Please don't forget to leave feedback on the stories you read!

Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 13

Post Reply
Carl Bradford
Platinum Member
Platinum Member
Posts: 243
Joined: Thu Oct 01, 2020 5:22 pm
Gender: Male

Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 13

Post by Carl Bradford »

Jeepster guessed much of the solution, so here it is; hope it doesn't disappoint those who like evil outcomes!

(This story is set in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is commonplace for serious crime, unredeemed debt, or voluntary self-indenture. All characters who are enslaved or have any intimate/sexual contact with slaves are 18 years of age or older. This is fiction; no one should ever be deprived of free will nor used sexually without his or her uncoerced permission.)

(Once again, the Breeding Barn, Nancy Bradford, and the noontime exploits of her herd of MILFs are the intellectual property of Mr.Smith27, used here by permission.)

(Lois Spalding’s Perspective)

My risky behavior in pretending to be a pony girl slave had finally caught up with me, just as my boyfriend, my shrink, and my best friend had predicted. Rustlers had grabbed me while I was playing pony slave on my own ranch. They had stripped me, bound me, face-fucked me, and stuffed me into a wire mesh poodle cage, the kind used to transport slaves (like me from now on). Zip-ties held my ankles to the back corners of the cage and my wrists to the back center of the cage. The only other objects I “wore” were a slave collar, a gag, a butt plug, and a heavy black cloth bag over my head. The bag limited what I could see and hear, but I strongly suspected that I had been shipped over the border from Texas to Mexico, there to start a news life as a real, rather than pretend, slave slut. I was terrified for myself and worried because I thought the rustlers had injured my employee and friend, Hailie Wilson, who had obligingly tacked me up and steered me around the ranch. And the really shameful aspect of all this was that my mind and body were aroused by my helplessness.

At the end of a long truck ride, whoever owned me used a handcart to unload my poodle cage; I thought I was now inside some building but knew nothing else once the cage stopped moving. After a few moments of silence, I felt tugging as the zip-ties holding me to the cage walls were apparently cut. Then the “front door” of the cage audibly swung open.

To my astonished relief, the next voice I heard was that of my boyfriend and dominant lover, Richard Jameson: “Crawl out of there, pony girl.” When I complied, someone lifted me to a standing position and cut the last zip-tie holding my wrists behind my back.

Richard spoke only one more word, the slave command “Present.” Still disoriented, I complied, spreading my legs slightly and interlocking my fingers behind my neck, thus putting my nude body on full display. Then, blessed relief, the sweltering bag was pulled off my head. I blinked at the bright light as Richard pulled out the gag and stuck a water bottle straw in to give me my first drink in hours. I was too thirsty to do more than suck for a few minutes, after which he gently arranged my sweaty hair so I could see. He also patted my skin all over with a towel, removing some of the perspiration.

“Well?” He inquired, his face an odd mixture of concern and determination. “Don’t you wonder what’s going on?”

Since he had made no move to clothe me or release me from Present, I decided that I had better assume I was still a de facto slave, even though Richard was the one person in the world I wanted as a master. “Am I permitted to know that, Master?”

“Yes and no. I’ll tell you what’s going on, but I’m not your master, Lois.” He sighed. “I apologize for kidnapping you, but I wanted to show you how easy it would be for you to lose your freedom. Don’t worry—Hailie wasn’t really injured. Now, however, if you can’t or won’t change, then this is the end of the road for us—Mary is waiting outside with some clothes to take you back to your ranch. But if you leave now, I can guarantee that within a year you’ll be wearing a collar for real, either kidnapped or enslaved by a court order. And the next time that happens, I won’t be there to save you—I won’t even buy you when you’re auctioned off as slave meat.”

A tear formed in the corner of my eye. “I don’t want to lose you, Richard. I’m sorry I caused you so much worry—isn’t there some way I can fix this?” Hesitantly, I broke position and reached out towards him with both hands.

“There IS one way, if you’re willing.” He said, suddenly looking almost as upset and uncertain as I felt.

“Name it!”

“We would need to work out a lot of details, but the bottom line is that you give me the right to protect you, by marrying me and becoming my FINO.” [Free In Name Only personal services contract.]

Suddenly, my sadness shifted to joy. “I’d love that!”

[Skip five minutes of kissing and incoherent love talk. Damn, it felt good to be in his arms.]

When we came up for air, Richard again tried to be serious with me. “I want to take care of you, not take advantage if you. We’re not getting married until we’ve worked out a pre-nup as well as the details of a FINO contract. For now, you must be really tired, so please let Mary take you home.”

