Read Ponygirl Tales Online

Authors: Don Winslow

Tags: #Erotica

Ponygirl Tales (2 page)

The lady shared her husband’s passion for that peculiar, some might even say bizarre, hobby in which he indulged. But while she enthusiastically joined him in what they had taken to call “our thing,” her manner and methods different sharply from her more tolerant and amiable mate. The tall, well-built, black-haired woman never showed the least affection towards the occupants of the stable. On the contrary, her dark eyes flashed, and her stern face tightened into a hardened scowl whenever she entered the stables, sending a shiver of fear through the huddled girls. Chiding her mate for being too easy-going, she would grimly take upon herself the role of disciplinarian, supervising the grooms and overseeing the rigorous training of the ponygirls; insisting that they measure up to her most demanding standards.

This raven haired beauty, in her white silken blouse and cream-colored jodhpurs, thoroughly relished the role of overseer. It turned her on; filled her with creamy elation to have a girl with hands clasped behind her back, kneeling naked at her feet, while the imperious Mistress looked down on that upturned face, and watched the fear growing in a young woman’s eyes as she slapped a menacing riding crop, in a slow measured beat against the side of her booted calve.

It was the Lady who taught the girls the three classic positions. “Down,” she would command in that clipped, no-nonsense manner of hers, and woe to the girl who didn’t instantly fall to her knees. On her knees, she might be ordered to service Master or Mistress. “Forward” would bring the kneeling girl onto hands and knees there to wait on all fours for further commands. Sometimes she would be forced to wait in that humiliating pose for what seemed an intolerable period of time, while her Mistress attended to other duties. On other occasions the naked girl would be ordered to follow her Mistress, crawling around the stable, the grassy courtyard, or the thickly-carpeted floors of the Manor House for the amusement of her owners, and their privileged guests.
The “Present” command would have the girl, still on all fours, falling forward to her elbows where she was made to assume an even more subservient position: braced on extended forearms, her head lowered and back arched so as to upraise her tempting bottom in the most provocative display. Thus she might be made to present a tight young ass for any pleasures Master or Mistress may chose to indulge in, or perhaps for an honored guest who might wish to mount her. The submissive pose was also ideal for discipline, the girl’s upraised bottom presenting a prominent target for the flicking pony whip, or the plaint blade of the short-handled paddle. Or perhaps a girl would be made to assume and hold the seductive pose simply for the amusement of the jaded partygoers at one of her Lordship’s soirees. It didn’t matter to what use she would be put. The well-trained ponygirl was taught to submit; to obey instantly, and without question.

Perhaps it was inevitable that the sadistic mistress of discipline and the proud caramel-haired beauty with the perky pony tail should find themselves on a collision course. Lady Ursula sensed that Justine was clearly a leader among the girls of the stable, who regarded her with a mixture of envy and admiration. She was older than the others, and having come to ponygirl training after a starting a promising career as a well-respected civil attorney. The young woman was intelligent, well-educated, pert and really quite pretty, as the mistress clearly observed whenever she saw her husband’s eager eyes light up at the appearance of his favorite with wrists tied behind her, being led out by a sturdy groom who loosely held the leash attached to the girl’s collar.

Lady Ursula would stand with hands on hips, watching from the balcony overlooking the gravel courtyard, as her husband, looking trim and handsome in riding clothes, personally supervised the preparations for his morning ride. She saw how he never passed up the opportunity to check the harness, freely touching the perfectly-still girl’s naked body, feeling his way along Justine’s narrow flanks, pausing to finger the thick cap of a prominent nipple, to lavishly fondle those small, proudly out-thrust breasts. He spent some time at her hindquarters, filling his hands with her  slim but nicely-rounded buttocks; he savored her firm young body as all the while the girl stood at rigid attention, booted legs held tightly together, head held high, shoulders back and thin chest out – in that classic ponygirl’s “ready” position. The Mistress of the Manor smirked to herself as she saw the girl respond to a soft-spoken command to widen her stance, obediently shifting her booted feet so that her Master could test the fit of the strap which, attached to the waist cincher from front to back, ran high up between her legs through the place where his hands now followed. Only when he pronounced himself satisfied with the trappings would he release her to allow the groom to back the ponygirl into place between the extended shafts of the delicately-framed buggy.

Final preparations were now made. Her arms brought behind her to be tied together just above the elbows, enough slack left so that she could reach forward with gloved hands to grasp the horizontal bar which crossed in front of her. Once between the traces, the head harness was placed over that mop of caramel colored hair, the chin strap pulled tight and buckled. The hard rubber bit was then inserted between the teeth; the reins attached. And the ponygirl was ready – except for the final bit of adornment.

The long pony tail with its squat butt plug was now attached by the careful groom who held Justine’s hard cheeks apart with one spread-open hand while he inserted the tapering, well-greased end of the butt plug into the girl’s spasming anus. He had her shake her new tail to be sure it was securely in place; once satisfied, he turned to help his master take his seat in the buggy, finally handing him the light pony whip.

