“Oh Lord, Sir. The insertion... it’s... it’s... different.”
Having performed in timely filling the morning basin, bowels and bladder readily emptying, Groom Edgar ringed the steed’s nipples, attached bells and in fully decorating, stuffed Sweet Cheeks’ vagina. Ben wa bell chiming just below the entrance to her mons, the lower ball, designed to freely rummage about and stimulate, has been switched to a more devious trinket. This ball is hollow and within rolls about a heavy liquid, with every step doubling the sensation of having her cunt manipulated.
“Yes. A special bauble for your first outing with Lady Dyson. You’re going to so much enjoy it. And when she crops your nipples and buttocks the sting will be that much more appreciated.”
Fully tacked, Groom Edgar leads out of the stable, a racing cart at the ready. He can only imagine how frothy will become her vagina. His nose already detects what must be an abundance of secretions.
Pushing backwards between the cart prongs, the waist belt is attached, Sweet Cheeks and the cart made one.
“Be a good pony girl. Run hard. If you perform, Lady Dyson may have you masturbated... to full climax. Is your mouth okay?”
“A little sore, Sir.”
“Well, once you’re being cropped you won’t notice,” slipping in place the bit to silence the girl.
After yesterday afternoon’s grueling stint on the treadmill, Groom Edgar performed the requested tongue work, his steady hand incising the lingual frenulum under the tongue while Sweet Cheeks languished in suspension in her stall. She is unaware... at this point... of the aspects of the modification. But after fully healing, more than just her calves, thighs and buttocks will be subjected to extensive exercise. Her tongue, now able to more freely move about, will be strengthened and stretched... Lady Dyson insisting on both stamina and nimbleness for oral servitude.
“Good morning Edgar,” Lady Dyson stepping from the farmhouse porch.
Regal in her equestrienne attire, Lady Dyson strolls across the compacted soil of the stable area. She assesses her aspiring racing pony, smiling in seeing that the cool autumn air has brought goose bumps to her nakedness, the lengthy nipples of nearly four inches seeming to point like spears of pink.
“You’ll soon be warmed,” crop hand extending to tap right nipple then left, bringing stabs of pain and a cacophony of ringing. “Nicely decorated... cunt stuffed... ready to be worked. You’re in your element, Sweet Cheeks. Naked, completely exposed. I’ll bet you’re wet,” free hand lowering.
Lady Dyson smiles in seeing the girl attempt to move forth and present her mons for penetration, obediently conforming to the proper comportment explained yesterday. But in being hitched such is ungainly. Her Ladyship instead reaches to briefly slip a finger past the dangling Ben wa bell and assess.
“Yes, like a river,” retracting her hand, holding up wet fingers. “I will need to assure she’s watered. Secreting by the pint,” taking the reins from Groom Edgar.
Lady Dyson seats herself, the cart’s prongs proclaiming her authority with the transfer of weight. For the first time Sweet Cheeks feels the full subjugation of the human equine... transformed to a beast of burden.... a naked and bound beast of burden... sentient pink flesh modified at her Master’s whim.
She feels a hand reach out, thumb and forefinger clasping a large tuft of buttock. Touch unexpected, Sweet Cheeks stirs in harness when the fingers release then go to her gluteal cleft, grazing about deeply, her sphincter diddled.
There is a message, Sweet Cheeks realizes... her bare form is presented for inspection... vulnerable to her Master’s caprice.
“Marvelous work, Edgar. So firm. Thickness of a half inch... nothing more... nothing less. Has she been figged yet?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“Well, perhaps the next excursion. Makes a girl eager to perform... as you well know,” fingers lowering to capture the free swinging labia. “It’s near month end, Edgar. Gabbie wants to use her key... as I’m sure you want her to use it as well. Since your efforts on this one are so laudable, perhaps something special for you.”
Lady Dyson smiles in seeing her groom cringe.
“Penance, Edgar. It’s good for the soul.”
