The Stallion - Atonement Session Ch. 1

ZeeChromosome · Post by **ZeeChromosome** » Sun Oct 03, 2021 4:22 pm

Forward:
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This is a story from The Stallion Series and uses characters and ideas developed therein. I owe a huge debt of thanks to Mr. Smith and Carl Bradford for their expert advice and clever (and fun-evil) ideas. I also owe a debt to Joe Doe for inventing this particular story-verse of legal slavery so that we can all play in it.
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As usual, please ignore the "-" between paragraphs. I use an off-brand word processor and if I don't do that, the file saves as a wall of text.
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Fair warning - THIS STORY CONTAINED A BRUTAL WHIPPING SCENE WHICH HAS BEEN REDACTED - You can read it in Chapter 1B if you want to. I worked hard on it, but recognize that it may not be to everyone's taste. If you want to tell me how much you hate me for writing it, please do so in a direct email, rather than in the open forum.
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Another note - Some characters' names are never revealed in the story. There's a stylistic reason for that, it's not simple laziness on my part. If it annoys you, please let me know, I'm a beginning writer and am open to all helpful criticisms.
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The Stallion - Atonement Session Ch. 1
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In the opening scene, we see two men hanging from the ceiling. Both are entirely nude and sporting erections. Extremely painful-looking erections with bulging and throbbing veins. Their distended cocks bounce in time with their heartbeats and their hearts are both beating very fast. Both men have been injected with penisillin which is a powerful drug that enlarges penises. Due to the severe and excruciatingly-painful side effects, it is illegal to use on human beings. But these are not human beings, they are slaves. Penisillin is injected directly into the arteries at the base of the penis and causes a painful 4-hour erection while the body's elevated heart rate and blood pressure stretch the penile tissue and slightly enlarge the penis permanently. Multiple treatments may be necessary to achieve the desired effect.
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The man on the left is probably in his mid-30's and fairly fat. If you told a caricature artist to draw a picture of a "good ole boy," this is what he would look like. The man on the right appears to be about 21 or so and his entire appearance screams "Ivy League Fratboy." Which is what he is... or rather, what he was when he was a human being.
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Neither of these men is considered human any longer. Both have received lifetime enslavements. They are mere livestock now, they are slaves. They are lucky. Given the seriousness of their crimes, they could have been hanged. And since they committed their crimes in Texas, that could easily have happened. There's plenty of rope in Texas.
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In front of each man is a video monitor showing a repetitive replay of their sentencing. It was the moment they lost their case, their freedom, their civil rights, their status as human beings... and their clothing. If the purpose of this is to crush their spirits, it is working. Don't feel bad, they deserve it.
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Today is the day of their atonement session, when they will receive corporal punishment from their victims. In this case, they have two victims, Mistress Harriette Valdez, the owner of the Double H Pony Ranch, and an unnamed rape victim, Jane Doe. Because their crimes were sexual in nature, sexual atonement can be used. It's up to the victims. In this case, since the atonement session is taking place in the studios of the Slavery Channel, we can be assured that the audience is going to get a good show.
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Off to one side of the dangling criminals is a nurse's station occupied by two attractive young women wearing matching nurses uniforms consisting of a white hat with a red cross on it, a white satin mini dress, white stockings that don't even try to reach the hem of their dresses, and sensible shoes with non-slip soles. They are also wearing white leather collars with red crosses on them, indicating their status as slave nurses. The figure-hugging mini dresses feature a shiny brass zipper that goes from the hem to the collar of the dress. These particular zippers have never in their existence been zipped so high. Right now they are zipped almost to the bottom of the buxom slaves' generous breasts. The two girls seem bored, but they smile and wave excitedly for the cameras whenever they see themselves on the monitors. A girl never knows when she's about to catch the eye of a powerful man and make her big break in Hollywood.
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Wrapped around the back of the studio is a 3-level bleachers filled with Slave Channel VIP guests. In one of the seats is the President of the Slave channel. Kneeling at his feet is a 19-year-old collared slave girl. He is holding her leash in his hands and she is wearing the same designer gown she wore three years ago while accepting her first Grammy Award for Best New Pop Artist. Her elbows and wrists are bound together behind her back and her face and dress are stained with the evidence of multiple blowjobs. She is forbidden to swallow while sucking cock. She is unworthy of ingesting the semen of free men. She has been sucking a lot of cock recently. Her long dark hair is pulled up in her trademark high ponytail on top of her head.