Still clinging to him, I replied, “I’ll go home if you order me to, but there’s one thing I want to start practicing right now, tonight.”

He gently pushed me away. He could tell by my smirk that I was scheming, so he asked, “And what’s that, darling slave?”

My reply was prompt, almost giggling: “I need to practice servicing my new master.”

Richard pretended that I was demanding a great sacrifice on his part. “If you really insist, but don’t expect special treatment like this all the time. Bend over, pony slut!”

“Yes, Master!” I turned away from him, spread my legs, and bent over, placing my head on the narrow bunk at the side of the room. At the same time, I reached back with both hands, spreading my cheeks to offer both of my openings.

“Uhh!!” I grunted at the sudden intrusion between my labia. The only thing better than being taken by a dominant male is being stretched by the big cock of a master you love!

Half an hour later, Richard pulled up his pants, leaving me in a heap on the bunk while he went to the door and offered Mary the use of his guest room for the night. “Does that mean what I think it does?” I heard her ask. “Yeah, Ginger is now MY problem, Mary.”

“About fraking time, Romeo.”

*****

We still had things to work out. The pre-nup agreement took too many lawyers because of the money involved, and it ended up with Richard and I each being a member of the other ranch’s board of directors. The FINO negotiations were more private but equally complicated. Here, the issue wasn’t money—I asked for only $5 per month and all the cock I could handle in return for surrendering my body to him. That was fine with him, and he graciously even agreed that anyone could use his new pony girl so long as he gave permission first.

The real issue was developing a schedule that ensured we could run our ranches and still spend time together, which was going to be a constant balancing act. Eventually, we agreed that I would need his permission if I spent more than two days a week at the Spinning Wheel. Richard developed a unique method of ensuring that his workaholic wife didn’t neglect her slave duties. As part of his “payment” for the contract, he assumed responsibility for Hailie’s compensation, converting her from my employee into his. THEN he deputized her to supervise “Ginger” whenever he wasn’t around, making her my de facto slave wrangler/mistress. I soon learned that, if I stayed away from him for more than 36 hours at a time, Hailie would insert a remote control vibrator into one of my openings, then turn it on intermittently to remind me that it was time to head back to the Jameson Ranch! She took a quiet joy in teasing me like that, watching me try to keep my composure in meetings with Mary (who now became my ranch manager) and other employees. Besides, whenever Hailie got me back to Richard sooner than scheduled, he gave her more time off while he took over “training” his FINO.

We had to wait until we were actually married/FINO’ed to work out most of the details. Still, being a FINO would eliminate any possibility of legal enslavement, including protective orders. To reduce the chance of kidnapping, Richard insisted that I have a passive GPS device implanted inside my left boob, one that could be activated by remote control to show my location. We also decided that Lois Spalding-Jameson would NOT be involved in day-to-day operations at her husband’s ranch, or even take a tour and shake everyone’s hand. We couldn’t completely prevent rumors, but at least his staff didn’t have a chance to compare their boss’s new wife directly with Pony Girl Ginger. If he wanted me to appear as a pony at his ranch, either he or (usually) Hailie would tack me up and bring me there already in slut mode.

Despite these restrictions, I spent a LOT of time making love to my fiancé and almost equal amounts of time servicing my new owner. Somewhere in there we sandwiched in enough time to consult with Nikki Sheldon, the slave psychiatrist, in order to meet the requirements for a Texas FINO contract and try to further understand what motivated me.

I wore a beautiful dress to get married, not pony boots and bustier—too many business acquaintances were invited to the ceremony. Mary Jacobs, whom I had promoted to manager of the Spinning Wheel because I would be away too often, was the matron of honor and Hailie was one of the bridesmaids. The only unusual aspect of the wedding was the carriage that took us from the church door to the reception—it was pulled by a mixed team of eight ponies from our two herds, with my stallion Stud and his stallion Bart as the wheelers, the pair closest to the carriage so they could provide braking power when going downhill. I noticed that one of the other ponies was a much-slimmer Charlene, the former trainer who had taunted and harassed me before she was herself enslaved for credit card debt. Little touches like that told me that my new husband really did pay attention to me.

Not only did I NOT appear as a slut at my own wedding, but my wedding night was as vanilla and romantic as any virgin bride could expect. We spent a lot of time necking, kissing, fucking, kissing, showering, kissing, cuddling—well, you get the idea. Move along folks, nothing to see here.