With that, the exploring hand takes the reins, the crop hand swings to apply encouragement and Sweet Cheeks lunges in harness, feet pumping, muscles contracting, buttocks clenching. She finds Groom Edgar to be correct. Despite the nirvana of her stuffed cunt, the sting to her right nipple instantly distracts. More swats to her buttocks assure her effort.
The morning will be long.
*****
Crop swinging, Lady Dyson brings her steed to a fast and steady pace. She is pleased, her pony girl responding to directing tugs on the reins, keeping the nipple and Ben wa bells ringing in cadence with her footwork, seeming to take equine pride in her efforts. The many strokes of the crop... nipples and buttocks... nipples and buttocks... seem welcomed.
The girl wants to run... wants to perform... wants to please... Lady Dyson’s equestrienne eyes and ears so tell her. That the stinging anguish of leather on sentient flesh counters the otherwise uncontrollable pleasure of her stuffed cunt. Groom Edgar has done well. And in seeming to revel in her bound nakedness... stretched pink flesh well exposed for maximum humiliation... the many reports from the orphanage have been prescient... masochism... exhibitionism... to be nurtured.
The pony girl will deny it, but she us in her element.
One mile, two, then comes a third. With Lady Dyson’s many years of training girls she knows a respite is needed. What better place to convey her authority than to have a rest at the fields where the work ponies labor under the lash... and the penis. Such will bring fear and revulsion to her charge.
A turn, firm strokes of the crop to bring Sweet Cheeks to dash at full at pace, the path to the fields taken at full gallop. Despite the cool autumn air, Lady Dyson notes her girl is in a lather, beads of perspiration streaming to the protruding buttocks, droplets flicking away with the rolling flesh. Mud collects about wet ankles, the well worked steed to very much appreciate Groom Edgar’s care and attention at day’s end.
Within a half mile, the field hands and work ponies come into view, harvesting potatoes. In seeing the naked girth of the work ponies, tethered to heavy carts laden with spuds, Lady Dyson knows Sweet Cheeks’ concerns will be renewed. And sure enough, field hand Luther has released a well worked pony girl from the yoke of a cart, bending her nakedness over a correction stanchion, a waist high well worn horizontal plank.
“Ho,” Lady Dyson directs, pulling on the reins next to work pony Cream Puff, positioned with her wrists cuffed behind her back, head down, buttocks high, thighs well spread.
Lady Dyson dismounts assuring the work pony is well within Sweet Cheeks’ line of sight, the blinkers of the bridle constricting much peripheral vision.
“Keep your thighs parted, Sweet Cheeks, cunt open and displayed,” tapping the dangling labia with her crop.
She smiles in seeing the feet obediently move apart then turns to bid good day to field hand Luther, a strapping young man of color, attired in a shawl and loose loin cloth. In tying off the reins she notes three boys from the village observe the workers and tethered ponies from a nearby knoll... undoubtedly at the age when the female form begins to attract... a combination of curiosity and hormonal urges. She waves, no desire to assert her property rights and disturb her neighbors.
Stepping to the work pony, a hand extends, smoothing over an expanse of nakedness, playfully grasping a thick tuft of skin, fattened under Groom Edgar’s regimen.
“Good afternoon Cream Puff,” the tone condescending. “Being a good girl for Luther?”
As she speaks, Luther slips the bit from the pony girl’s mouth. But before she can acknowledge her Ladyship, the loin cloth is pushed aside and an enormous manhood is press to her lips.
“Needs watering, Miss Dyson.”
“Of course.”
Such a show for her trainee... such a lesson. Sweet Cheeks forced to watch. That not only are work ponies worked hard, regularly whipped and put under the penis... big black cock... but are toileted as well.
Cream Puff parts her lips and engulfs, Luther’s hands lowering to grasp right nipple and left, the touch intended to sooth... but if need be to encourage obeisant behavior.
In waiting for the deed’s completion... Cream Puff to be ‘watered’... Lady Dyson recalls the early training of the well subjugated work pony.