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The President doesn't use her personally. She is female and he considers the idea of having sex with a woman disgusting. Sometimes he lets his husband Mortie mouth-fuck her, though. Mortie is like that, indiscriminate.
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Because of various legal maneuvers, he effectively owns her until he can finish the complicated lawsuit over her copyrights. That may take a few years. Her father controls the copyrights and seems to be content to continue to cash the monthly royalty checks while his daughter serves her five-year sentence for moral turpitude. It turns out that not every leaked sex tape has a beneficial impact on a starlet's career. The President doesn't care all that much. In the end he will own her and various tens of millions of dollars from the copyright lawsuits. In the meantime, the trust that holds title to her and her music is controlled by her father and it is raking in millions of dollars in royalties per year. He's in no hurry to settle the case.
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In the center of the C-shaped bleacher arrangement is the announcer duo, consisting of Mr. Smith and the slave announcer Kylie. The Slavery Channel shows always feature a Human-and-slave duo as announcers. Mr. Smith is a boring I-Wear-A-Suit-And-Have-Slick-Hair generic announcer guy. Slave Kylie is a busty bimbo with huge hair, plump lips, and an hourglass body squeezed into a bright red satin mini dress. She looks great. She looks sexy. He looks... generic.
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Slave Kylie leaps into the air, her bust bouncing in its satin almost-constraints. She spins about and screams at the crowd, "Are... you... READY!?!"
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The crowd is ready. They scream their readiness to the cameras.
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Mr. Smith quickly regained control from the impertinent (and sexy) slave. "Gather 'round my friends in the studio audience and online! Here we are today to see TWO deserving criminals receive... their... re... tri... bution-n-n-n!" He seems delighted, he seems excited, he gets paid big money for seeming that way!
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Slave Kylie, on the other hand, she gets fucked in all holes no matter what she does, but she just tries to have fun with her job before the highest-bidding fan inevitably takes her in whichever perverted way he deems necessary. That's the life of a starlet in Hollywood nowadays. Not that it's all that different from the days before slavery was reinstituted. At least it's official now. Aspiring starlets with (real or imagined) star potential immediately enslave themselves to the best acting agencies they can as soon as they arrive in Los Angeles. The lucky ones immediately get lucrative (for their owners) acting jobs. The majority are either re-sold immediately or leased to the nearest suck-bar. It's an easy scam. Put out a sign that says, "I'm a a powerful and important acting agent with power and influence" and watch the innocent and unsuspecting teenage pussy march into your lair and enslave themselves to you for "a percentage of movie royalties." There will never be movie royalties. Nobody tries, why bother? Then sell or lease them to the nearest suck-bar. Easy-peasy. Lots of suck-bars in California. Most free women refuse to suck cock these days. Apparently oral sex is something that only slave girls do now. Nevertheless, always visit the suck-bar girls and tell them that you're working on "the next big project" while she's sucking your cock. It keeps them docile.
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Flashing lights, billowing smoke, and dramatic music accompany the entrance of two people who stride boldly up to the announcer couple. Both of them are free persons. Both of them wield real-world authority over hundreds of people - both Human and otherwise. Their posture, demeanor, and clothing tells us that. On the left is Sheriff Donovan, the Sheriff of Tarrant County, Texas. On the right is one of the most important and influential slavers in the state of Texas, Mistress Harriette Valdez.
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“Wow, you two look great," gushed slave announcer Kylie, "that's a great hat, Mr. Sheriff, are you a cowboy?”
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"I am not, I'm just a gunslinger, we need hats, too," responded Sheriff Donovan.
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“Wow! That's so cool! What are you here for?”
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"Justice. The State of Texas was betrayed and is seeking retribution on behalf of Jane Doe, nothing more than that," he said as he surveyed the crowd and pointedly ignored the satin-clad slut in front of him. "Jane Doe was a prisoner awaiting trial when THAT thing over there paid THAT thing to let him into her cell and rape her. Maybe that's just fine back in Massachusetts, but we don't play by those rules here in Texas."
