Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition (21 page)

Just then, with
incredibly perfect timing, Mother
Bolia
happened to
walk through this particular training courtyard. She saw Sister Angel preparing
her subject for yet another lesson and walked over, her sharp eyes studying the
suffering girl displayed so effectively on the thick post. Angel stopped her
arduous labor of tying and tightening and turned to her superior, raising her
eyebrows a bit as if to ask what, if anything, Mother
Bolia
required from her. Using the cloister’s adopted secret hand sign language,
Bolia
signed that she wanted Angel to place the ladder back
against the post, but on the rear, so that the top of the ladder just reached
Lucy’s folded knees. Puzzled, Angel complied and then again, asked with another
questioning look, for Mother
Bolia’s
orders.

Bolia
smiled, a rare
event, and Sister Angel felt a coldness in her stomach. Using her hands and
body language,
Bolia
showed Sister Angel that she
wanted the sister to strip herself naked and climb the ladder.
      
Amazed, questioning, but always faithful
to the orders of her superior, Angel slowly removed her garments and headgear,
revealing her short, brown hair and a figure that was equally voluptuous to
that of her suffering subject hanging on the post. Gingerly, in her bare feet,
she mounted the ladder and placed herself with her back against the post,
feeling Lucy’s trembling fingers and toes scratching her back. Mother
Bolia
then gestured to Sister Grace, one of the several
nuns who stood in the courtyard, watching this unusual spectacle. The sister
hurried over, expectant and also fearful that she was about to be added to the
post. Signals passed between them while Angel shook and shivered as her small
feet tried to stay positioned on the top rung of the unsteady ladder. Lucy
continued to weep silently.

Grace ran to the
nearby wall, removed a longer wooden ladder, gaining the help of another
sister. They came back to the post, positioning the ladder on the side with the
top rung near the ring where Lucy’s hands were bound. Up the ladder went Sister
Grace with a handful of new rope. She had Angel raise her hands and bound them
to the ring on the reverse side, over Lucy’s head, her arms embracing the post.
Grace also tied Angel’s elbows to the post for extra security, then she came down
the ladder a few rungs and tied Angel’s waist at the same level as Lucy’s.
Glancing at Mother
Bolia
for approval, Grace then
tied Angel’s ankles and pulled them up behind her, spreading her knees and
binding the ankles in the same fashion as Lucy’s. Mother
Bolia
once again smiled and nodded.

As Grace was
about to descend the ladder,
Bolia
made another quick
gesture and Grace, nearing falling off the ladder in fright, studied the
Superior’s gestures again, blushed and proceeded to tie a long rope to the front
of Angel’s waist rope, just below her navel. She made it a double length and
then fed both rough strands through the flattened brown hair of Sister Angel’s
slightly splayed crotch and up through the anal divide, then, with some
difficulty, through a narrow hole in the post. The twin ropes exited from the
through-post tunnel at just about where Lucy’s waist was tied. With great
difficulty and considerable agility on the ladder, Sister Grace manipulated the
rope ends downward through Lucy’s ass crack, around the double impalements and
pulled them smartly up through Lucy’s crotch, making the girl rise a bit off
the projecting arm. Lucy was now constantly weeping, her muted cries seeping
pitifully through and around the gag. Considering her already strenuous
position, with much of her weight now on the projecting arm and the crotch
strands of the rope, it seemed to her that she was about to be sliced right up
the middle by the multiple pressures between her legs.

Grace tied off
the ends of the rope at Lucy’s waist. This arrangement put tension on the pussy
of both women, but the circuitous route of the ropes left too much slack for
Mother
Bolia
to accept, so she handed Grace two short
sticks of hardwood from a nearby firewood pile and showed her how to insert
them into the ropes and twist until the ropes tightened. This system worked
perfectly and as Grace positioned the wooden sticks at the junction of ropes on
each abdomen, she immediately found that by twisting the sticks as handles, she
could tighten the crotch ropes. Grace commenced slowly turning the improvised
handles. The two hanging women moaned in protest as the rope dug deeper into
their pussies and jammed their asses hard against the post. For Lucy, this
tension also pushed the internal probes against the inside of her dual
apertures and created mixed intensity of pain and arousal.
Bolia
watched
intently and signed when she felt the ropes were now tight enough. She handed
Grace a combination mouth plug and sound sealer gag from her endless collection
and Grace fitted the silencing device onto Angel’s head. There was no
resistance, only Sister Angel’s wide-eyed look of disbelief as Grace inserted
the massive leather plug between her open lips, shoved it deep into her mouth
and held it there with a thick strap that Grace pulled harshly back behind her
head and tied. The second component was the sealer portion that attached to the
front of the gag plug and covered Angel’s face from the bottom of her chin to
the base of her nose. Grace positioned this wide, padded rectangle to Angel’s
head with straps that went around her head and under her chin, making a tight
and efficient seal for any sounds that might bypass the plugging leather
already filling the sister’s mouth.