Cream Puff ran well under Lady Dyson’s crop. Entering several races, she took show often, placing once, never winning. As the girl gulps Luther’s golden offering, Lady Dyson smooths her hands over welted buttocks then pinches, the epidermis thickened, thumb and forefinger gathering more than two inches. She turns assuring the generous coating is evident to Sweet Cheeks, her flesh covering much controlled, a well monitored one half inch.
“Keeps a girl warm... long days working in the in the cool outdoors. And the heft works well in pulling heavy loads... doesn’t it Cream Puff? Just lean into your harness, get the cart rolling. and your weight keeps the momentum going.”
She knows Sweet Cheeks finds the girl’s presentation to be appalling, Lady’s Dyson’s brazen handling further objectifying, the human form transformed to a beast of burden. And to further degrade the hands lower, slipping between well parted thighs, finding the extended labia, fingers closing about right strip and left. Lady Dyson tugs, knowing that with Luther likewise gripping the lengthy nipples the sensual input overwhelms, feet stirring. She toys and teases, demonstrating to Sweet Cheeks her dominion. Then in seeing Luther complete the ‘watering’ she releases, making a show of her moist hands.
She glances to the knoll, noting the trio of boys are watching intently, some hundred yards in the distance. She beckons, mischievous thoughts percolating.
“The boys, Luther... do you see them often?”
“They come around... made off with some pumpkins a while back. But I don’t think what we grow is the attraction,” Lither smiling, aware of the true attraction.
Lady Dyson nods, turning, stepping to the knoll and calling out.
“Come boys, take some potatoes,” again gesturing with her hand.
Regal as always in her equestrienne attire, presenting herself as nobility in riding into the scene conveyed by human muscle and sweat, the words are received almost as a command. There is a unheard discussion amongst the three. Within a moment any reluctance or concern in accepting the invitation is overcome.
Ah... to be proximate to a naked girl... two naked girls!
Giggling the boys saunter forth. Lady Dyson assesses the ages. Young but old enough to find interest... discovering the mystery of the female form.
“I am Lady Dyson... you’re on Dyson Farms property. And are welcome... for now. Names?”
“I’m Mark... he’s Everett... that’s Randy.”
“Well, Mark, Everett and Randy, my man Luther says you’ve been stealing.”
“But you give away pumpkins...”
“Stealing glances... not pumpkins... glances of my work pony ponies.”
The boys smile sheepishly.
“Well... they’re... there’s no clothing,” Randy blurts, his explanation bringing Lady Dyson to smile.
An aptly named lad, she thinks to herself.
“I don’t permit clothing. Girls like these,” a hand waving to Cream Puff then the nearby Sweet Cheeks, “perform for me better in the nude.”
“And without any hair!” Everett’s turn to exclaim.
“Easier to scrub them down. And hair can not only be septic but also a source self esteem. These kind of girls... well... any esteem to be had is not in appearance but in serving me. So your attraction... your curiosity in bringing you to trespass... is not about girls but about girls without covering... girls without hair. And such is satisfied in gawking... from a distance?”
No response, in silence the boys look at other, searching for an answer.
“I think you want to know more. And I’m sure skulking about the bathroom when your sisters are bathing is frowned upon.”
The boys again look at each other, now in astonishment. How does this woman know that?
“Step closer... over here,” pointing to where Cream Puff’s massive buttocks seem to glow in the early afternoon sun. “Luther, you may get back to work. I’ll summon you when I am finished with the girl.”
Luther departs. Cream Puff stirs. Years serving naked and bound, she is accustomed to being exposed to the eyes of the field hands, but to inquisitive youth! It has been disturbing to see them ogling in the distance. Now so close!
“Gather around and listen,” Lady Dyson not only to lecture to naive young males, but to again ingrain her power and control in the mind of Sweet Cheeks. She notes her pony girl is already blushing with the boys proximity.