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The sheriff noted that the governor of the great State of Texas was in the audience and he gave his superior a polite nod and tip of his hat. The governor's naked and collared intern was kneeling at his feet while he idly stroked her hair fondly. His election campaign had received an unexpected boost when the girl had publicly defected from her father's campaign and enslaved herself to him. Unlike the Fallen Pop Star, her hands were unbound and she wrapped them around his calf as she gazed up at him with a blissful smile on her face. "She'll make a great political wife some day," thought Sheriff Donovan, "she has that adoring gaze thing down pat."
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While the Sheriff was surveying the VIP seats, the slave announcer turned to the tall blonde woman wearing an elegant skirt-suit. "And Mistress Harriette Valdez, what's your goal here?"
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The tall and authoritative blonde woman turned and looked at her. It was not a reassuring glance, it was the gaze of a slaver that quickly looked her up and down and assigned a monetary value to her appearance. "I am here for vengeance," she stated, "This man harmed and abused my property. Property that is precious to me. I do not allow that. I do not permit that. I will have my revenge."
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Kylie stared at her in shock for a brief moment. In the male-dominated legal-slavery entertainment industry that she lived in, women were not authority figures. Women served. It was the natural order of things. But this woman stood before her, clad in the raiment of power - a tailored skirt-suit with a bull-whip on her hip - and publicly declared that she fully intended to inflict pain on a man. For pissing her off. By harming her slaves. An erogenous thrill ran through Kylie's body as she suddenly imagined what it might feel like to be owned by such a woman. Would this woman control her? Would she protect her? Would she fuck her?
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Despite her disconcertion and budding arousal, she quickly replied cheerfully and brightly, "Yes, Mistress, that sounds like a great plan! Mr. Smith! What happens next?"
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Mr. Smith gave her a brief glance. He had been in this position for four years now and had seen numerous lovely and outwardly-cheerful slave girls pass through the slave announcer position, usually on their way into permanent slavery. It was going to happen. There were methods and means to permanently enslave a woman "by her own choice" whether she wanted it or not. A girl in a job like slave announcer would undoubtedly attract numerous fans. Some of them would have the financial means to buy her... and the President was more than happy to sell for the right price. There were plenty of equally-lovely girls willing, eager, and capable of taking her place. This is Hollywood, after all.
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“I'm not sure, Kylie, let's find out. Sheriff, what have you got for us?”
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The Sheriff replied "Not much, but I got a few law enforcement officers who will be delighted to assist in today's events." With that, the dramatic lighting, smoke generators, and music began again. From behind the curtain, a sharp female voice commanded, "For-ward, MARCH!" Five female deputies sporting large chromium-steel strapons marched out from behind the backstage curtain, between the two condemned men, and stopped before the Sheriff.
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"Group, halt! Left, face!" commanded the sergeant. The five grim women turned and faced the Sheriff. Their chromium-steel appendages pointed obscenely from their hips straight at the announcer group. The sergeant saluted Sheriff Donovan. He nodded in response and walked slowly up and down the line of determined women, inspecting them.
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"This man is a traitor!" he shouted. "He is a betrayer! He has betrayed me! He has betrayed you! He has betrayed our honor, our oath, our country, and our badge! He is the lowest of the low!" His voice decreased in volume now, but did not soften, dripping with venom. "He is an oath-breaker... he is... a vile thing that has to be destroyed and cast out. It is your duty to destroy him so that we may cast him out. Do you accept this duty?"
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"Sir, yes sir!"
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The slave announcer stared at the women open-mouthed, not even faking it. Her professionalism was starting to slip. It would continue to slip throughout the evening, much to her detriment. These were powerful women, wearing uniforms and wielding tools of power - chromium-steel strapons (chromium steel!) - prepared to teach a man a lesson! It was so exciting and... a firm slap on her satin-covered ass brought her back to reality. She gave Mr. Smith a startled look, then quickly got back to business.
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"Mistress Harriette," she addressed the commanding woman, thrusting her microphone at her face "What have you got for us?"
