Collared and leashed, wrists cuffed and returned to the reverse prayer position, Sweet Cheeks awaits on the porch of the farmhouse. Housemaid Gabbie proved to be adept at binding a girl. Such soft hands, such determination to bring suffering in securing high her arms, elongated nipples jutting forth to proclaim her modifications. She hopes for the return of Groom Edgar. He will for sure be kindly in offering more tolerable restraint, Gabbie hooking high the leash, forcing her to await on her toes.
In thought, she thinks about the tete a tete with Lady Dyson... the embarrassment in subconsciously reverting to the orphanage regimen... but also her prospective role at Dyson Farms... the challenge. Yet perhaps the greatest dilemma is not so much accepting the challenge but instead turning it down. Yes, she can claim her liberty at any time. Yet, as so aptly pointed out, would this free her of her needs... the predilections to be addressed?
Accepting the challenge entails more development. Such brings goose bumps. Of fear and concern? Of tantalizing delight? Sweet Cheeks berates herself... a slave... not to the Master of Dyson Farms... but to her own warped desires... her mind inhibiting her own manumission.
In time Groom Edgar exits the stables, a fully tacked pony girl Candy Bar in tow, taut reins assuring her obeisance. He leads to a sleek racing cart, appearing to be nothing more than a seat mounted on two wheels, horizontal prongs at the front to make a girl one with the mode of transportation.
As Sweet Cheeks watches him attach such to the waist belt of Candy Bar, Lady Dyson exits the farmhouse, riding crop in hand.
“I’m taking Candy Bar for a jaunt. A good steed, strength and endurance... took to the hormones very well... but not a sprinter.”
The crop arm lowers, the leather tip going to Sweet Cheeks engorged labia, playfully jostling about the jello like flesh.
“Come, I’ll bring you to Edgar... and show you something.”
The leash is released, Lady Dyson grasps then steps from the porch. Sweet Cheeks must follow, eyes going to the seat of the beige jodhpurs, her ladyship well formed.
“The hormones, a daily dosage of testosterone for some two years. My girls’ endocrine systems respond to it remarkably.”
“Good morning, Lady Dyson,” Groom Edgar greets, completing his task.
“Good morning, Edgar,” handing over Sweet Cheeks’ leash and taking the offered reins. “Sweet Cheeks will be trained to run in competition. She’s not a show pony. Start her on the hormones, lengthen her treadmill work, do your thing with her tongue and I’ll run her tomorrow. But show her what a wonderful transition your injections will bring.”
Groom Edgar smiles mischievously, returning his attention to Candy Bar, standing hitched, naked of course but for waist belt and head gear. He steps to the left prong, reaches over and with brazen deftness presses his free hand at the top of pony girl’s vulva. He splays, thumb and forefinger finger parting then lifting to manipulate the clitoral hood. Candy Bar moans, shifting about her feet in silent protest. Into the sunlight comes the most precious feminine bud of bright pink. Sweet Cheeks stares in astonishment, Lady Dyson cackles with the reaction. It is not a clitoris... but a small penis.
“You’ll soon be having one of those, Sweet Cheeks. And good pony girls get the feather. Work hard for me... and be masturbated,” Lady Dyson exclaims, moving to be seated in the cart.
Groom Edgar slips away his hand, the fleshy hood retracts, again cloaking the enormous bud. Lady Dyson’s crop hand swings, the right nipple endures a crisp splat of leather, Candy Bar lurches and as the groom steps away the cart instantly rolls and accelerates.
“So you had a good discussion,” Groom Edgar pleasantly declaims more than inquires, reaching behind to where Sweet Cheeks’ wrists are secured uncomfortably high.
“Yes, Sir... thank you Sir,” the cuffs loosened and lowered to a more tolerable position.
“And now it’s time. To depart... or begin hormones? You have a choice. I’m sure Lady Dyson so informed.”
“I have no where to go, Sir.”
“I think you have no where else you want to go... other than to be here, Sweet Cheeks. There’s a place for you... a role.”
“And... tongue work?”
“Ah... yes... quick, simple... an instant of pain... enabling a lifetime of... oral devotion,” Groom Edgar taking in the slack of the leash and leading to the stables.
“But not for you, Sir. Lady Dyson said Gabbie takes care of you.”
“He... she... yes... there are times... when her ladyship graciously... ah... condescends.”
“To keep you happy... like the field hands?”
“More like to address a biological need... a male biological need.”
If only Sweet Cheeks knew of the ignominy her idolized groom must brook in enduring the attention of maid/houseboy Gabbie... under the amused eye of Lady Dyson of course. Hopefully she will never be made fully aware.
“A couple of hours on the treadmill, Sweet Cheeks. Meanwhile I’ll prepare your first injection... and a little scalpel work... after being fed.”
Led to the treadmill, Sweet Cheeks finds something amiss.
“Sir... am I not to be decorated?” many weeks of training to synchronize her footwork with the bells.