“This is Cream Puff... a pony girl. Indentured to Dyson Farms... indentured to me. You’ve noticed her arms are restrained. Pony girls don’t need to use their hands so to preclude mischief they’re kept well bound. And yes, boys, girls are given to play with themselves too,” the comment bringing the trio to sheepishly smile.
“I trained her years ago to race... in competition... pulling a cart... just like that,” nodding to Sweet Cheeks. “She was adequate, never fulfilling my full expectations. So in reaching her zenith... not quite a champion, I had her relegated to work the fields... as you’ve seen. Picture this one with seventy to eighty pound less fat. We put it on her... diminishing any remaining pride... and allowing her to work more hours in the cool air,” hands poking and prodding, making the rolls of thick epidermis jiggle, bringing forth giggles... politely stifled.
“Now, I know that’s not what makes you curious. It’s this,” hands lowering, fingers grasping elongated strips of labia, pinching and brusquely pulling left and right to splay open the pony girl’s portal. “This is her cunt... I am sure you’ve heard and used the term in the school yard... boys being boys. And what I’m holding is termed the labia minora. Quite similar in texture and feel to that nestling your balls... your scrotum. I like stretching a girl here... as I’m sure you’ve noticed. It diminishes any unwanted girlish pride in so having to constantly expose herself. That brings humility... and with it obeisance.”
Hearing the explanation, Sweet Cheeks closes her eyes in shame, vicariously sensing Cream Puff’s humiliation... objectified again... before such naivety. She chooses not to witness the degradation... but must listen, Lady Dyson’s lecture continuing. Apparently with Cream Puff’s opening well displayed, there is pointed out the many dynamics and folds of the complex female anatomy, labia majora, clitoris, clitoral hood, vestibular bulbs, Bartholin’s glands, Skene’s glands, urethral opening. For Sweet Cheeks, there comes a sense gratitude in having her cunt stuffed, her vulva not to be so visually inspected.
“But what about her asshole?” Mark crassly inquires.
“What about it?”
“It’s... like... not closed.”
“Yes, she’s gaping. The field hands like to gape a girl... keep her constantly open. They insert things,” Lady Dyson deliberately vague concerning the continual anal sodomy perpetrated, insertions most commonly being big black cock. “A work pony is always to feel open, available and vulnerable. It is best for them.
“Now step to the front boys... more unique female anatomy for you to examine.”
The lecture continues, Lady Dyson without doubt a student of her servant and groom Edgar, his medical training evidently passed onward. The breasts... pony girl breasts... are examined and explained... Lady Dyson now encouraging each boy to touch, to feel... even to pull left nipple and right, Cream Puff’s shame and embarrassment palpable.
“The stretching here is more practical then for altering a girl cosmetically. Take your hands away,” ending Everett’s turn to try milking a girl.
Breasts clear, nipples crinkled and pointing to the soil below, Lady Dyson reaches for her crop and with two very slight flicks of her wrists nips the very tips... right then left... bringing Cream Puff to lurch in agony.
“Discipline... and encouragement when laboring in harness... applied with little exertion on my part. Minimal effort... maximum pain... a girl’s focus, attention and output quickly attained and facilely optimized.”
“Wow,” comes a collectively response.
“And don’t try that on your sisters,” Lady Dyson humorously advises. “The pony girls here are special... of a very... let’s say... unique psyche. All with certain penchants... which would fester in another environment. Here at Dyson Farms such are made to flourish.”
There comes pause, letting the boys digest. Lady Dyson devilishly considers the appropriateness of offering fellatio... a neighborly gesture in her mind. Yet such a deed would most likely not be well received by the parents. She puts the thought aside.
“What about that one... with the bells?” young Randy gushes, excited by the empowerment of the knowledge gained.
Sweet Cheeks’ heart sinks. Yes, the bells... at the nipples... grazing the opening to her vagina. Of course such need explanation... and the boys’ attention.