The next morning, after he woke me up with his mouth on my clit and labia, was a different story. I knew that today we had to formally initiate the FINO agreement, but Richard had refused to tell me any details. He reminded me that it was my idea to surrender control to him, so stop trying to top from below. Yes, Dear.

Still, it was not a big surprise when he stopped me from getting dressed, instead going through the now-familiar (and thrilling) process of ordering me to collar, reverse, back hands, and so on. He also carefully removed my engagement and wedding rings, since slaves are only permitted jewelry that passes through my body—the platinum nipple rings were fine, but not the wedding ring! For the third time, Richard put me gagged and bound into a
poodle cage, although this time at least he dispensed with the horrid bag.

When I found out what he intended to do, I wished he HAD put my head in a bag, but by that time I was in no position to argue. My damn husband (and soon to be beloved master) used a hand cart to calmly roll my naked, caged body through the crowded main lobby of the hotel, dropping the cage for five long minutes while he fumbled around about settling the account and checking out. One of the bellmen spent the entire time staring with unabashed admiration at my tits! And THEN Richard pushed me, slave naked, right out the front door to a waiting truck with a power lift on the back gate. The doormen were equally interested in examining his caged slave. I was blushing all over as the lift slowly, SLOOWWLLYY moved my cage up and finally deposited me inside the truck and out of sight.

*****

Richard had warned me that he was going to give me the full slave experience, which included hours on the highway in the darkened back of a truck, not knowing where I was being shipped (slaves have questions, but only masters have answers). When the truck finally backed up, with a warning beep-beep-beep, and deposited my cage at a loading dock, I was not really surprised when the standard warning spiel began with “You are at the Long Horn Slave Market for processing as a slave . . .”

What DID surprise me was that the wrangler giving me that warning was Chad Warwick, a pimply-faced former employee of the Spinning Wheel who had lost his virginity doing a damn good job of dominating Pony Girl Ginger! Six months earlier, I had foolishly given Mary a written order that authorized any one of my employees to plow Ginger in any hole he wanted—and Mary had handed that order to Chad, the youngest (at 18) and scrawniest part-time ranch hand in my employ. When I had balked, Chad had not hesitated to use the strap on me and quickly established psychological dominance over the recalcitrant pony girl.

After that, Chad had made use of the permission slip that I had signed personally, allowing him to get rid of his virginity by using the mouth and vagina of what he had described as a “useless, over-the-hill, ass whore of a slave cunt.” On my enthusiastic recommendation, he got a job at the Longhorn.

He didn’t know my identity that night, but this time someone (I suspect Mary!) had made sure he knew exactly who I was. After he finished the warning speech, Chad cut the gag holding my mouth stretched into a grin—and while he was at it, he thoroughly groped my boobs. THEN he greeted me. “Why, hello, there, Ginger—or should I say Mizz Spalding? I always thought you were born to the collar, and you certainly look great down there on your knees. You’ve got nice tits for such an old mare.”

When you’re under slave discipline, either temporary or real, at a slave market, there is only one correct response to such a comment: “Thank you, Master.” His grin was a mile wide as he connected a leash to my collar, helped me stand (my hands still being restrained behind my back), and ordered “heel, slut.” He couldn’t resist chuckling as he led me over to a podium, ordered me to kneel again, and clipped the leash to the podium while he went over my processing.

Having been through the same market less than year ago (when Mary and I had kennelled ourselves to get branded), my slave photos and data were up to date, so there wasn’t really any “processing” he could inflict on me. That didn’t prevent Chad from adding me to a group of six other naked women so we could practice Block Positions (slave yoga, only raunchier) for half an hour. Soon I was prancing back and forth, begging someone to buy me and stuff all my holes. I definitely knew it was a set-up when, in addition to Chad grinning at me, I saw two other familiar faces—Jesse Foster, the vice president and operations manager of the market, and a muscular African-American named Dave, who had controlled and gang-banged me on my previous visit. Sigh—who am I kidding? If you’ve read the rest of my humiliating odyssey, you can guess that the sight of those three familiar faces gawking at my humiliation actually increased my arousal!

The Long Horn had developed another twist on Block Positions since Mary and I had performed there. Because these positions and the suggestive slave mantras were intended to arouse the slaves (including those “temporary slaves” who were only here for grading), someone—I suspect Jesse Foster’s wife, Shirley, who seemed to really understand submissive motivations—had added one more step. At the end of a vigorous 30 minutes of fondling, twerking, stretching, and generally flaunting themselves, the slaves’ final position was kneeling, thighs wide apart, with hands interlocked behind heads—and each slut ended up two feet from the edge of the platform, facing the wrangler who controlled her. I was panting heavily with my bare breasts rising and falling, looking up at Chad Warwick, when he (and the other wranglers) all stepped up onto the platform in front of their respective charges, unzipped, and instructed the girls with the single word “mouth.” So I again ended up with a mouthful of (this time 19-year-old) nerd cock.