“So you miss your baubles, Cheeks. What does that say about being indoctrinated? No time to stuff your cunt. I’ll get a set of nipple rings and bells.”
Restrained as always, Groom Edgar guides, Sweet Cheeks to step up onto the canvas belt. He reaches up, hooking cables to the ear grommets and removes the leash. Sweet Cheeks calmly waits standing, wrists held in the reverse prayer position, head held high, extended nipples thrust forth. She thinks of the sight of Candy Bar’s outlandish clitoris, covering hood slipped away, the organ spearing forth, yes like a penis.
Another exhibit of Lady Dyson’s power and control, modifying a girl’s appearance, the most fundamental parts that define the female form. This will be how I am to look, Sweet Cheeks thinks to herself... the first injection of hormones eminent.
Despite having her head in bondage, in her lower peripheral vision she can see the tips of her lengthy nipples, crinkled and jutting forth. Will her most precious nubbin of joy be made as pretentious? The long discussion with her ladyship comes to mind... finding that her entire stay at the orphanage was monitored... subject to psychological evaluation and assessment. That one in ten girls gather the attention of the orphanage’s benefactress. Oddly, she senses a glimmer of pride, marveling at how well Lady Dyson and her minions.... the matrons... the psychiatrist... the photographer... came to focus on her. She has been appraised and deemed worthy... chosen.
Yet such is for her masochism... her innate tendencies... to capitulate and yield... so easily induced to posing naked... and obscenely. The exhibitionism... innate... or indoctrinated to it?
Further muddling her thoughts... she is free to leave Dyson Farms.
“I’ve prepared the injection. May as well begin now.” Groom Edgar returning to interrupt her thoughts..
Sweet Cheeks feels the coolness of an alcohol swab, then a jab to her left buttock.
It begins.
“Will I... look... like that, Mr. Edgar... you know... down below... like Candy Bar?”.
“Every girl reacts a little differently... the endocrine systems differ.”
“So I am to have a penis?”
“Possibly,” the reply coming as the syringe is stowed and fingers work the left nipple, encircling with a ring then pinching and pulling away, stretching the pink strip to hideous length. “Anatomically the clitoris is a vestigial phallus. In a way, you have one now,” the advisement coming with a chuckle.
Slipping the ring to the base of the mammary gland, the cleverly threaded trinket is twisted to be held in place.
“But there’s the feather, Cheeks. As Lady Dyson said, you’ll have a nice big clitoris to be stimulated. Run well, work hard for Lady Dyson... and she’ll see to it that you’ll be rewarded. It’s been awhile since your last orgasm.”
Sweet Cheeks feels the right nipple being likewise ringed, fingers twisting in place.
“Do have orgasms Sir? Are you permitted?” housemaid Gabbie’s necklace with attached key coming to mind.
Hands work to attach bells to the nipple rings, Sweet Cheeks partially decorated.
“Permitted? You seem to be aware of something.”
“Lady Dyson, she pointed out Gabbie’s necklace.”
Groom Edgar steps to the control dial of the treadmill, setting the timer to two hours then pausing in thought.
“Lady Dyson said you’ve ceded your masculinity. That she has control over a phallus... a fully functioning phallus... your penis?”
No reply, instead Groom Edgar turns the dial to a moderate setting of speed. Sweet Cheeks must begin, legs pumping, toes tapping, nipples bobbing, bells ringing, labia flopping.
“I’d so much like to please you, Sir,” knowing it’s her final words, lungs to soon be laboring.
“That is not for you to decide,” turning to depart. “And not for me either,” the exchange ending.
Groom Edgar steps back. A well trained Sweet Cheeks quickly brings the chiming bells in synchrony with her feet, the rhythm reminding of watching a chain gang laboring in a prison movie. The rolling buttocks... well rounded, sculpted over many grueling rides on the wooden horse... bring lustful thoughts. Thoughts which must be diverted. Still, eyes lowering to see the red balloons of the infused labia bounce about between the thighs, the arousal heightens.
‘Do you have orgasms, Sir?’ Sweet Cheeks’ question repeating in his head
Impudent of the pony girl to ask. Yet pertinent, Lady Dyson augmenting the torment of his ongoing chastity by making the equally chaste Sweet Cheeks aware of his predicament... his penance.
In reporting the desire of Sweet Cheeks to please... to suck his penis... it seems he cultivated something... Lady Dyson deciding to disclose... partially disclose?.. that housemaid Gabbie is in possession of that which enables his penis to fully function.
What are her Ladyship’s plans?
Groom Edgar changes his focus, a practiced ear listening to the steady deep breathing as Sweet Cheeks settles into a trot. Not challenging enough, he concludes, stepping forth, returning to adjust the speed dial, slowly increasing the pace.
“Much work to be done... if you’re going to compete,” Groom Edgar explains in response to Sweet Cheeks’ look of concern, feet pounding, bells going out of synch.
Yet, is he truly desirous of conditioning the girl? Or retaliating for her taunting questions... penis indeed not permitted to fully function.
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