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Mistress Harriette turned her basilisk gaze onto the young slave girl. The myths and legends of the basilisk - a creature that can turn people to stone with its gaze - are based on a true thing. When Mistress Harriette's crystal-blue eyes met the eyes of the slave girl before her... they locked her in place. It wasn't even accidental. The hapless girl just froze, utterly dominated by simple eye-contact.
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Then the terrifying Mistress smiled sweetly and said, "I have Evil Pony Minions."
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Behind the curtain, an excited young female voice shouted, "Evil Pony Minions, ad-VANCE!"
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A coffle of four human ponies began marching sternly out of the backstage area. Although the normal tack for a working pony is made of supple brown leather, these ponies were wearing black. Instead of the usual scuffed brown knee-length pony boots, each Minion was wearing hip-length black leather pony boots with spiffy white feathering around the ankles, making them look like tiny two-legged Clydesdales. The sides of the boots extended upward to attach to their torso harnesses, much like a cowboy's chaps. This design neatly framed and emphasized their nude and clean-shaven genitals for the viewing pleasure of the studio audience... and every viewer online. Some of those viewers gazing with lust at the young ponies almost certainly knew them in real life, the life that they had before they became slaves. However, each minion was wearing a black leather domino mask, which concealed their former Human identities as they marched into the studio with flawless precision.
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This precision movement caused all eight of their perky bell-tipped breasts to bounce in unison. Several studio cameramen immediately zoomed in on the titillating display, even one or two who weren't supposed to.
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The file of ponies was flanked by a pair of pony grooms. On the left was a petite Asian girl, on the right, an equally-petite and very busty blonde. Each slave groom was wearing a collar, knee pads, and a web belt with a tool pouch... and nothing else. They were both barefoot, as is proper, but they marched in time with the ponies anyway.
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The group looked neither left nor right as they marched between the two hanging evil-doers. The evil-doers... just hung there helplessly. These were two men who reveled in subjugating and abusing people unable to fight back. Now they were the helpless ones and some of their victims had returned to haunt them.
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The masks, precision-drilled march and the synchronized clop-clopping of their hooves gave the Evil Pony Minions a menacing air. They approached the announcers and their guests. The Asian slave groom on the left, shouted "Evil Pony Minions, halt!" The file of ponies clop-CLOP-ed to a halt. While they were approaching the announcers, moving in unison, they seemed quite intimidating. But now that they were standing next to them, the announcer group could see that all four of these ponies were actually quite slender and pretty. Even with the hooved boots adding 4 inches to their height, the tallest was only 5'7".
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"Ponies, LEFT face!" All four ponies turned toward their Mistress as one, keeping their eyes straight ahead on the horizon, looking neither left nor right. Unlike humans, ponies do not need to look where they are going. They are guided - they follow the commands of the person controlling them.
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"Ponies kneel!" All four ponies knelt as one. They were well-trained ponies, and well-trained pony teams move in unison.
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“Thanh, Sandy, unleash my minions.”
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The Asian groom, apparently Thanh, quickly unlocked the coffle strip and withdrew it from the loops of their collars while the blonde groom moved down the line of ponies releasing their hands. Working ponies normally wear arm binders, but not tonight, these ponies had a different sort of work to do and they needed to use their hands to do it.
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Mistress Harriette looked down at them smiling. They had pulled that off perfectly and she was very pleased with them. Although none of them were aware of this, she was planning on putting a percentage of the revenue from this event into their peculiums. Her pleasure ponies normally received a percentage of the revenue that Harriette earned from selling their sexual services and they had been pulled from those duties for some time while being prepared for this display. It was only fair that they receive a cut of the earnings and Harriette was always scrupulously fair, even to her slaves.
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"Attend!" she commanded. All four ponies immediately turned their faces toward her and smiled. She was pleased with them, they could see it, and it made them happy.
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The slave announcer stepped forward to stand next to Harriette and squealed in delight. "They're so cute!"
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Harriette continued smiling down at her property and responded to the satin-clad slut, "No, they're evil. Usually they're just plain old cute, but tonight they're going to be cute AND evil." All four ponies immediately adopted stern expressions, but it just made them cuter, despite the black domino masks.
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"Oo! And I love their hair, that's cute, too! It looks just like Fallen Pop Star's hair. Did you know she tried to copyright that?" Each evil pony minion was wearing her mane in a high pony tail, much like the cum splattered former celebrity kneeling at the feet of the VIPs in the front row.