To reinforce the point, Chad talked quietly to me the entire time I was licking and sucking him. “That’s right, Mizz Spalding—you may have been the rich lady who first hired me, the 18-year-old still in high school, but now all you are is a naked cock whore on your knees, servicing me or any other free man. You love that taste, don’t you, slave?” He bent over to firmly tweak my breasts and nipples, then again stood tall, one hand controlling my head as he slowly skull-fucked me. Like a dutiful slave, I smiled and tried to worship him with my eyes the whole time he used me. Once again, I marveled at the ability of this pimply-faced teenager to impose his will on me, although to be fair I was highly susceptible to such domination. When I finally brought him off, he jerked his cock out from between my lips to give me a sticky facial.

After Chad had milked my ignominy as much as possible, it was time for me to go meet my master. Chad and Dave decided that the appropriate method to guide me out to the front entrance was to walk one on either side of me, each one fondling the butt cheek nearest to him. By unspoken agreement, Chad’s fingers were the ones that got to goose me the whole time. I still couldn’t get over how masterful this guy was—I hoped that Jesse appreciated what a gem I had recommended to him. I’m sure that both men could smell my arousal.

Just before we reached the lobby, Chad halted me. Apparently acting on specific instructions, he snapped chrome carabiniers through my nipple rings and tied a big red bow between them—I was gift-wrapped and ready for my new owner.

I was also collared, cuffed, disheveled, and wearing “more cum than clothing,” as the saying goes. I should have been embarrassed to be marched out into the lobby of the Long Horn, where 40 or more clothed, free people were milling around, and then made to kneel next to the Concierge Desk in front of friends including Mary, Hailie Wilson, and Nikki Sheldon. But all I had eyes for was my groom and master, Richard. I’m sure our smiles would have illuminated an entire city.

I was so relieved and horny at the same time to see him that I almost missed the fact that Nikki was pregnant—I only noticed the slight bulge in her pantsuit when Mary asked her when she was due. The reply, indicating that she was already in Week 33 (of 40), gave me renewed respect for her physical conditioning—I would have guessed less than half that time.

I opened my mouth to congratulate Nikki, but Master Chad gave me a “gentle” whack across my gift-wrapped jugs with his rubber strap, reminding me not to waste the time of free people with slave chit-chat. There is a cliché in the industry, much more truth than humor, to the effect that, while well-behaved children should be seen and not heard, well-behaved slaves should be obscene and not heard (except when climaxing).

So we got down to the business of the FINO contract. Richard and I had labored over the wording, trying to be generous and fair to each other, but my Daddy taught me never to sign anything I hadn’t read and understood. So I went over it all again, initialing each page as I stood, the only naked woman in a group of fully-clothed free citizens. As I mentioned before, this contract was unusual in a couple of ways. While Richard Jameson was the person I was agreeing to serve—in practical terms, my Master—Hailie Wilson was also designated as my supervisor, to whom I owed complete obedience unless she ordered me to do something contrary to Richard’s wishes OR something that violated other restrictions of the agreement. I was in the weird position of being simultaneously the owner and executive officer of my own ranch, a member of the board of directors of Richard’s ranch, and yet the obedient servant of Hailie Wilson, an employee of both ranches. Knowing the personalities involved, I thought the deal would work out even though on paper it was a hopeless snarl. I did NOT look forward to explaining this to my board, although I held more than 80 percent of the voting stock in the corporation. Thank heavens they had all signed non-disclosure agreements.

It was finally done, with my signature (appropriately enough) BELOW those of Richard, Hailie, and (as my guardian) Nikki. As a de facto slave, I didn’t even get a copy of the final contract, although Mary received a copy to present to my board! The Long Horn produced laminated cards for Richard and Hailie, designating them as my master and mistress, and later on Chad would enter the names and duration of my agreement into the National Slave Registry in case questions ever arose about my status. Richard and I had decided to brazen it out, pretending it was a joke (an extension of the wedding promise to love, honor, and obey) if any of our peers found that in the registry.