Angel’s eyes
were wide. She had the look that
Bolia
knew so well:
that of a fully gagged and stuffed woman whose oral cavity was so full that her
cheeks overflowed the top of the gag and her eyes seemed to bug out from the
pressure of the gag and harness on her head.

Before stepping
down from the ladder, Sister Grace once again checked with
Bolia
for approval.
Bolia
stood, looking first at the twin
hanging female bodies and then at the spectator group of sisters assembled, as
if summoned by the cloister bells, to watch this episode. Such an event was
common and the entire body of the cloister knew that at any time, any day or
night, they might be called upon to endure such a sacrifice and learning
experience as Sister Angel and inmate Lucy were now sharing.

On the stone
panel over the entrance to the school’s central hall was an inscription which,
roughly translated from the Latin, said, “Never accuse, for you too are
guilty.” The order had many such slogans displayed in many locations. Each
Sister’s tiny cell was decorated with similar phrases and they came to learn
that the Order’s true mission was to make certain that inmates and members
alike never were very far from experiencing any of the daily torments and tests
that were administered there.

Mother
Bolia
motioned to the spectators that the event was now
over…for the moment… and Grace came down from the ladder, carried it back to
its original position and, after a quick glance over her shoulder at her
handiwork, headed off to her other duties.
Bolia
picked up one of the whips carried by the senior duty sister and preceded to
thrash the two girls on the post. She took her time, alternating between the
hanging naked bodies and delivering strokes calculated to bring as much
suffering as possible with as little effort as she could expend. Lucy and Angel
writhed and twisted in their ropes, seeking vainly to find a position that
might somehow evade the lash.
Bolia
circled the post,
using a variety of whip strokes and assuring herself that she would leave no
flesh untouched. Even with the gags, the girls made a great deal of noise,
whimpering, begging, and pleading for the pain to stop.
Bolia
,
concentrating on her aim and impact, muttered an occasional Latin phrase and
finally stopped when she was indeed convinced that she had done her small part
in helping these sinful humans to see the way of the Lord. The whipping
stopped, but the noises from the throats of the tortured girls continued for
some minutes afterwards. It was almost as if they were unaware that the
thrashing was over because they still felt the dozens of glowing, fiery cuts
that decorated their limp bodies.
Bolia
looked at
both suffering figures, considered that they to some degree resembled the
crucified saints displayed elsewhere in the castle and walked out of the
courtyard.

Lucy wondered if
she was actually being spared an even more serious whipping because of Angel’s
impromptu presence on the post. She also thought that it was possible that
Bolia
had found some reason to punish Angel and used the
opportunity simply because it was available. Unregulated and undeserved
discipline was one of the standard practices of the cloister and Lucy knew that
in the cellars at any given time, inmates and sisters lay or hung bound in
terribly uncomfortable positions, awaiting their next session of education,
punishment and discipline. There were so many minor infractions recorded daily
in the Mother Superior’s Book of Offenses that the cloister’s cells, cages and
racks were often populated to the extent that makeshift arrangements had to be
created to accommodate the offenders. What she didn’t know was that the wheels
of politics and religion were turning slowly towards depriving the cloister of
one of its newer inmates, Lucy Von Holt.

Transfer

Mother
Bolia
studied the piece of quality church stationary and
contemplated the short message it contained. She knew that the Bishop, who was
always looking for new angles and profitable schemes, had passed on information
about Lucy to others who might have an interest in her. This message clarified
the Bishop’s contact and influence. In essence, it said that there were
interested parties in Central Asia ready to pay a considerable sum for Lucy and
that he, the Bishop, would open the lines of communication between
Bolia
and these parties as soon as a “small tithe” was made
directly to him.
Bolia
penned a short note and sent
it back to the Bishop by courier. A few weeks later, she received another
somewhat cryptic response, not from the Bishop but from an anonymous
intermediary:

 
“…since it is likely that you know the student
referred to by His Excellency in the previous communication, I trust you will
arrange for transport of said student to said location within the next 30 days,
assuming she is fully trained and competent to perform the specified and
required duties. In any event, she must arrive at her destination not later
than 3 April of this Year of Our Lord, etc, etc....”

