, no Sir. They were... well... firm... but kind...”
“Yes, but you were punished.”
The words come as the trees and shrubbery yield to an open field. Sweet Cheeks notes the activity, pausing, causing the leash to become taut. Groom Edgar in turn stops, his thoughts interrupted, letting the girl observe, noting the look of astonishment and concern on her face.
It’s a pumpkin patch indeed. Some dozen field hands, large men of color, work the rows of green vines and well ripened globes of orange. Such are brief in their attire, shirtless, chests of brawn, no shoes, the only covering being white loin clothes, in some cases loosely and carelessly strung about the waists. Some have short thick whips, though most are focused on harvesting the pumpkins.
Yet it’s the carts that bring focus... large, heavy open boxes of wood, perched on ancient wooden wheels. Three in number, tethered to the front of each is a pair of naked girls in bit, bridle and harness, each made one with the cart in being secured to prongs at the front.
“Oh Sir,” Sweet Cheeks gasps in gawking at the scene of grime, sweat and apparent misery.
“Work ponies, Cheeks. Quite strong, well restrained...”
With the words, a field worker offers a generous tap of his whip to the bare buttocks of a work pony. She lunges, then pulls forth with her partner, the obviously well burdened cart moving forward a few feet to accept more pumpkins.
“You’ll note the broad hips, huge buttocks, well muscled legs. And the thick layer of epidermis... so they can stay warm in the cool autumn air. We put a nice even inch of fat on them... no more no less.”
“You can do that, Sir?” Sweet Cheeks incredulous. “Make a girl look like that? They’re... they’re... beastly!”
“We can make a girl look any way we want, Cheeks. But in all cases... do what is best for them.”
Sweet Cheeks nods, noting the bald heads, the extended labia draped between the thighs... the elongated nipples. Alas... the Dyson Farms look.
“I’ve... I’ve... not seen them... in the stables.”
“Separate barn for them. They don’t need the care... of a groom. Once conditioned for working the fields I only examine them once or twice per year.... and for any injuries.”
Sweet Cheeks’ eyes remain glued, noting the whips swing freely. Then a dark hand goes to the tack of one girl, slipping aside the bit, the other hand rummaging about the loin cloth. A massive phallus of black is pressed to the pony girl’s lips. Sweet Cheeks notes the girl’s head bobs... energetically. Limited contact with males during her orphanage years, she is naive concerning fellatio. Yet, it requires not much imagination to understand the level of abject oral servitude.
“What is that work pony doing to him... the field hand?”
“She’s sucking his cock, Cheeks. Something you obviously did not do at the orphanage. As I said, Lady Dyson assures the field hands are kept... happy,” the term snickered. “And rest assured, that pony girl will please... or be fanny fucked. Possibly both,” Groom Edgar outright laughing. “It not only makes the man feel physically better, but inures a sense of hierarchy... he dominates... she submits. Work ponies come to enjoy the taste of cock.”
“Will I...”
“That’s to be decided... by Lady Dyson. So, you‘ve now seen some work ponies, Cheeks. We’ll avoid visiting the barn... for now. Unless watching a girl get a good deep pegging is... of interest.”
“Pegging?”
“Anal penetration.”
“Oh no, Sir,” shuddering in hearing a snap of leather, seeing a short thick whip scourge another set of buttocks.
“The whip is short for easy application, by the way... and thick... still painful but breaks not the skin,” Groom Edgar tugging to lead back down the path. “So... as I said... best to avoid becoming a work pony, Cheeks. Do work hard for me. No resistance. I can make you... into whatever you want to be... here at Dyson Farms.”
“Yes, Sir... thank you Sir. Will you... well... the saline, Sir... you know... with Gum Drop...”
“A labial infusion. Yes, Cheeks. You’d enjoy that. In time... it will come. Nice plump and long strips of girl flesh... for exhibition. And now... do tell me. Punishment time... at the orphanage. The Matrons... kindly... yet firm...” Groom Edgar prompts anew.
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