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“Ponies have manes," Harriette said, not bothering to look at the slut in the satin costume. Slaves did not wear clothing. It was forbidden. But if a slave needed work-related garb, it was permitted. Slave entertainers wore "costumes", not "clothing". The slave nurses were wearing sensible shoes with non-slip soles. The slut next to her was wearing high heels and a glamorous dress. She was an entertainer, and she needed to present an entertaining appearance. So it was permitted. "Sandy, bring me my torture devices.”
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The blonde groom quickly dropped to her knees, withdrew four leather spanking paddles from a canvas bag, and handed them to her Mistress.
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Kylie was perplexed, "Mistress, those are 'torture devices'? They look like table tennis paddles."
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Mistress Harriette bent down and kissed a pony on the forehead while bouncing one of her perky breasts with her hand. The belled nipple chimed merrily. The girl smiled sweetly up at her with her hands upraised to receive the paddle. Mistress Harriette was the all-powerful being at the center of her pony life. And now, now She was delegating Her Authority to this unworthy slave pony. The slave girl beamed with pride as the Mistress placed the paddle into her cupped hands.
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"Honey, these are pleasure ponies, their purpose in life is to be cute and sweet and carefree. It would be wrong to force them to actually harm someone. But they wanted to do their duty, so I will allow it."
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"It just seemed a bit weak and ineffective to..." Kylie began, then stopped. She had just questioned the judgement of a Slave-Mistress, in public, on television. Mistress Harriette stiffened, rose to her full height, and the slave girl realized that she had overstepped.
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"Silence!" Harriette commanded. "Smith, this slave is questioning my judgment! Do we need to demonstrate to her the effectiveness of my spanking paddles?"
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Smith got a delighted grin on his face. Suddenly he wasn't faking a smile for the cameras, he was actually enjoying this turn of events. "Why yes, Mistress Harriette," he exclaimed, emphasizing the title "Mistress". "I think we should definitely demonstrate the effectiveness of a spanking paddle on an impertinent slave. Hmm... I know! Slut! Bend over that chair and grab the handles!"
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As the frightened slave bent over the chair and grabbed the arm rests, Smith said to Harriette in a conversational tone, "You know, normally slaves are not permitted to use furniture, but I think that everyone can agree that this is one of the exceptions to the rule."
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Harriette nodded, contemplating the upturned red satin covered ass of the nervous slave girl. Two of the cameramen with shoulder-mounted cameras quickly positioned themselves to zoom in on the girl's fearful face and shapely bottom. Kylie was glad that at least the Mistress was going to spank her with her dress on and that her long hair would hide her face from the cameras in this position.
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Her confidence was mistaken. "Sandy!" the Mistress standing over her commanded.
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"Yes, Mistress?"
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"Put a pony-comb on her so her fans can see her face. She's about to get a spanking for insulting me and I want them to see it."
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"Yes, Mistress, right way!" The blonde pony groom quickly brushed Carlie's hair up into a mane and affixed it with a comb.
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"There we go, sweetie, don't we want the home audience to see how 'weak and ineffective' leather paddles are? After all, they look like tennis table paddles. Surely they can't hurt, can they?" Harriette gazed down at the eminently-spankable ass in front of her. She so enjoyed a good spanking, especially a taut and firm teenager's ass like this one.
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Her bed-slave Sandy's ass was also eminently spankable. Harriette enjoyed spanking her very much, even though she pretended not to. She always went with the "I really don't want to do this, but you need to learn discipline" speech, but it was entirely untrue and Sandy knew it. On the other hand, Sandy actually liked it when her Mistress spanked her, although she also pretended not to. It was one of those games that dominant and submissive lovers play. They had played this game before Sandy had been enslaved and they still played it in the privacy of Mistress's chambers.
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But now, people were looking. Sandy pretended to be frightened of the intimidating Mistress and asked in a fake-frightened voice, "Are you going to spank her now?" She was a terrible actress and it showed. But somehow it made the interaction more effective, not less.
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"I am, raise her skirt for me," Harriette responded, wedging her hip up against the slave announcer's silky-smooth and oh-so-firm hip.