“A girl I’m training... for competition. Come,” Lady Dyson stepping, the boys following the few feet to where Sweet Cheeks remains tethered.
Sweet Cheeks again closes her eyes, in shame. Not able to run... not able to hide. Oddly, she feels grateful to be in harness. Hitched to the racing cart, her cunt cannot be subjected to such obscene examination. Yet then she realizes... the twinges... the arousal. Her psyche returns her to the orphanage... being punished... only a blanket for her covering. And when an older girl tears it away... there come no words of protest... no attempt to retrieve... only the twinges... the moisture in her quim... the perverse excitement.
As Lady Dyson positions herself for another lecture, for some reason, Sweet Cheeks finds herself wriggling her hips, the action bringing self pleasure in both jostling the lower Ben wa ball and bringing all her bells to ring. Lady Dyson smiles, knowing her pony girl is stirring her own arousal.
“This is Sweet Cheeks. As you can see boys, she’s more or less gagged in bit and bridle. So she’s saying hello with her bells.”
Lady Dyson extends her crop hand, the leather tip brushing Sweet Cheeks’ right nipple, gently jiggling to bring more ringing, demonstrating her governance.
“She’s kept hairless as with Cream Puff, but well toned and muscled. Body fat minimized, she is exercised extensively... probably as well conditioned as an Olympic athlete.”
“Can we?” Mark extending his hand.
“Of course. Feel the skin... the firmness... the muscling beneath. She’s weighed and measured daily... her urine and feces tested... diet perfected in terms of nutrition. Within a few months... with more training... better acclimated to the harness... I’ll be racing her.”
In maximizing the humiliation, Lady Dyson unties the reins, pulls downward such that Sweet Cheeks must bend at the waist, and hands the controlling leather to Everett, the motion causing her nipples bells to chime sonorously.
“Hold her like that. Notice how the buttocks protrude in such a pose,” signaling for the many hands to freely poke, pinch and prod.
“She won’t mind?” the words expressed as if Sweet Cheeks was inanimate.
“I won’t mind. She has no say. And note the training, always positioned with feet well parted. Girls like this enjoy showing themselves... their cunts.”
Indeed as the boys step behind, her stuffed portal well displayed, Sweet Cheeks begins to well up, the embarrassment overwhelming. Yet, once again, she wriggles her hips and the vaginal insertions perform their magic. She hears Lady Dyson laugh, too well aware of her pony girl’s dilemma... the inner conflict... the craving... for exhibition... for subjugation. Such intensity.
“Cool... a bell... held between her labia minora,” Randy flaunting his new found knowledge.
His hand extends, fingers flicking the extended strip of pink, a child fascinated with a new toy. hearing the bell again ring.
“That’s part of her tacking... just as we put her in bit, bridle and waist belt. Her cunt is stuffed... some trinkets within are attached to the bell which keeps her stimulated... eager to run for me.”
“And she’s really moist... like going to the bathroom.”
“No, she’s not urinating, that’s what happens when girls are excited,” Lady Dyson chuckling, knowing that with Sweet Cheeks’ penchant, she has entered the ‘loop’. The fact that she’s displaying her arousal to a group of young boys foments more arousal... exhibiting the evidence of her humiliation leading to more humiliation.
Lady Dyson can terminate the ‘loop’. Instead she casually watches as the boys’ hands and fingers assess for themselves the firmness of the pony girl flesh, just as Groom Edgar measures with calipers and regularly records.
“Her asshole... it’s not gaped,” Mark further parting the gluteal cleft, comparing her sphincter to that of Cream Puff.
“Sphincter... use the term sphincter. That’s because she’s not a work pony. Boys, I have to run Sweet Cheeks for another mile or two... and her legs will begin to stiffen if I don’t move along. So grab some potatoes if you’d like,” taking the reins from Everett, noting his look of enthusiasm in his dominion over a naked well bound girl. “And if you come back... I should say when you come back... don’t stand so far off.”
No comments:
Post a Comment