“And that,”
wrote Mother
Bolia
on the white board, with a facial
grimace that sent terror into the hearts of the hardiest Sisters, “is what
we’re going to do.” She handed the message, neatly written on a small piece of
white parchment to Sister Angel.

Although none of
the parties knew it, that single exchange was to complicate even further the
search for Lucy von Holt.

Lucy’s training
was suddenly on the fast track.

Every day
thereafter, for twelve and sometimes sixteen hours, she was on the track,
pulling a cart, her booted, hoofed feet digging into the dark cinders, her
mouth straining at the bit and gag, her arms bound up high on her back and her
magnificent breasts surging up and down, rings dangling. As she trotted or
cantered around the track, she was directed by Sister Angel or some other
trainer, who sat in the cart’s driving seat holding reins and whip, using both more
or less constantly. This negative reinforcement training got results very
quickly. Based on her experiences at the Vermont Riding School, Lucy realized
that if she could just do what they wanted her to do, things might be easier
and Sister Angel might just ease up with the whip. She tried not to resist the
harness, the harshly boned leather corset or collar, the terrible combination
bit/gag and the hoofed boots that kept her feet in the ballet dancer’s toe-down
position. The additional incentives of multiple internal probes held deep
inside her by the harness certainly encouraged cooperation and the stimuli from
these in ass and pussy served as constant reminders of required cooperation.

Strutting around
the cinder track with a cart or buggy behind her and her false tail blowing in
the breeze was not what Lucy had envisioned for her future. In fact, given the
constant exposure to bondage and savage discipline, Lucy was slowly becoming
addicted to the punishment, often finding herself awaiting, with liquefied
crotch, the next stroke of the lash or paddle. The challenges for better
confirmation and conforming to the demands of the staff seemed to multiply.
Often, apparently for diversity and her education, Lucy was hitched to a small,
two-wheeled Hansom cab with a small, enclosed cabin and a high driver’s seat
above and behind, much like the taxis that had once been used in London and New
York. The driver in top hat and long coat used a great deal of whip and drove
her without pity to the nearby town, stopped in front of a tavern and hitched
Lucy to the appropriate railing outside. He placed a pair of locking steel
hobbles on her booted feet, hung a feed bag over her head and went inside to
have a few pints of the local ale. Lucy stood at the rail, ignoring the sweet
feed mixture in the feed bucket and watching the mysterious activity on the
street. There were no automobiles, trucks or buses. She discovered that she was
not the only driving pony there. A street car on tracks was pulled by a pair of
sadly kept pony girls like herself and she saw several private carts and
coaches passing along the street, all pulled by well turned out female ponies.
Many had the elaborate polished leather harness like hers and a few wore the
feathered plumes on top of their bridles. Some were being driven at breakneck
speeds through the town square, the drivers whipping them without mercy and
seemingly impervious to the hazards of pedestrians and ponies alike.

Eventually the
driver returned, obviously drunk. He yanked the feed bucket from Lucy’s neck,
removed the hobbles and climbed back up into the driver’s seat. With a bit of
rein and a lot of whip, he drove back to the cloister at top speed. Lucy’s
endurance was pushed to its limit and by the time they were back, standing outside
the barn she was drenched in sweat and breathing heavily.

The duty sister
frowned mightily at the driver, admonishing him in sign language. She was
ignored, but as he attempted to climb down from the high perch, he lost his
footing and plunged into the muddy, manure-saturated puddles of melted snow and
ice around the stables. The sister stood over him, studying the prostrate form
in silence, perhaps making sure that he was still breathing and then flogging
him senseless with her crop. This chore completed, she led Lucy back to the
wash area for grooming and eventually back to her stall.

That was her
first and last trip to town and no sooner had she been granted a bit of a
respite from the cart/buggy pulling course than she was literally thrown into
the coaching arena, which was a whole different ball game.

The coaches at
the cloister were massive, thousand pound vehicles, designed and built decades
and even centuries before. They were intended to be pulled by draft horses, not
humans. Lucy was removed from her usual cell and placed in a slightly larger
stall in a different barn reserved for the coach ponies. Assigned to a team of
four, which was the minimum coach-pulling unit, she had to quickly learn that
the lead pony carried almost as much authority as the sisters and that as the
newest member of the team, she was lower than horseshit. The other three team
members, in typical fashion, made sure that Lucy learned her place. Her first
night in the team stall was a horror. While all members wore the requisite body
harness and bridle, they were allowed to have their bit/gags removed. Lucy’s
stayed on, as did her body compressing leather corset and neck collar. With her
arms still helplessly strapped up behind her back and ankles in shackles, she
became the unwilling victim of the team.

