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Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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Carl Bradford
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Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

Post by Carl Bradford »

Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

(This story is set in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is commonplace for serious crime, unredeemed debt, or voluntary self-indenture. Eighteen years of age is the minimum for anyone in this world to be enslaved or to have any intimate contact with slaves.)

(Lois Spalding, owner of the Spinning Wheel Pony Girl Ranch, finds herself obsessed with the idea of masquerading as one of her own ponies so that her pony boy stallion, “Stud,” will screw her brains out without realizing who she is. The ranch’s stable boss, Mary Jacobs, has dressed her boss up as a pony girl and is leading her to the mounting frame to fulfil this fantasy early one Sunday morning.)

(Lois Spalding’s viewpoint)

It was a truly scary experience to be led as a pony girl across the compound of my own ranch. It wasn’t so much that my body was exposed, although I was acutely aware of showing everything my Mom had taught me to cover up. When we first emerged from the big house, there was no one else in sight, anyway. No, the real problem was the sense of helplessness, of being unable to defend myself or have any control over what happened to me. As Mary had reminded me, dressed as a pony girl I was subject to the whims of every free person who saw me. The only similar experience I had was the morning I spent being slave graded soon after I turned age 18—and this time I was not protected even by the colored collar and tag that proclaimed me a temporary visitor to the world of slavery. Now, at least in appearance, I was a true slave, existing only to pull carts and sexually service free people.

Things only got worse when we reached the door leading into the barn where the mounting frame was kept. On the other side of that door was the ultimate, at least in my mind, bondage experience with the promise that I would be thoroughly shafted by my own well-hung stallion. And, I had to remember, the whole area was covered by video cameras that would record every second of my subjugation. Note to self: when this is over, give Mary another raise so she doesn’t even THINK about leaking the video of what’s about to happen.

At the moment, however, that thrilling prospect was still (barely) in the future. First, I had to suffer even more. With an apologetic grimace, Mary clipped the rubber-coated teeth of the twitch onto my nose, then opened the door and led me in. I followed her closely, tip-toing in those damn boots, fearing that the slightest misstep would cause me intense pain. She paused and felt me up thoroughly, twisting nipples and clit before grabbing my ass and tits (it may sound crude for a woman to describe her body in that manner, but when you’re a slave, those terms seem natural.)

Mary then led me around to the back of the frame and, walking beside the frame with her arm stretched over the railing, guided me onto the frame and, with a brisk slap and a sharp command to “Bend Over,” stretched me out before securing the twitch to a dangling cord. In the course of my life, I had read of someone being “led around by the nose,” but now I knew how humiliated and helpless the victim would feel. Bent over and restrained by my nose, I felt someone tying my elbows, knees, and ankles to the frame, leaving my butt raised up high and spread invitingly. The position was thrilling in a dirty sense, but all I could see was the empty space and the mirror directly in front of me—turning my head would have brought instant pain. The mirror showed me a helpless, red-haired pony girl waiting to be mounted. Damn, what a rush.

All I could do was listen. I recognized the voice of the designated ponyboy whisperer for the day, a tall and stately young African-American woman named Hailie. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of her walking to the front of the frame, followed by the reason for my self-imposed bondage—Stud. Damn, he looked good and I was pleased to see that, as usual, his magnificent shaft was fully erect. If I hadn’t already been dripping, I would have gushed at that moment.

I remembered to pretend I was blind, since only Mary knew that I could see through the sleep mask that I wore to conceal my identity. So I waited, forced into immobility, while Hailie’s hand pulled the semi-naked stallion up until the huge mushroom at the end of his dick was only millimeters away from my mouth.

Mistress Hailie brusquely told me to “open up and suck this horse cock, pony slut,” an order that I eagerly complied with, at which point she released the twitch from my nose, thank heavens. I wasn’t sure whether I could breathe around the huge object in my mouth, but the smile on my face was genuine. At last, I was able to sample the stallion over whom I had been literally drooling for the past several months. In my previous life, I had never objected to going down on a guy—in fact, I got a little thrill while exciting him with my mouth—but I can’t say that it had been my favorite part of sex. That day, however, my slave property and temporary mate tasted fantastic.

*****

(“Stud’s” perspective)

That’s what they call me on this ranch, although I think it’s my job description more than a compliment about my appearance. Before the state of Texas fried a circle star brand into my backside, I was John Roundtree, but names won’t matter until the end of my servitude.

If my freshman English composition instructor ever reads this, I know, I know—everyone before me wrote in the past tense while I’m writing in the present tense (see—you actually taught me something!) Big Whoop. I’m writing in the present tense because I don’t want to dwell on my past.

So, let’s get that out of the way. Four years ago, I played defensive tackle on my college football team, which gave me a full ride scholarship. Trouble was, I was an alcoholic. No, damn it—I AM an alcoholic, let’s be honest. Booze cost me not only my football and academic careers but also my freedom—after the second conviction for DWI (Driving While Intoxicated), this time on a suspended license and causing an injury accident, I got an 8-year term of criminal slavery.