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Sandy quickly complied and Kylie's last bastion of false modesty was eliminated. Her naked face and bare bottom were now exposed to millions of online viewers. The cameraman behind her zoomed in on her smooth and juicy vagina and the image appeared on the big viewing screens on the walls of the studio. A small silver disk bearing the logo of the Slavery Channel dangled from her clitoral-hood piercing and reflected the bright studio lights nicely, winking at the audience as it spun back and forth in her thigh gap. Kylie was sure that many of the online audience members were probably friends and family that she had known back in Cornhenge, Iowa before she had - filled with dreams of Hollywood stardom - enslaved herself to a "reputable" acting agency. Acting agency reputations in Hollywood were like a slave's modesty, entirely false fronts, quickly discarded. She had been evaluated and immediately re-sold to the Slave Channel.
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Kylie's first acting assignment had been a commercial for Purina Slave Chow and it had featured her naked on her hands and knees eating out of a bowl on the floor next to the family dog. It wasn't a great start on her rise to fame and fortune, but it could easily have been worse. This moment felt worse than that because she had managed to work her way up through the system of exploitation to the point where she normally wore costumes when on camera. Now she was about to be paddled bare-bottomed on live television. She hadn't even been spanked yet, and tears already started to form in the corners of her eyes.
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Harriette looked down at the slave girl's fully-exposed bottom and a tiny smile quirked the right corner of her mouth. She so loved the look of a naked girl's ass in her lap. Who doesn't? Kylie's bare bottom had perfectly-smooth unblemished skin, without the markings that free girls sometimes developed from their (unfortunate and unnecessary) freedom to sit on furniture. Each globe of her ass was nicely-formed and, displayed in this position, practically demanded to be spanked. Harriette wanted to spank the lovely girl with her bare hand. It was so much more intimate that way. But she was on national television and she had been challenged on the effectiveness of her spanking paddles, so that's what it would have to be. She glanced up at the Slavery Channel President and saw him nodding approval at this turn of events. Maybe he would let Harriette borrow the girl for the night. It had possibilities.
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Just when Kylie thought the embarrassment couldn't get any worse, it did. "Sandy, honey, remove her plug and clean it, we'll put it back in later." Kylie had forgotten that she was wearing a shining butt-jewel in her rectum. Gentle hands pried it out of her bottom and the home audience was treated to, in addition to their view of her bare and weeping pussy, a view into her gaping sphincter before it flexed closed. Mistress Harriette helpfully held the embarrassed slave girl's cheeks apart so the camera could get a clear shot. Kylie had been in Hollywood almost two years now, and although she had appeared mostly- or partly-nude many times, this was the first time she had been exposed in such an utterly dominated and sexualized position. Her initial two-year indenture was up in a few weeks, maybe she could go back to Cornhenge, Iowa and pick up the remaining pieces of...
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"Smack!" the leather spanking paddle hit her exposed right cheek and... "Smack!" she was hit on the left. The cameraman in front of her made a tight, professional smile as he captured the perfect shocked and open-mouthed expression on Kylie's face as the paddle stuck her sensitive bottom. A still-shot of her painted lips making a perfect "O" went up on the wall-screens. The cameraman behind her captured the rippling of her cheeks as they absorbed the impact of the "weak and ineffective" paddle. A slow motion shot of the rippling cheeks was quickly placed alongside her O-face on the walls. Apparently the paddles were neither weak nor ineffective in the hands of a skilled wielder. Mistress Harriette had spanked a lot of slave girls over the years and she was very skilled.
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"What do you think, Mr. Smith?" Harriette asked, "Do you think these paddles are weak and ineffective?" She began soothing the recently-smacked flesh by caressing them with the smooth leather paddle. It made future spanks more effective. And it was fun.
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"Hmm," replied thoughtfully, "perhaps we need another six spanks to be sure?" Although Mr. Smith was enjoying the spanking quite a bit, he wanted to keep the show moving.
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Mistress Harriette nodded and began swatting the girl efficiently. Sometimes she would spank the left cheek first, sometimes the right. Other times she would tense like she was bringing down another strike and then... not do it. The cameramen captured it all from close up.