The group finally broke up, with me hugging everyone, even (awkwardly) Chad; I took the liberty of praising his superior performance, and he was still young enough to be flattered. Then the group dispersed as Richard used his own leather cuffs to restrain my wrists before marching me across the busy parking lot to his king cab truck. I still was uncertain as to whether and when he would release me from naked bondage, but I was relieved to discover that he had always wanted to follow one of the informal traditions of slave grading—in order to earn my clothes back, I had to kneel down in front of everyone and suck him off. That was a real thrill, a combination of love and submission that I can’t really explain. I dutifully held his sticky goo on my outstretched tongue until he granted permission to swallow.

Then and only then he raised his naked bride from her knees and offered me a bottle of mouthwash to “clear my palate” after deep-throating both Chad and Richard. After that, he enfolded my nude body into his arms, controlling a long kiss that only broke when he turned me to face away from him so that his hands, which previously had been roaming all over my butt cheeks and crack, could explore my boobs, nipples, and clit as well. He helped me dress in blouse, jeans, and “normal” boots, then hugged me again and lifted me up into the cab. As we drove off, my fingers were already exploring his thighs through the jeans fabric.

*****

We put off a honeymoon for some time, because we both had work to do on our ranches, but that didn’t prevent us from experimenting with our new relationship. We began to refer to the two aspects of being married equals and being a master and pony as “bed versus bridle.”

Not all of our dominance and submission games involve ponies, of course. One evening, after we’d been cuddling and watching TV (while both critiquing the film as unrealistic), Richard suddenly announced that he wanted to tie me to the bed. I tried to run away to tease him, but he caught me in three steps, then used his weight and muscles to hold me down while he tied ropes (which suspiciously were already in place on the bed) to restrain my four limbs. I ended up buck naked and spread eagled on his big bed. Then he began to slowly, slowly fondle me all over until I was begging for more attention. At which point he focused first on my breasts, fondling and nibbling until I was arching helplessly, mindlessly begging for more. He kissed his way down my belly and gave my clit and cunt the same treatment. When he lifted his face, covered with my juices, I thought for sure that he would climb aboard and pound me stupid. Instead, he paused to wipe both of us off and then knelt straddling my shoulders, feeding me his delicious sausage while he reached back and kept my nipples and clit aroused.

Eventually, even Richard’s patience wore thin, or perhaps my entreaties got to him. But he still had one trick left—he untied my ankles from the bottom corners of the bed and re-tied them to the same corners that already restrained my wrists. This left me bent double with both of my lower entrances, not to mention my ass, completely exposed for his pleasure. He proceeded to playfully spank me for about 20 blows, then mount me and fuck me for no more than 20 strokes, and finally re-center himself to stretch my colon. I think we both came after less than a minute of anal pounding. God, what a marvelous, dominant lover. What he finally wiped me off and released me, I could think of nothing else but wanting to renew my FINO contract in 4-plus years so he could use me all over again.

Which didn’t prevent me from demanding equal time the next night. Richard was tied in almost the same position (I wanted his legs together so I could straddle him more easily) as I teased, fondled, and finally rode cowgirl on him. Then I tied HIS ankles to the same bedposts as his wrists and brought out the lube and a strap-on! I gave him the same argument I had originally used when playing pony—he needed to feel helpless and penetrated to better understand his ponies. Since Richard’s ass was virgin, I used a dildo that was significantly smaller than his cock, but he still took it up the ass like a good boy. (I don’t think he really minded, but on principle, once he was freed, he bent me over the end of the bed and tanned my hide properly.)

(Richard Jameson’s Perspective)

I know it sounds corny but being married to Lois is a constant joy. On the one hand, she’s an educated, smart person who’s sufficiently different from me that we are not constantly echoing each other. On the other hand, she is the horniest little slut I have ever met, with or without a collar, and no matter how much I restrain her, demean her, and stuff all her orifices, she just purrs and begs for more, like a cat who’s been given a gallon of cream. If I kept her as a full-time, voiceless pony girl, I think her only concern would be that she needed more sex. We both want to have children, and given our ages we need to start in on that fairly soon, but I think she would explode if she didn’t get her minimum daily allowance of cock and kink.

Before she married me, I had introduced Lois to Nancy Bradford to demonstrate that there were other educated women who enjoyed playing pony slut on a regular basis. I think I’ve created a monster, though, because the two of them, together with half a dozen of Nancy’s friends, spend almost every Monday noon hour at the Breeding Barn Café—not to eat lunch, but to get a “nooner” while posing as slave ponies. They have an informal club called Monday MILFs—Mares I’d Love to Fuck—and Lois seems willing to let almost anyone use any of her openings. I have given Lois permission to get laid anytime by anyone she wants provided that she takes safety and health precautions, but I never realized just how horny the silly broad (and I mean that term affectionately) could be. (The Breeding Barn tested everyone who enters for STDs and all of these women have birth control, so this is as close to safe promiscuity as one can get.)