Sister Angel
delivered Lucy to the team stall and attached Lucy’s strict collar to a hanging
chain in the middle of the stall, leaving her to dangle with the tips of her
hooves barely touching the straw-covered dirt floor. As soon as Angel left, the
other three ponies encircled Lucy, squeezing her tits, poking her crotch where
both
dildoes
remained embedded, slapping her ass and
knocking her feet out from under her, laughing hysterically, (but quietly),
while the new girl tried desperately to recover her footing and release the
hanging tension on her neck.
Felice
, the lead pony,
produced a pair of all too familiar nipple clips for Lucy to wear and fitted
them in the most painful manner, right on the tips of her nipples, then tied
thin strings to them and attached these to a nearby wall. As they poked and
prodded her, Lucy stumbled and rotated on the hanging chain while her poor,
sensitive nipples absorbed the shock of being tugged and wrenched away from her
chest. When they finally tired of tormenting her, the three ponies flopped into
a pile of soft straw in one corner, embraced each other to hold body warmth and
went quickly to sleep. Lucy hung by her collar and tits all night. By morning,
she was exhausted and dreaded facing a day of coach hauling. Placed in the
trailing right position, Lucy got her aching back and ass peppered constantly
by the driver’s buggy whip as she tried to stay in step with the other ponies.
Pulling evenly and straight was not as easy as it looked and Lucy was slow to
respond to the commands, thus slowing and annoying the others in the team. At
the end of the day, she collapsed into the stall, only to be harassed again by
her teammates. By the time they all went to sleep, Lucy found herself on the
bottom of the pile, warmed by the others, but again finding it difficult to
sleep while the others pressed and pushed her about.

By the third
night, Lucy was in a daze. All day the team had wrestled with an older, heavier
coach that needed repairs, but was used in training. They were forced to pull
it for several miles over bad roads and in the wet, misty and cold weather that
often wrapped the cloister in veils of impenetrable fog. The driver, not the
same one as on the days before, had no intention of sparing the whip and it
fell with precision and maximum effect, taking undeserved vengeance on each
team member.

Back in the
stall, they finally removed Lucy’s bit/gag and bridle, as well as the twin
dildoes
. They moved her arms from their crossed position on
her back and locked them into plain steel manacles in front of her. She was
able to eat something, after the rest of the team had chosen the best portions
of the meager meal. As soon as the dinner was finished, the other three looked
hungrily at her and proceeded to carry out gang rape, alternately reaming her
cunt, asshole and mouth with phallic devices they seemed to have plenty of,
courtesy of Sister Angel who stood at the stall door, silently surveying the
gangbang. The three ponies indulged in Lucy’s body as if it was something they
had never before encountered, poking and prodding each orifice, plunging the
wooden dicks in and out of all body openings, switching from ass to mouth and
cunt to ass as they saw fit. In the midst of this chaos, they alternately fucked
each other until everyone finally passed out on the floor in a deathlike sleep.
Finally, Lucy was left alone and she slept with the
dildoes
sticking out of her sex and ass, no longer caring about anything except sleep.

The coach and
buggy pulling training went on daily, no matter what the weather. Lucy quickly,
adapted to the routine, learning the telltale signs of silent commands, taking
her clues from
Felice
, and paying more attention to
what the others were doing instead of just trying to hold pace in harness. By
the end of the week, she was pulling her weight and the team eased up on the
teasing and punishments. Even Sister Angel seemed to accept that the new pony
was now a member of the team. This was fortuitous, because the next day, Mother
Bolia
arranged for Lucy to be removed from coach
duty, placed in solitary, hanging with her arms chained over her head, her feet
spread wide apart and her mouth well gagged.
Bolia
personally delivered a series of ten lashes, striking Lucy first on her
breasts, thighs and belly and then on her back, from ankles to neck, with a
dreadfully painful flogger
 
which left
dozens of bright red slashes across Lucy’s body. Even though she received only
five cuts to each exposed surface, the ten welts remained for weeks. Deep in
her injured soul, Lucy vowed that if she ever got out of this terrible place,
she would have revenge against
Bolia
and her tribe.

When finished,
Bolia
looked into Lucy’s tearful eyes and seemed to show a
sort of disappointment. Several nuns brought the familiar shipping container
and Lucy was prepared for travel once again. The last thing she saw before they
closed and sealed the crate was Sister Angel, smiling evilly behind Mother
Bolia
. Apparently, Lucy thought, Angel knew something about
where Lucy was going and it certainly wasn’t going to be a vacation spot.