By the time that circle star brand had healed up, I realized that I had really lucked out. I mean, nobody wants to be a slave, but if you have to go there, I’ve got the ideal life. I have no access to alcohol, but unlimited opportunities to exercise and get my body in shape for future sports. Best of all, my main function on this ranch is to fuck pony girls! Almost every day, sometimes twice a day, I get a blow job and a long, fun coupling with a slave slut. All of my partners are in great shape—they have to be, because they do nothing but train for harness races. Most of them are young, and many of them have long legs, pretty smiles (when there’s no bit in their mouths), and great boobs. I don’t even have to ask them for dates—the ranch staff just hook the pony du jour up to a mounting frame and let me have her. And then, every few weeks I find myself in a horse trailer, trucked off to fornicate [I know, big word for a jock] with other young girls at various slave training establishments or entertainment clubs. The only thing the ranch hasn’t done yet is rent me out as a porno actor, and I’m sure that’s coming (pun intended) sometime.

Please don’t misunderstand—I do not condone rape. In this case, however, neither the female nor I has any legal right to refuse (and what guy would turn down free sex?) Slaves are obligated to obey their owners, including sex on demand in any position or opening and with any free adult. Besides, I don’t know what kind of chemicals the staff puts in these poor ladies, but most of them appear to be constantly turned on, with their cunts dripping long before the staff whisperer (usually a good-looking gal in her own right) inserts the head of my dick into the pony girl.

What I’m about to write will make me sound like the most spoiled, ungrateful SOB you’ve ever met, but—I’m bored with all this sex. Each individual fuck is fun, but after months and months of screwing women restrained in exactly the same, impersonal way, it’s getting a little hard for me to get hard every day, if you catch my drift.

Anyway, in order to retain this cushy job as a designated slave stallion, I try to keep my brain—the most important sex organ—turned on. I’ve come up with two ways to do that.

First, I’ve become almost obsessed with butt fucking. Provided you take precautions to avoid injuries or disease for the receiver, anal sodomy [Oooo, another big word from the jock—notice these words are all about my job?] is fun in its own right. Back when I was a football star, three different women willingly surrendered their puckered starfish to me, and once they adjusted to my size, all three of them claimed to enjoy it. I sure did!


Of course, butt sex is not on the menu at the Spinning Wheel Ranch, unless one of the feminized pony bois is due for an “injection”. Let me be completely crude—an asshole is an asshole, and I’d be happy to sodomize a male slave provided that I thought the boi was willing and we took precautions against disease. For some reason, though, the ranch’s owner and her stable boss (I’ll come back to them later) keep assigning other pony boys to “make the bois happy.”

The last time they held what they call a Social Corral, a sort of free form mixer of slaves and staff, they also removed our voice converters so that we could actually talk. I maneuvered a cute black-haired pony girl into a shadowy corner of the corral and eventually persuaded her that “if you liked having me fuck you” (and she claimed that she did), “wait until you try . . .” Well, you get the picture. That was a great evening, and the memory of cuddling her body and filling her tight rectum gave me weeks of fantasy material to sustain me in the (ho, hum) daily grind of grinding birth canals. (I told you I would sound spoiled!)

The other thing I do to keep up my sex drive is to be very alert and observant so that my love life doesn’t decline into a repetitious same old, same old. For example, I try to find something particularly attractive about each pony girl that I’m mated with, to make the partner and the act unique and personalized. I may not know their names, but my long-term fellow inmates are individuals in my mind. Assuming that I’ve had sex with a female two or more times, I’ll bet that I can pick her face OR her naked butt out of a line-up of other females.

Going beyond my sex partners, I pay attention to the staff members who control me, again trying to turn the encounters into individual, memorable situations. That’s easy for me to do with the designated “pony boy whisperers” who set me up for each breeding. The two main whisperers are Mistress Hailie (a tall, elegant African-American whose cheekbones are almost as prominent and lovely as her boobs) and Mistress Susan (the original all-American brunette with a body that I imagine would look great as a centerfold in a magazine.) What’s not to love about a beautiful assertive woman whispering dirty thoughts in my ear while she fondles my cock and leads me around by it? These women would probably whip me bloody for what I’m about to write, but the truth is that I often achieve and maintain my erection by imagining that I’m going to mount THEM and not the poor little pony girl they’ve selected for me today.

Extending that outward, I enjoy fantasizing about most of the female members of the staff, even that older woman whom they call “Mary.” She’s got to be at least 45 years old, but her self-confidence coupled with that lush body filling her tight jeans and blouse make her attractive even to a “kid” like me. A MILF, and she seems unaware of her charm.

And then there’s “Mizz Spalding,” who seems to be the owner or manager of this circus, a pure, 24-carat bitch. I mean, what is her malfunction? She set up this system where I do the majority of fucking around here, she compliments me when I win all my races, and then she takes her riding crop to me because she thinks I’m too “arrogant!” She seems to be unhappy and sour all the time.

SPOILER ALERT—if you’re politically correct, don’t read the next sentence. I can’t help thinking that Ms. Spalding needs to get her brains fucked out once in a while. Maybe that would eliminate the stick she’s got up her ass.