Frankly, the fiction that Lois Spalding-Jameson and Pony Girl Ginger are two different entities was wearing thin even before she married me—now you can barely see the difference between the two. Sometimes I think she’ll forget to put on her safety helmet and appear barefaced at the Breeding Barn.
To be fair, Lois both says and acts as if I’m her favorite partner; most of the time, if I’m there, she turns down propositions from everyone else except the husband/boyfriend of whichever one of Nancy’s friends asks me to mount her that day. When I can’t make it, she always asks my permission to play pony slut with her friends. So long as she follows those rules, I can live with the idea of my hot “slave” wife cuckolding me. The family that shags together, stays together.

One day, after giving her permission because I would be otherwise engaged, I finished my business meetings early so I went to the Breeding Barn about 12:30, seeking to surprise my bride. I was the one who got the surprise, though. After inquiring at the front desk, I was referred to a multi-couple room where the Mares-I’d-Like-to-Fuck were tacked up and accepting all “Cum”ers. Strapped side-by-side on three breeding frames were three mature but sexy pony mares—a brunette, a redhead, and a blonde. The first two were, naturally, Nancy Bradford and my own blushing bride—although I was always amazed that she COULD still blush after all the times I had seen her willingly surrendering to other men. I eventually recognized the blonde as a physician and mother of three named Grace Allen, aka “Buttercup.” No less than five brands were burned into her extremely fit, 5 foot 9 inch body: the Big D of a Sandy Foot Girl on her left buttock, the Broadstone Institute’s B on the right; two intertwined horseshoes holding three stars on her upper right thigh, and a circle A over her right shoulder blade. When one of Grace’s partners for the day suddenly pulled out of her rectum, I noticed another B, this one inside a diamond, on the sensitive inside of her left butt cheek. This woman had suffered excruciating pain to acquire such a collection.

Three sexy middle-aged mares getting used was par for the course at a Monday MILF meeting like this. But the surprise was that the six young men who were vigorously shafting, reaming, and face-fucking these women were all teenagers. I consoled myself that the Breeding Barn was VERY strict about enforcing a minimum age of 18 for anyone to enter the premises—even I had to produce two forms of identification, one of which had to bear my birthdate. So these young men were definitely of legal age, but it was still both shocking and arousing to see them using three submissive sluts (including my wife) who, despite their toned and youthful appearance, might well be old enough to be their mothers!

I was glad to see that the sextet [pun intended] of male masters always changed condoms before ass-fucking any of the three mares. Most of the time, three of the young men were using pony mouths to revive their hard-ons while the other three gleefully penetrated and pummeled the plush pussies and posteriors of their captives. All six men were so excited by the sexual smorgasbord that they tended to come rapidly in whichever opening they were using at that moment. Then, after washing themselves off and using the nearest set of pony lips (including my horny wife’s) to restore their erections, these guys would choose another orifice to plunder. The whole time they were praising the women as the “finest pony whores in Texas” and similar flattering if crude comments.

It seemed as if each of the six guys had tried out every one of the nine possible pairings before they finally called a halt. Then they lovingly washed down and again praised the older women before reluctantly leaving, with the women promising another such pony orgy at some time in the near future.

After kissing my exhausted slave wife, I asked her where she had found all those “young masters”—had she been flashing her boobs at high school parking lots?

Nancy/Rosebud replied, giggling, “It’s all my fault, although I’ve got to say that ‘Ginger’” (she nodded towards Lois) “didn’t raise any objections. That was my nephew, Carl, and five of his friends from college. For his 18th birthday, my husband Hank gave Carl what every young man wants—free use of a sex pony, in this case me! He celebrated losing all three of his virginities using another slut and me, so naturally he couldn’t resist bragging a little at college. His friends didn’t believe him, so Buttercup and Ginger agreed that it would be fun to prove him right! Those guys were so excited that they usually came within two minutes of mounting us, but fortunately 18- and 19-year old students have incredibly short recovery times. Thank heavens—if they had only fucked us once, it would have been very frustrating, but over the course of an hour or so I got off several times. Just the idea that young guys would find us sexually attractive was a real turn-on.”