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Finished paddling, Harriette placed one manicured finger on the girl's pierced clit. She rubbed it a bit as though checking for firmness. It was very firm. Someone was enjoying her spanking a little too much. Kylie shuddered a bit and wiggled in her grasp. Then the Mistress slid her finger along the girl's open pink slit, eliciting yet another shudder of pleasure. After gathering the moisture she found there, Harriette swirled it around the exterior of the slave girl's exposed pink sphincter, which was still partly open due the fact that Kylie had been plugged every day for the past two years.
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She then released the girl and told her to stand up. Kylie immediately began pulling her skirt down.
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“Stop!”
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Kylie froze in surprise, staring at Mistress Harriette. She realized that she had made yet another mistake. Mistress Harriette had pulled her skirt up. The Mistress had NOT pulled it back down and she had NOT ordered the slave girl to do so. This was getting worse and worse!
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Mr. Smith stepped in and rescued her. He needed to keep the show moving. This stupid slut was becoming a liability.
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"I've got this," he said. He plucked the disinfected butt jewel from Sandy's hand and ordered Kylie to open her mouth. He stuck the plug in the girl's mouth and ordered her to use her tongue on it. Because Sandy's cleaning and disinfecting of the plug had taken place off-camera, it appeared to the audience that the butt plug had just been removed from her rectum and the girl was now being forced to clean it with her tongue. Kylie had held it together during the brief spanking episode, but this humiliation was too much. Her eyes began to well up with tears of shame and, as Mr. Smith bent her over to re-plug her butt, they began to fall, streaking her makeup.
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Smith sighed, the slave announcer really WAS becoming a liability now. He smacked her exposed pink bottom and sent her into the back to freshen up.
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While he was doing this, Harriette finished distributing the torture devices and the row of ponies was kneeling at her feet holding them in their hands. The grooms were kneeling behind them. "Time to get this show moving, " he thought.
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He approached the Slave-Mistress and asked, "Now what?"
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Harriette looked up and gave him a sinister smile, then chuckled. "Well," she drawled, "there's a lo-ong and co-omplicated pro-ocess where we give instructions, assign targets, discuss technique and implementation..."
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Smith stared at her in horror. How long was this going to take?
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“Evil Pony Minions, ATTACK!" She smirked and turned back to Smith, "Or we can just send them off. Which do you prefer?”
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Giggling gleefully, the minions leaped up and raced over to the condemned men with their topknots and perky round pony-tailed bottoms bouncing. The four ponies positioned themselves with one on either side of each man and began paddling madly. They were terrible at it. There was no structure, no rhythm, they were just whaling away. It was extremely cute.
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“Sandy! Thanh! Get them under control! Two-by-two, just like we practiced!” Harriette commanded.
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The two grooms quickly got the rampaging minions under control and positioned them in pairs three steps behind the two men. Each pair of ponies held their assigned torture device in their inside hands. Thanh took charge, "Poppi, Oksana, you're up first!" she shouted. "Wind UP..." they began wind-milling their paddles like softball pitchers getting ready to throw an underhand fastball, "... and SPANK!"
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On command, the two ponies took three long strides forward clop-clop-clop-SMACK! For added visual appeal, they smiled brightly at the criminal's personal camera of shame, which had been positioned to capture every moment of his degradation. They also held up their outer arms in a "V-for-victory" salute. Knowing exactly what was coming, the cameraman in front of each criminal had set his lenses and filters just perfectly. The still photographs of that moment would become popular downloads on the Slavery Channel's website. On either side of the condemned man... pony girls in motion, manes swirling, eyes open and eager, belled breasts bouncing, naked and clean-shaven genitals exposed to the world. In between the two cheerful flying ponies, the condemned criminal, mouth open in shock and pain and... something else.
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It was too much. The penisillin had done its job. The vibrations from the spanking earlier had set a fire in his groin as they were transmitted through his body into his genitals... he erupted and the unforgiving camera's eye caught the first massive spurt of semen as it began to arc away from his body. Spotting the eruption, Poppi stopped and gently began stroking the criminal's penis, launching spurt after agonizing spurt of semen out of the man's body. Poppi was an expert at handling men's penises, as he had been a pony girl for two years now and had a lot of experience. He also knew that this was a medically-necessary procedure. If the penisillin patient didn't get it all out in one go, then bad things would happen, possibly including ruptured arteries, which could be fatal. Oksana assisted the milking process by giving the criminal rapid taps with her paddle on his reddening ass, sending stimulating vibrations through his body.