Speaking of her ass—a work of art. It’s high and tight—not as well-muscled as the pony girls, because she’s not dragging carts around in the Texas sun. But, that little extra padding on her derriere makes it look perfect in her jeans. I know, I know, I already told you I’m fixated on butt fucking and I think she really needs to get shafted—but, I mean COME ON: If I could invade that marvelous rear end once a week, I’d gladly sign up for life enslavement, and I think she’d be a lot happier on that schedule, too.

Okay, end (for the moment) of my male chauvinist sodomy comments.

I got off (and I often do) on the topic of her backside as an example of how I try to be hyper-observant, sort of a slave Sherlock Holmes, about my surroundings to avoid boredom that would otherwise interfere with my “work.”

Like today, Sunday. It’s not unheard of for me to get “called into work” to service some poor slut on the sabbath, but usually the staff sleeps in a little and no real work, including pony girl shafting, occurs until noon at the earliest. So, when Mistress Hailie puts my balls on a leash and goes into her whisperer act before 8:00 on a Sunday morning, I have to wonder what’s going on?

Then I get a view of the filly I’m supposed to service. All the other pony girls in Texas have a deep suntan, but this girl’s skin is almost milk white with a few freckles. Besides that, she’s red haired, and I’ve never seen a red-haired pony girl on this ranch. The only female around here with red hair is . . .

Nahhh, you’re letting your little fantasies get out of control. What would the infamous ice princess Ms. Spalding be doing tacked up like a slave pony and bent over for me to bang? I must be dreaming.

I’m still thinking about that particular wet dream when Hailie leads me around to the front of the mounting frame. Surely, when I see this girl’s face, it will bring me back to reality—only, she’s wearing a sleep mask. Sometimes, the staff blindfolds a pony girl the first time she’s mated, although I would think that makes her more nervous rather than less. Yet . . . hold on, I could swear I see the glitter of eyes—brown, maybe? Through the mask. Why would I be able to see eyes through a sleep mask? Something else that doesn’t add up about this situation.

By now, I’m fully alert as well as erect. I suspect my excitement is due to the fantasy of seeing that bitch-goddess Spalding spread out for me to shaft. OK, then, mission accomplished! The odds that it’s really her bent over in front of me and eagerly gobbling my cock are infinitesimally small, but I think I’ll go with the image. That mouth—which for some reason is wearing bright red lipstick, another oddity—is certainly wide enough and sensual enough to remind me of the owner. Since neither of us has any choice about the matter, I might as well indulge my fantasy and pretend I’m really having sex with Mizz Spalding. As usual, the horse whisperer has left my forearms and hands free, so I reach forward and grasp her head, holding it level while I gently face-fuck the unknown filly. Have to pace myself or I’ll unload all over her—hum, the thought of giving the ranch owner a facial is enticing all by itself. No performance problems today, thanks!

By the look on her face, this masked filly is as disappointed as am I when the whisperer suddenly jerks my cock out of that sensual mouth and begins to lead me back around the stand. Just as well—I’d probably get whipped again if I came prematurely and denied this pony girl her full ration of horse cock in her cunt. The ten steps it takes to maneuver me back around and up onto the platform give me a chance to regain my composure and back off from ejaculating.

Still, I can’t help wondering what kind of fresh-caught slave meat has absolutely NO tan—and no brands either—on her upthrust backside. Her buttocks are nicely-shaped, but seem to have a little more fat on them than I’ve ever seen on a pony girl before. They do look familiar, though. Now, where have I seen a rear end like that before? Oh, crap. This poor girl’s behind reminds me so much of what I imagine (I’ve never seen her naked, of course) Ms. Spalding’s butt must look like in the flesh. And damn, what magnificent flesh! Deep breaths, John, stay calm—start running through the playbook of my college football team, or you’ll shoot off before you even get mounted in this cunt.

Mistress Haile’s warm, firm hand doesn’t help much as she puts me cock up to the cunt opening. This girl is dripping, not at all like (I imagine) that tight-ass bitch Spalding would be if she were about to get screwed. Uhh. Damn, she feels good—start pumping, but slowly. Make it last! While I’m at it, might as well run my hands over these magnificent, soft spheres. Lord, she has a perfect butt.

*****

(Lois Spalding’s perspective)

Most of the time, when you finally reach a place that you’ve been planning and dreaming about, the reality is not nearly as fantastic as you had imagined. Not this time, boys and girls! That first thrust when Stud rammed into my dripping cunt was far better than I’d ever imagined. With his hands tightly gripping my buttocks and his oversized cock sliding in and out of me every few seconds, I was instantly transported into female nirvana. Yet, at the same time, I was acutely conscious that all this was happening in public, and that Mary at least knew that her boss was such an incredible slut that she voluntarily surrendered to get Stud to ravish her. No choice about that, now, but I’d die of humiliation if Haile or another employee recognized me. Still, I had to be honest: the risk of being outed like that only increased the thrill of being taken.

Somewhere, as if at a great distance, I heard Haile and Mary talking. They were sitting down, watching the monitor that tracked my vital signs as reported by my butt plug. (Come to think of it, I’d almost forgotten that I had something up my butt, not to mention the jingling bells clamped to my nipples, which should tell you how distracted I was by that magnificent cock.)