Lois and Grace agreed, but for once it seemed as if even my Eveready fuck slut had gotten her fill, literally and figuratively, of cock. So I let her sleep in the car as I drove her back to my ranch. That night, she gave me the blow-by-blow (pun intended) but insisted that she would much rather have my cock twice a night (which was about my usual) rather than six sex-crazed young men playing tag team on her ass and coming prematurely.

(Lois Spalding-Jameson’s perspective)

After our crazy lives settled down slightly, Richard and I finally got to take our much-delayed honeymoon on a Caribbean island. Most of it was the kind of idyllic vacation every bride dreams of, with equal proportions of romantic dates and hard sexual pounding! However, Richard insisted that I run several miles and work out every day, and before retiring for bed every evening I had to perform (nude of course) to convince him that my pony trotting and cantering form was perfect.

Richard had suggested another daring “field trip” as Ginger, with only he, me, Mary, and Hailie knowing the truth. We had told all our friends we would be gone for three weeks, but then secretly returned a week early so that, after one brief practice trot under Hailie’s supervision, Ginger could enter an older-girl and mare trotting race at one of the periodic racing events of our ranch association. With any luck, no one would associate this pony girl with the obviously absent Lois. That meant that, at least in daylight, Richard had to remain in hiding, although he watched the races through the elaborate closed circuit TV systems.

I was standing in a barn, almost completely tacked up, with Hailie binding my forearms behind me. All that would be left after that would be my bit and bridle, safety helmet, and voice converter. I was pleased that Richard snuck into my stall to grope me and wish me luck in the race, but he couldn’t resist reminding me of the informal tradition that losing ponies were bent over and tied fence rails, free for anyone’s use during the evening mixer/orgy known as Social Corral!

I shook my head and accused him of jinxing me. “If I lose now, you, Mary, and Hailie will all accuse me of throwing the race just so I can be everyone’s pony slut this evening!”

“Darn straight,” my husband replied. “So you’d better do your best, right?”

“Yes, Master.”

I DID honestly try my best but lost the race anyway. I knew that Mary, Hailie, and Richard would harass me for months about that. Still, since I HAD lost, I decided that I might as well indulge my submissive desires and enjoy being used by everyone who felt like a piece of mature pony cunt.

I wasn’t the only one out to enjoy herself in the dimly lit corral that evening. As Hailie led me over to the losers’ railing, I caught sight of my head cook, Bill Jacobs, talking with Moira and Sylvia, the lesbian operators of the Tribade Training Ranch. What really got my attention was that all three of them were playing with a distinctly older mare, who was also completely helpless in pony tack including helmet but not a bit. I knew there was only one woman who had could combine that mature body with the Spinning Wheel brand on her buttock—my manager Mary had given her husband another evening where he could use his wife as a pony slut in public!

I didn’t see any more of that quartet because Mistress Hailie brusquely bent me over and bound my legs well apart, available for anyone to use. Tied next to me was another of the day’s losers, Charlene, the ex-queen of the pony trainers. While we were waiting for our mystery “dates” to begin shafting us, I tried to whisper encouragement to Charlene. I was relieved to learn that she had come to terms with her slavery and had decided to enjoy the chances for sexual pleasure that she couldn’t avoid anyway. We had reached the point of giggling, accusing each other of deliberately losing our races, when the first four guys stepped up to spit-roast us. MMMM, good. Somewhere in there I remember a disguised Richard, slowly plumbing the depths of my vagina and whispering how much he loved his pony slave wife!

After a long time of slurping, groping, moaning, and general gang-banging, I became aware of a VERY large cock that suddenly took complete occupancy of my defenseless slave cunt in three massive thrusts. Looking back between my legs, I saw two muscular legs encased in the male version of pony boots, without the stiletto heels. That meant my latest sex partner was one of a handful of well-endowed slave stallions at the race, let loose for a rare evening of play.

The mystery stallion pounded me vigorously for the next five minutes, stretching and exploring every inch of my birth canal while occasionally reaching around to fondle my nipples and clit into a frenzy. Just when I thought that his impossibly-huge shaft would have to flood me with cum, he abruptly pulled out, then extracted my ponytail plug and replaced it—rather gently—with his dick! I knew only one stallion who felt like that in my rear end, so at first I was unsurprised when “Stud” identified himself as he slowly pumped in and out of my most private passage. Then I suddenly focused on what he was saying.

“That’s right, it’s me, your favorite Stud. You have a fantastic ass for fucking, but you know that, don’t you, Ginger—or should I say ‘Mizz Spalding’? I finally decided that you kept staring at my butt and whipping me because you really wanted me to give YOU a pain in the ass. What do you say, little slut—shall I stretch you out one more time?”