At a crisp word of command the well-trained ponygirl alertly raised her head. She obligingly wiggled her tail to invite the master’s whip -- as she has been taught to do. A quick flick of the wrist sent the delicate strap whipping though the air to kiss Justine’s naked rump right across the plump curve of those narrow cheeks with a tiny whap that jolted the ponygirl into action.

As she began to pull, the ponygirl happened to look up, and saw her Mistress watching. Their eyes met briefly. Lady Ursula saw those big brown eyes flashing that look of pride in the pretty face of the high-spirited ponygirl as the two of them started off on an easy jog. She saw the haughty toss Justine gave to her cropped pony tail as they turned away, and it was the impertinence of that departing toss of the pony tail that so enraged the watching woman.

She stood watching the buggy turn start down the smooth gravel pathway, gradually picking up speed as the ponygirl broke into loping a trot. An observer would have noticed the scowl that creased her Ladyship’s noble brow, the tightening of her lips, the cruel smile as she watched the buggy recede.

What thoughts might be going on behind that handsome brow an observer could only speculate, but as it happens an intriguing idea was beginning to form in the Lady’s mind. She realized that she would soon have an opportunity to attend to the matter of the prized filly in her own way, for the care and feeding of the ponygirls would be left entirely in her hands for three whole days. Lord Edgewater was about to make one of his rare business trips to the city. She would make the most of those three days, determined to humble the elegant, high-stepping beauty.

Of course, his Lordship and his trotting pony were blissfully unaware of what was being planned on that balcony overlooking the courtyard. Had he known he would have certainly taken precautions to see that his consort’s wild enthusiasm was restrained in his absence. Basil tolerated Ursula’s perverse tastes, with amused tolerance. But he kept a wary eye on her sadistic streak, which he wouldn’t allow to go unchecked, at least not for very long, before he felt he had to take the Lady in hand. He knew how excited Ursula got once she had been given a free hand with one of the ponygirls. Her punishments were sometimes fiendishly ingenious, often bordering on the bizarre, but alas -- too often excessive. His Lordship, while recognizing the value of an occasional whip on the rump, or the satisfying smack a paddle to a well-placed bottom, just to keep a spirited ponygirl in line, disapproved of the more heavy-handed methods, the kind that could easily drive his cruel consort into an excited frenzy.

But such thoughts were far from his mind as Lord Edgewater, from his vantage point, was treated to the cheery sight of his favorite filly, her caramel colored hair drawn back in that short-cropped pony tail bobbing in a perky bounce, as she jogged along, He was captivated by the liquid churning of those taut little cheeks of hers -- delightful cheeks that so neatly filled his greedy cupping hands. He smiled to see the way Justine’s juddering behind caused her newly-acquired tail to swish from side to side with spunky impudence.

A shouted command, punctuated a with another crack of the slender whip, sent the running girl straining harder, forcing her even further over the bar she held before her, so as to acquire the faster pace her Master ordered. She broke into a loping trot. This was what Edgewater most admired: a well-trained young woman who held her head up and her upper body erect, straining shoulders pulled back, and arched chest proudly out in front. A talented girl could hold the demanding pose even while prancing; the sight of which never failed to generate a tingle of excitement in him. He especially enjoyed the way Justine’s hard naked body pulled against the restraining harness, the flex and pull of smooth leg muscles as the long-legged filly pounded down the beaten track.

***

 