Mary chuckled quietly. “40 seconds of fucking and she’s already climaxed for the first time.”

Haile replied, “Yeah, this filly is really hot to trot. Talk about a slut—this one was born to the collar!” I flushed with embarrassment. My god, if Haile ever learned who that “slut” was, I’d never be able to look her in the face again.

I was glad to hear that Mary spoke up for me, even though Haile didn’t know who I was. “Oh, come on, girl. You’ve had your hands on that animal’s cock plenty of times, and I see how much you enjoy playing with it. Don’t tell me you never daydreamed about letting him inside you.”

Haile replied, grudgingly, “Well, yeah, but that’s just a fantasy. This poor filly is experiencing the reality, and she seems overjoyed to have him banging her. I’d be afraid to actually have him pounding me like that. Still, I have to admit, it might be a great way to go!”

Overcome by sensations, I more or less tuned them out for the next few minutes. I couldn’t remember the last time a guy had made me feel so marvelous—not my ex-husband, that’s for certain! I’m sure I climaxed at least once more, although in truth I was so excited I don’t think I ever came down from the first peak. I emerged a little bit from my trance when I heard a sudden commotion, starting with the barn door banging open.

“Mary,” said a voice I recognized as that of Jim Hargrove, one of the senior hands. He sounded under control but concerned. “Need some help. Two of our weekend visitors were driving on the practice track and managed to collide while racing. We got four pony girls down. I don’t THINK they’re hurt too badly, but I left Bob trying to keep them calm.”

“Damn fool Sunday drivers. Let me go over and look. Meanwhile, Haile, will you please go the bunkhouse and wake up Charles and Henry? We need our paramedics.”

“You got it, boss.” Said Haile, flying out of the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mary hesitating, torn between seeing to the accident and protecting me. Then I heard her announce, in a firm but troubled voice,

“Stud, you do right by that filly. If I find out you’ve hurt her while I’m gone, I’ll flay you alive, got it?”

The rhythmic plundering of my vagina paused for about two seconds, and I heard Stud whinny and stomp his right hoof. Then the door banged shut and I was left alone, completely helpless with the most well-endowed stallion on the ranch firmly mounted in my saddle. Without any hesitation, I felt him resume his masterful fucking. All I could do—in fact, all I WANTED to do—was lie there and take it. I felt another orgasm building inside me.

*****

(“Stud’s” perspective)

I’m enjoying myself thoroughly as I fuck the slave brains out of this little redhead, and from the noises she’s making (translated by the horse collar), she seems to be equally thrilled. So, to avoid coming too soon, I’m trying to distract myself by running my mind over all the oddities that I noticed this morning.

-A very unusual time for a breeding session;

-Ms. Spalding, who for some reason never misses a chance to watch me at work, is nowhere in sight;

-A red-headed pony slut whom I’ve never seen before, who’s never been out in the sun and whose butt-cheeks, while sexy as hell, show none of the lean, muscular tautness that every pony on this ranch develops within days of starting training. She isn’t even branded;

-This pony girl is blindfolded, but seems to be able to see through the sleep mask they normally use;

-The stable boss (and MILF) hesitating to go to the scene of an accident with four of her girls injured, instead pausing to threaten me in a manner I’ve never heard her use with anyone before.
See where I’m going with this?

If I recall, I’ve already told you that I sometimes think of myself as a slave Sherlock Holmes. It’s mostly a joke, my lame attempt to
motivate my mind to keep looking for new things and drawing conclusions about my environment. It’s been years since I read those detective stories, but I remember Sherlock’s basic approach to solving a mystery. It went something like, “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

I’m not really Sherlock Holmes—I’m a recovering alcoholic jock with a 1.7 GPA—so I CAN’T eliminate all the other possibilities, but I think they boil down to two:

EITHER this is a genuine, random pony girl with whom I’m suddenly alone, and who won’t be able to tell anyone what I do to her so long as I do it quick, before any of the staff return. OR by some strange Karma, the girl on that frame really is the bitchy owner of the ranch, a woman who might have a crush on me but has definitely been a pain in my ass. In which case, she wouldn’t dare tell anyone that she let a slave use her sexually as if she were a pony girl. Either way, now’s my chance: I get to act out my fantasy with this filly, and MAYBE, just MAYBE, I get the chance to be a real pain in the ass to the ice princess!

Looking around one more time to ensure we’re alone, I use my left hand to pull out her butt plug. The shaft appears to be clean, so I guess she must have gotten an enema this morning. Never mind that right now—I pull out of her cunt and, with my right hand, press the mushroom head against her anus. I don’t want to injure her, so I only push just enough to pop the head of my cock past her sphincter. Then I stop.

She jerks and neighs, but doesn’t seem to be in too much pain. I count to 40-Mississippi while I stroke that velvet skin, giving her a chance to adjust. After that, I have to speed up, because I don’t know how long I have. Push in an inch, pull back about half an inch, and repeat. Occasionally, “Mizz Spalding,” as I like to imagine she is, moans and shifts her weight as I occupy another inch of her colon. About half-way in, she seems to capitulate, relaxing, sighing, and (as far as she can) pushing back against me.
In a few more strokes, I’m balls deep in her rectum. Man, is she tight, warm, just plain superb, just as I always thought Ms. Spalding’s ass would feel. Time to move, though, so I begin to pump in and out, faster and faster, clutching those magnificent buttocks as I ream my fantasy girl.