I had worried that he might know my secret, and now he had confirmed it. I’d have to figure out some way to keep him quiet, of course—imagine people knowing that Lois Spalding, ranch owner, got her jollies by having one of her own slave stallions ram her fore and aft?

Then I thought: screw it. Lusting after Stud was how I got into this crazy world of faked slavery and submission, and at the moment I had no way to stop him even if I wished to (I didn't) so I might as well enjoy the ride. My husband had approved our coupling by sending me to be spread out across that fence railing. I was a faux filly who craved forceful fornication, and that young man was perfectly designed to provide the fucking any good slut yearns for.

Channelling Stockard Channing as Rizzo in the movie “Grease,” I answered him with a lot more assurance than one would expect from a helpless woman with a dick shoved up her butt:

“Less talking and more fucking, stallion. I bought you to screw ponies, not run a debating society. Come on, you big Stud, REAM my ass!”

So he did.

(The end)
Last edited by Carl Bradford on Wed Aug 11, 2021 7:26 pm, edited 2 times in total.
These users thanked the author Carl Bradford for the post (total 10):
jean.amelotSteveBurkejardam1jeepsterdtrelskydakswigginScman493Mr. SmithHooked6JustBob

jeepster
Platinum Member
Platinum Member
Posts: 382
Joined: Sat Oct 26, 2019 12:42 pm
Location: Canada
Gender: Male

Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 13

Post by jeepster »

Awesome! Every scene kept me coming back. Loved that Chad got to dominate Ginger/Mizz Spaulding!
These users thanked the author jeepster for the post:
Carl Bradford

jeepster
Platinum Member
Platinum Member
Posts: 382
Joined: Sat Oct 26, 2019 12:42 pm
Location: Canada
Gender: Male

Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 13

Post by jeepster »

Almost has to be another continuation of Lois's adventure!

jeepster
Platinum Member
Platinum Member
Posts: 382
Joined: Sat Oct 26, 2019 12:42 pm
Location: Canada
Gender: Male

Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 13

Post by jeepster »

Or maybe not just Lois but some other characters! Like Mary and Hailie and Chad!
These users thanked the author jeepster for the post:
Carl Bradford

ZeeChromosome
Platinum Member
Platinum Member
Posts: 219
Joined: Thu Jul 29, 2021 5:42 am
Location: Northern Virginia, Just North of Real Virginia
Gender: Male
Contact:

Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 13

Post by ZeeChromosome »

Good wrap up to the series. I especially enjoyed the sheer variety of situations Ginger kept getting herself into.
These users thanked the author ZeeChromosome for the post (total 2):
Carl Bradfordimreadonly2

jeepster
Platinum Member
Platinum Member
Posts: 382
Joined: Sat Oct 26, 2019 12:42 pm
Location: Canada
Gender: Male

Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 13

Post by jeepster »

Please continue to write more of these stories! You are 1 of the best in this type of story!
These users thanked the author jeepster for the post (total 2):
imreadonly2ZeeChromosome

User avatar
imreadonly2
Platinum Member
Platinum Member
Posts: 357
Joined: Sun Oct 27, 2019 3:44 pm
Gender: Male

Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 13

Post by imreadonly2 »

I agree. This was a splendid, well written, series, and it kept me on the edge of my chair waiting for the next chapter. Well done!
These users thanked the author imreadonly2 for the post (total 3):
Mr. SmithCarl BradfordZeeChromosome

Mr. Smith
Platinum Member
Platinum Member
Posts: 360
Joined: Fri Jul 31, 2020 12:56 am
Gender: Male

Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 13

Post by Mr. Smith »

A well written tail with a classic Carl Bradford happiliy every after ending. I see the possibility of a story where Hailie wants to get in on the action after observing Mary and Lois hogging all the orgasms. I like the idea of Hailie going undercover as a ponygirl at a rival training facility to learn the tricks of the trade from the other end of the whip so to speak. Then again, all good stories cum to an end.
These users thanked the author Mr. Smith for the post (total 4):
imreadonly2jeepsterCarl BradfordZeeChromosome

jeepster
Platinum Member
Platinum Member
Posts: 382
Joined: Sat Oct 26, 2019 12:42 pm
Location: Canada
Gender: Male

Re: Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 13

Post by jeepster »

Oh Mr Smith I hope that you have inspired him to write that story!
These users thanked the author jeepster for the post:
ZeeChromosome

Post Reply