On Friday the news swept swiftly through the stable. The sight of the big silver Rolls pulling up to the front of the house, and left to idle there, its engine purring, while the uniformed chauffer took up his position to wait by the open door, was further evidence: the rumor was true – the Master was going off on one of his business trips. The sense of dread hung over the stable for all knew how much their cruel Mistress relished the chance to get her hands on the ponygirls. Justine watched and waited, her feelings a mixture of excitement and dread.
And she didn’t have long to wait, for the car had not been gone an hour before the groom came for her. Her wrists were banded with wide leather cuffs, padded, and lined with silk to avoid chafing. Lady Ursula was careful to see that none of the girls would bear any marks of abuse which might come t o the attention of the Lord of the Manor once he returned. A leash was snapped to the high leather collar she wore. The ponygirl’s hands were then drawn back behind her, the cuffs clipped together, and she was led off to the exercise yard, walking tall, with head up and hands behind her back, wearing nothing but her sleek black boots.
This would not be the first time her Ladyship had put Justine through her paces, for the beauty of the stable was often singled out for special treatment, sometimes in private, sometimes before the other girls, as when the imperious Mistress made the kneeling girl bend down to the ground to kiss a proffered boot while the others watched in awed silence. Lady Ursula got a wicked thrill from witnessing the abasement of the proud beauty, wildly elated to see the young beauty lowering her head in complete and total subservience to her Mistress’ iron will.
But although she was shamelessly used while in the harness, she bore the mild discomforts well. It was the humiliating way that her mistress used her as her personal love slave that Justine most dreaded. For there were times when she was required to do service as a ponygirl during the day, and to provide services of a personal, more intimate kind at night -- in the Lady’s bedchamber.
***
The groom began to put her through her paces. The daily routine always started with 40 laps around the tall metal pole erected in the exact center of the exercise yard. The short leash was replaced by a long lead that hung loosely from her neck while the other end was attached to a freely-pivoting ring set near the top of the pole.
The first lap began at a brisk walk. The groom set the pace, the girl taking wide strides in her high-heeled boots while her wrists remained tied behind her. At the second lap, the overseer ordered a prance. He called out his command and with a flick of the wrist slapped her straight across her tight-cheeked young bottom. Lifting her knees ever higher in the stylized manner of a show pony, Justine was dutifully making her rounds when the single word “Stop!” rang out. Instantly, she stood stock still. Keeping her gaze fixed forward, she was unable to see the figure coming up behind her, but the ominous crunch of booted feet stomping on the crushed gravel made it clear to her. She knew that tread! And the realization sent a shiver of fear through her. Lady Ursula was about to take charge!
   It was well known that Lady Ursula thoroughly enjoyed wielding the pony whip at the daily exercises, gleefully urging the prancing ponygirls to step lively with each crack of the lash, but today the fiendishly inventive sadist had something quite novel in mind for her husband’s favorite, for in watching the naked girl parade around, her attention had been drawn to Justine’s vulnerable, high-riding breasts.
Now Ursula stepped right up to Justine. Both women were tall, and both wore high-heeled boots, but the full-figured woman in the riding outfit was a few inches taller than the slightly-built nude. Justine stood with eyes forward, not daring to look up, while Ursula looked down on the arched chest before her, pointedly studying the small, up-thrust breasts with their brash oversized nipples.
The Lady wore short riding gloves and now, without a word, she raised both gloved hands and began to fondle the flattened mounds of those pancake breasts, laying splayed fingers on them, pressing them together, and palming the large puffy nipples that Justine sported.
“Such pretty things,” she murmured, pressing the soft flesh of Justine’s thickened disks into slow circular motion. “Superb! Ah, but those unfortunate nipples of yours…far too large; quite excessive for such delicate treasures, don’t you think so George?”  She flicked a nipple with the tip of her finger, while delivering this aside to the groom who stood there nodding with grinning enthusiasm. But Ursula ignored the man who stood fascinated to see the interplay between the two beautiful women. For Ursula, the groom did not exist; nothing existed but the two of them -- and the world which they were about to enter.
“Look at me!” she hissed. And while she was looking deep into Justine’s big brown eyes she delicately plucked a prominent nipple between thumb and forefinger and gradually tightened her grip, all the while searching the girl’s eyes for the first glint of rising pain. She smiled to see it, as tears welled up and the girl sucked in a shivering breath of air through clenched teeth and jacked upward. Lady Ursula held on, pulled, testing its elasticity by stretching the little breast into a tightened peak, while her victim arched her back and clenched her jaws against the pain. It took only a bit of this rough tit play before Justine was breathing deeply, her tortured breasts throbbing, undulating in ragged heaves. The excited nipples now protruded, dark and swollen with arousal. “You see what I mean, George? All together too brazen! We can’t have her walking around with those big things sticking out like a sluttish whore’s! Such impudence!
Here the lady paused to consider. “I think,” she teased, rolling the hardened bud between thumb and forefinger, “that these will have to punished for showing off like this.”
She turned to her wide-grinning assistant, who obligingly held out a set of nipple clamps. These were spring clips with smooth blunted jaws designed to insure that the tender flesh was not cut, but instead constantly squeezed and thus subjected to a dull throbbing pain that would persist while the devilish clamps were in place, and for sometime after they were removed. And they would not be removed until the Mistress of Discipline deemed that it be so. Justine knew of girls who were made to the wear the hateful clips all day long and even in stable at night, where they were free to remove them, but did not dare to do so.
Now she held the nipple clamps, squeezing one to demonstrate the opening of the little jaws for Justine to see. The pair were joined together with a short chain. Curiously, the length of light chain between the clamps had been threaded through a hard rubber dowel rod.     
Ursula plucked each breast and very precisely attached the clamps to Justine’s jutting nipples, while the girl fought to stand still, biting down on her curled lower lip with each twinge of hurt. The ache settled into a dull throb; she would learn to tolerate the pain. For a moment the little rod swung down between her captive breasts like some sort of bizarre necklace. Moving closer, Ursula gave her victim the sort of smile the cat reserves for the canary, and lifting up the dowel rod purred in a silky whisper: “Open wide.”
The ponygirl obediently opened her mouth to accept the rubber bit that was jammed between her small white teeth.
With the rubber rod distorting her mouth, she looked up at her Mistress, confusion in her wide alert eyes. Ursula smiled benevolently, placed two joined fingers under the girl’s chin and lifted it high, higher, till Justine stood with collared neck stretched upward, her head thrown well back. With her chin held high her breasts were pulled taut and uplifted, the pliant flesh stretched up and out. Her Ladyship declared this to be a distinct improvement in posture!
She now confided to her silent assistant that she considered bouncy tits unseemly on a ponygirl (although quite obviously in Justine’s case, her taut, small mounded tits hardly merited such restraint). Nevertheless, this was the posture the unfortunate girl was forced to maintain as she was ordered back into her routine, once more around the familiar circuit.

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