Thrust, withdraw, thrust, withdraw, thrust—after no more than 20 repetitions, I finally blast my load deep inside her bowels. She is obviously overcome, hanging almost lifeless from her bonds. I’d love to linger over this moment, but I dare not. Quickly, I pull out my cock and re-insert the plug, making sure that my hot cum stays embedded in her butt. Then, looking around again, I shuffle backwards, stepping carefully down from the frame, and back away from the filly.

Just in time (for me), Mistress Hailie reappears, looking flustered. Because the mounting is officially over, she barely glances at the restrained pony girl, who is beginning to come around. Instead, the pony boy whisperer removes my scrotal leash (thank you), re-attaches a normal leash to my collar, and leads me away for a shower. I know they have cameras recording the whole thing, but I hope that my little switch between her two entrances will go unnoticed. For the moment I seem to have gotten away with my dream of butt-fucking a pony girl that MIGHT actually be the bitch queen ranch owner from hell. If it really IS her, she’ll find some way to punish me severely, but man, I still think it’s been worth it. What a piece of ass!

*****

(Lois Spalding’s perspective)

If you had told me beforehand that this incredibly well-hung stallion would ream my rectum this morning, I would never have undertaken the masquerade. Thank heavens I had taken Mary’s advice and practiced with the plug in my butt, so I was stretched out enough to accommodate his even larger-caliber dick. To be honest, though, it wasn’t that bad. In fact, given that I was trying out the role of helpless submissive pony girl, I have to confess that I kind of enjoyed him taking me back there. It felt like the ultimate act of control and possession—not only was I naked, voiceless, and helplessly bound, but this magnificent animal occupied the most intimate, shameful part of my body. I’d never thought of myself as particularly-submissive, but at the moment I felt like a very real—and very happy—pony girl. Tomorrow, I’d have to decide whether I should punish Stud for breaking the rules, although how would I tell anyone, even Mary, what he had done to me? For that matter, he might figure out WHO he had butt-fucked, which would only increase my humiliation. For now, I’d be happy to bask in post-coital glow. Now, I only hoped that Mary would reappear and get me back to my rooms before someone recognized me. His cum was starting to burn inside my battered back door.

Only, she wasn’t the first person who found me. I was still lost in the moment when the door opened and closed quietly, so I didn’t have time to look up and see who had entered.

The mounting frame vibrated slightly as someone climbed up behind me, then began to stroke my rear end and lower back. He (The erection pressing against me said it was a male) bent over and whispered gently in my ear. Because of the sleep mask, I had difficulty identifying him in the mirror.

“Poor pony, somebody forgot about you, didn’t they? That’s a shame. You’re such a pretty girl, too—and a redhead. Bet you’re a real firecracker when you can talk, but right now all you can do is whinny and stand there, right?”

I remembered Mary’s warning about playing along to protect my identity. So I tossed my head slightly and emitted a soft whinny that I think conveyed my helplessness and fear.

“Don’t worry, girl.” The unknown hand continued in a soothing voice. “I won’t hurt you. But, since you’re already scheduled for breeding this morning, I’m sure Mizz Spalding won’t mind if I give you a little extra fucking. I’ll be quick.” Oh, crap.

I felt him step back a little, then heard the tell-tale sound of a zipper. The next indication I had was the insertion of his dick into my canal, which was still slick from the excitement of my previous use. Whoever he was, this guy wasn’t of the same magnum caliber as the Stud, but he wasn’t small, either. The rather large plug in my other opening made his prick feel larger, and I automatically tightened all my muscles back there to ensure that I didn’t expel that thing—no sense giving him ideas when my rectum was still sore from Stud’s massive invasion. I’m sure my clamping down gave him extra pleasure, which was just as well—I was on the edge of panic and prayed that he would finish with me quickly. In the back of my mind, however, my newfound submissiveness was dancing a little jig at the thought of an unknown free man fucking Pony Girl Ginger’s slave brains out!

The unidentified ranch hand bent over to tweak my nipples, setting the bells jangling as he began pounding into me, his rough jeans rubbing against my behind with each inward thrust. I’d already had half a dozen climaxes that morning, but he knew how to use his equipment. That, plus the thrill of humiliation and subjugation, caused my breathing, heart rate, and lubrication to all accelerate. I absent-mindedly wondered what that would look like on the monitor, where I usually sat while pony girls were mounted. Then I suddenly recalled the cameras that were recording this scene—Oh, lord, Mary would know all about my extra ration of cock! I imagined that Pony Girl Ginger will go to the bottom of the reinforcement schedule because she had gotten more than her share that day.

All these thoughts flashed through one part of my brain, while the rest of me was enjoying the physical and mental thrill of casual, pony girl sex with a master. Whoever he was, he was in a hurry, not wanting to be caught in the act of administering unscheduled rewards (snicker). By this time, I was babbling and moaning uncontrollably—if I had been able to talk, I would have begged him to do me deeper and harder, but the collar translated my rambling into various excited horsey sounds.

In my (limited) experience, simultaneous climax by both partners is so rare as to be almost a myth. That morning, however, both of us were excited and in a hurry, so I think I peaked only seconds after I felt him stiffen, ram even harder against me, and flood my innards with white stuff. Good thing I was on birth control, although the load I had expected—from Stud—was still squishing around in my bowels. Lost in what I have since realized was “slave haze,” I thought absent-mindedly that I had a load in my cunt and another in my ass, so now I needed to find another prick to fill my mouth. Whoa—didn’t realize I could slip so easily into submission.

I was again exhausted, hanging from my bonds, as my temporary master hastily extracted himself from me and zipped up. Before leaving the mounting frame, he gave me a solid slap on my right buttock, and announced,

“You’re a fantastic fuck, Red. Maybe sometime soon I can take you out for some private racing practice and use you again.” I caught a glimpse of a tall, gangling guy in a cowboy outfit as he exited the barn, leaving me alone again.

It seemed like less than two minutes later that Mary reappeared, apologizing quietly for having to leave me alone for a while.

“I guess Hailie took care of Stud, right?” Still wearing the horse collar, I could only toss my head and stamp my hoof. She grinned and inquired, “Did you have a good time, ‘Ginger’?” I could only respond the same way.

She released me from my bonds, clipped a leash to my collar, and helped me down off that fatal platform. I needed the help because I was still shaking and weak. She stopped at the computer and downloaded the vital signs graph and camera feeds onto a disk.

“Come on, girl, let’s get you home and out of this tack,” she whispered quietly, leading me out into the bright sunlight.

Two minutes later, we were safe inside my suite again. Mary locked the door and began to release me, starting with the nipple clamps and arm sleeve. As soon as my shaking arms were free, I tried to reach the collar, but was too weak and distracted. She understood what I wanted, though, and unclipped the collar before moving around to my back to unstrap the bustier.

“I know I asked you this before, but did you enjoy yourself? Was it what you expected?” She inquired.

I paused for a moment, and then said, hesitantly, “It was . . . interesting.”

“Oh, come on, girl. We went through all this trouble for you to try out the Stud, so the least you can do is tell me all the dirty details.” She extracted my tail and then guided me over to sit on a chair while she removed the boots. I made a mental note to disinfect that chair!

No sense trying to hide it from her. Blushing again, I finally got out, “He was fantastic, and I’ll be glad to tell you all about it later. But first, you need to review that disk—and please be alone when you do it! You’ll see that a lot more happened while you were gone that just Stud fucking me.”

Her face changed from excited to compassionate, then angry. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing you didn’t warn me about, and to be honest I enjoyed most of it—that’s what makes me REALLY embarrassed. But, I don’t know how I can look you in the eye after you see what happened. God, I’m so ashamed.”

The practical, supporting Mary re-emerged. “Don’t worry about that, Sweetie. Whatever happened, it’s not really your fault, because I left you alone and helpless, in pony girl mode. So, it’s my fault, and I’m sorry. I hope we can still be friends no matter what.”

“No, Mary, it’s not your fault.” I replied. “I was the horny filly who came up with this idea, and you warned me what might happen. I need a shower and a nap. Review the film and we’ll talk later, OK?“

*****

When we met again after supper, I was more than a little red-faced, but we got past that and Mary eagerly pumped me to describe all the sensations I experienced. She even expressed admiration—and perhaps some envy?—about my ability to take Stud’s over-sized shaft up my rear. She also identified the mystery man who had fucked me later, Bob Grant, but we decided not to bring attention to me by punishing either him or Stud. Instead, Mary just gently reprimanded Bob the next day, saying she had seen his face while reviewing the reinforcement camera records.

I was sore for a day or two, but even before my body recovered I felt better, a little happier, than before. I could tell by the strange looks I got, as well as Mary’s reports, that some of the staff were wondering what had gotten into me—but I couldn’t tell them that the answer to that question was Stud! So, I tried to tone my disposition down, retreating just slightly into my reserve, ice-maiden act.

The first time I came face to face with Stud, I did my best to maintain a poker face while he gave me a smirk that was almost a leer (or was I imagining things?) I should have whipped his ass again, but decided that the best thing to do was ignore him.
About two weeks after my pony girl mounting, Mary and I were sharing a beer when she remarked, with elaborate casualness,

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, Lois, that I’m now sold on your operant conditioning ideas—intermittently breeding the pony girls does wonders for their performance and attitude.”

“Well, duh!” I replied. “But, how come you’re telling me this now?”

“Because, two weeks ago, I had Stud breed Ginger, and Ginger’s been much happier ever since. Maybe we need to schedule that pony girl for another round of reinforcement some time.”

I felt my face getting hot, but my mind told me that she had a point. “It’s a great idea in theory, but the risk of discovery is too great.”

She smirked. “Not at all. I think the next time we hold Social Corral we should decide to make it a masked ball—with the emphasis on ‘Ball!’ Imagine Ginger wearing nothing but pony boots and a mask—think that Stud or Bob Grant might be interested in bending her over the fence and giving her a workout?”

“We’ll see. Boy, you sure have some original ideas, Mary.”

“That’s what you pay me for—well, that and pimping you out once in a while. You know we have a standing contract to provide displays at the Breeding Barn Café. Maybe some time Ginger and Stud can put on a show there?”

I threw all the pillows on my couch at her.

(I’d appreciate opinions as to whether this tale should continue.)
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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This story is absolutely brilliant, and pushes all of my buttons. Thank you for writing one of my new all time favorites. I love the conflicted character of Lois, and the way Mary gave her a chance to live out her fantasies. I also loved the way things got out of control, and I hope to see more of that sort of scenario in future chapters. So many possibilities!

Mary takes Ginger to a farm about 150 miles away, to be mounted by a legendary stud. Perhaps the owner of the farm assesses Ginger and asks Mary if she can hook her up to a cart so they can both go out for a ride before lunch.

An auditor shows up and checks the stock. He becomes very confused when he checks Ginger's number, but when he realizes who it is he agrees that he has no need to investigate further if he can fuck her, "to make sure she's a real pony girl."

Stud grabs a lock of Ginger's hair, so he can compare it to Lois at a later date.

One of the investors (or Gold Circle members, or something) shows up and demands to take Ginger out for a ride. After pulling his cart around, she had to blow the old buzzard. He promises he'll be back at the same time next week, because he enjoys Ginger so much.

Lois hears about a fox hunt, where face and body painted red haired "foxes" are hunted down by male slaves with dog makeup (with a few real hounds to help with the scent). When the fox is caught each of the "dogs" is allowed to have their way with the fox, with the hunting party watching.

In other words, should you continue this story? YES!! :-)

Nice work, particularly with the thoughts and emotions of all the characters, and their conflicts during the role play. This is really the key to these stories, IMHO, and you totally nailed it.

Joe
Last edited by imreadonly2 on Sun Jun 20, 2021 4:18 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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OMG ! Yes please keep this story going!
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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This is one of the best stories you have written in some time. It just flows really well. You do an excellent job of developing the characters. The way you portray Lois as being in control since she owns the ranch but not in control of her fate as is demonstrated with Stud exploring her Texas chili bowl and the other handler breeding her.

I noticed in the story that Stud was not adorned with the Spinning Wheel Pony Ranch badge burned into his ass. Lois could regain control by personally burning his butt after letting him know that Mary reviewed the tape discoverying what he did to poor Ginger. The branding could be enough for Lois to regain control of Stud but she could push it to another level is she made him "hump the brand" so to speak. Maybe she uses one of Hooked6's bridles that is coated with anaphrodisiac that leads him to enjoy "humping the brand" and now she has video evidence.

I like some of Joe's ideas for additional chapters although I do not think that even Anne would volunteer for a Fox Hunt. I like the idea of a loaner ponygirl for a week at another ranch or even for the weekend.

Again, great story. Please grace us with additional chapters.
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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The only problem I see with any of Joe's ideas is the lack of brands on her ass!
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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Thanks to all for the kind words. To reply to the specific question about lack of a brand, the next part of this epic will ensure that Lois gets branded as camouflage for any future pony hijinks. Since she can't do it at her own ranch without calling attention to herself, I'm planning to kennel her at the Longhorn for the procedure. This will not, I'm sure, be as elaborate and extreme as Annie at the Big D, but I plan a few twists in the plot (not to mention in her orifices).
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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I very much like the kenneling idea, as it contains the key element of Lois being put into a situation where people may not know that she is not a real slave. This might be particularly true if branding is involved, as this is more extreme than a mom taking her daughter in for a slave grading for her college application form. I'll be curious to see if there are some attempts made to shield her true identity, and if so, what risks or plot twists those might lead to.

With a lot of things in life, once you get past the "first check" no one really bothers to check after that, and you are presumed to be who you say you are. It doesn't matter how badly you faked your resume once you get the job, or if you really belong in a building after you get past the front desk. I remember Carl wrote a story where a manager smuggled his girlfriend in as a slave, and the day manager was like, "I don't really give a shit what she is, as long as she doesn't become my problem." It was just a single line, but I remember his chilling indifference was really exciting and caused me to launch an entire story in my head.

One aspect that I haven't explored but want to is the psychological impact of branding. The good news is that it does help with roleplay, as it marks you as a slave. The bad news is that it marks you as a slave. Even if it's a temp, it's still THERE, and the pain lasts long after the branding. Even after it heals, the psychological brand remains, as the girl has had the experience of being marked as chattel, and reduced to the status of livestock. So the experience isn't temporary, even if the brand is.

Anyway, this was a great start, and I'll be eagerly looking forward to the sequel. It's good for me, since now I know how other people suffer having to wait for me to finish stuff! :-) Joe
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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I really enjoyed this and I certainly agree that it would be great to see it continued. I feel better about the idea that the brand she will get will be something she does on purpose in order to lower the risk of further hijinks she gets up to. I also really liked Mary, an understanding and attractive older woman who helps her boss relieve her stress and live out her fantasies without suddenly becoming power hungry or revealing she's always hated her boss all along or something. The butt plug tail sensors to monitor pony pleasure are a very nice element, maybe there will be an instance of some oblivious employee analyzing her data and making some embarassing reports to the ranch owner. She might find that once other employees are aware of Ginger she needs to wear the plug(minus the tail of course) most of the time so as to continue providing data.
The idea of Ginger getting loaned out and in general being a slutty ponygirl outside of her own ranch but still in a fairly safe(as far as discovery is concerned anyways) situation is quite hot.

As far as having to suffer while waiting for the rest of a story, it was a huge relief when the rest of Joe and Watcher's story Enslaved finally got posted on the old Yahoo group. It's both sad and frustrating when a story goes on indefinite hold. There is a story by Watcher called The Audition that hasn't been updated since 2017 or so, still I wait, maybe someday...

Great story Carl! Happy endings = Best endings! I like good girls getting into sticky situations but I think their continued freedom in-between episodes helps to contrast with the situations the get themselves into.
And one more thing, I promise. I've never been too sold on the modern slavery being for life. Since a good majority of their appeal is sexual and its a hard life, I like the idea of there being a cutoff point(if they are criminally enslaved they would be in a different situation I think). But a debt slave dying as a 78 year old slave seems to be a harder sell when trying to get these laws passed in the first place. Release into halfway homes and having programs to return them into productive members of society like in your recent Recovering Slut story just make so much sense and help to make the setting more real to me.
Til next time.
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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Carl Bradford wrote: Mon Jun 21, 2021 12:44 am Thanks to all for the kind words. To reply to the specific question about lack of a brand, the next part of this epic will ensure that Lois gets branded as camouflage for any future pony hijinks. Since she can't do it at her own ranch without calling attention to herself, I'm planning to kennel her at the Longhorn for the procedure. This will not, I'm sure, be as elaborate and extreme as Annie at the Big D, but I plan a few twists in the plot (not to mention in her orifices).
With out a brand any slave catcher can claim she is a runaway with just the basic slave description on a slave warrant. Of course after the branding a slave catcher can do the same, until it is settled in a court.
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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Joe wrote,
I'll be curious to see if there are some attempts made to shield her true identity, and if so, what risks or plot twists those might lead to.
I believe Lois has a SIN tattooed inside her lower lip like any girl that has been slave graded so there would be no way to hide her true identity unless someone accessed the national slave reigstry.

Regarding the psychological aspect of branding. The physical act of marking your property can be accomplished in many ways whether with a tattoo or piercing with an ownership tag affixed. Some are more permenant than others. One can remove a person's pubic hair permenantly as another form of ownership. Branding has a barbaric cruelty to it due to the pain that just drives home to the slave, you are a piece of property, cementing in their minds their change in status. Especially if done right after enslavement. Due to the pain involved it is a moment in time that the slave likely will never forget. The pain accompanied by the smells, burning flesh and urine, will further cement that memory. Similar to being sold on the auction block. For some slaves the branding experience will likely haunt them for some time after manumism. Even possibly impacting their own self-worth in their own eyes.

With the Broadstone graduation ceremony I have included a branding where the girls must willingly lay themselves upon the branding bench as a demonstration of their buy-in for their new lives. That they are dedicated to making their new master/consort relationship work. It is not something you do on a whim. There is a certain psychological aspect to this also that I will eventually have to explore in the story.

Here Lois is going to the extreme to voluntarily get her ass branded. What does that say about her psychological makeup. It is definately something that Carl can explore in his story. Why is she doing this? Why get a permenant brand instead of a temporary brand as those are a thing now?
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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Please continue.
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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Carl, I know I'm coming late to this story,(the opening was a bit dry and turned me off to reading the story also the story starting off talking about male slaves I stopped reading til now) even though you have written many more chapters, some ideas sprung to mind. What if Mary took Lois out (several miles away)to get slave tanned by staking her out upright in pony boots and collar to get some sun, also give her some slave stripes to look broken in. Everyone else had suggestions for the branding. Maybe tack her up and have Lois pull Mary around in a suki or pony racing cart? Something to consider if you do a re-editing at a later time after considering all the suggestions.
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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Dear OrFlash: The beginning of any good story sets the stage in terms of motivations and antagonisms. If you read the rest of this tale (I'm working on part 11 at the moment), you will see that the male pony stallion is a vehicle to ensure that the female protagonist is well and truly used. Spoiler alert: he gets to drill both of her channels in several different parts of the story and eventually figures out her identity. Parts 05 and 06 also include considerable harness training for Lois--not to mention Mary herself.
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

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Yeah, I'm up to part 3. It's really good. Several stories I started reading didn't appeal to me and stopped reading them, but you kept writing so I went back and started reading it again. I stopped reading Joe Doe's stories for the same reason. Didn't care for Pussy Bread or a woman who let's herself get caged with dog shit on her feet and pees herself because she was worried about what a few women in the restroom would think if she washed it in off front the them.
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Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 02

Post by bertrumm00057 »

Hmm... I kind of loved the dog shit on the feet...

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