-
The condemned man didn't know any of this. All he knew was that he was being stroked and milked on national television by the creepy and disgusting tranny-futa-slave-pony-thing. This shameful knowledge didn't stop his orgasm, though. Maybe he had found his true calling.
-
After rushing up to discover what was occupying her evil minions, Thanh saw what they were doing and she approved. She looked around the hanging prisoner's body to see what her Mistress thought of it. She saw that the Mistress was approaching rapidly and Thanh's eyes widened in alarm.
-
“Excellent work, Thanh, keep that up!" she exclaimed, "Sandy! Do you see what she's doing there? Do the same with your prisoner!”
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Mistress Harriette had seen the effects of a penisillin treatment gone wrong before and didn't want one documented on live television. Penises spurting semen were fine, but penises spurting blood were an entirely different matter. This was a PG-13-rated show, after all.
-
Sandy sprang into action. "Daybreak, you're on spanking duty, give him tappity-taps, get those vibrations going! Meadow, you're on stroking duty, stroke him to orgasm gently, Mistress commands it!"
-
The two ponies moved to comply and soon the second prisoner was experiencing his own agonizing penicillin-enhanced orgasm. Meadow tried to point her assigned penis at the proper angle in order to match the distance of the other criminal's spurts, but she was defeated by the excessive upward-curvature of the man's cock. Instead, the semen arced too high and didn't match the distance achieved by the first prisoner. In the VIP seats and online, bets were settled and money changed hands. On the Slavery Channel, everything can be monetized, even the distance of slaves' ejaculations.
-
Once she was satisfied that there would be no penisillin-related medical emergency, Mistress Harriette gave new orders, "Back in positions everyone! Daybreak and Meadow, victory salute spank now!" They proceeded to perform the same victory salute spanking that Poppi and Oksana had done.
-
"Interns!" Harriette shouted. Two excited teenage girls wearing clothing ran out from behind the curtain carrying buckets. They were local college freshmen that Harriette had selected to perform this role. She had attempted to recruit both of them as dressage ponies, but their parents had vetoed the idea and they went to college instead. It was a clear waste of talent, although Harriette was willing to accept it... for now.
-
But Harriette Valdez doesn't forget a pretty face. When she needed a couple of photogenic young girls for this broadcast, she immediately thought of Susan and Sharon. They were fraternal twins with red-orange hair who looked very much alike. Those attributes were big selling points in the pony business and Harriette still hoped to add them to her herd.
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Both interns were wearing figure-hugging emerald minidresses, just like real Hollywood starlets! But unlike real starlets, the pale skin of their slender throats was unoccupied by anything that might be construed as a collar. Several calculating minds in the studio audience began plotting to change that. Their hair and makeup had been done by the Slavery Channel professionals. When they arrived at the studio with their parents, they were separated from them and ushered backstage. The parents were guided to the VIP bleachers and given complimentary drinks and hors d'oeuvres.
-
Back stage, the girls' appearance had been evaluated and deemed acceptable - for a high school prom. But not for a nation-wide broadcast. The Slave Channel's expert staff sprang into action. The girls were stripped and placed in chairs. Their hair and makeup had been completely redone. New dresses were selected for them. Their expensive calf-length Costco-brand cocktail dresses were now hanging on a rack in the wardrobe department awaiting their return. So was their underwear. It is possible that they may never wear underwear again. Or dresses. Time will tell.
-
Susan and Sharon waved to their parents in the bleachers as they ran past. Running in high heels and skin-tight dresses had a fascinating effect on their shapely bottoms and steely-eyed professional cameramen made sure to zoom in on the captivating sight. Purely because it was good cinema, of course. Not because they were nursing hard-ons or anything. They were professionals.
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Each girl held a bucket of props. The duo ran up to Mistress Harriette. They were both so excited to appear on national television! And wearing such scandalous dresses! They knew that all of their friends were watching them as they appeared in such a glamorous venue, wearing sexy makeup, with their hair professionally done by Hollywood glamour artists. They had spent hours with their mom preparing for this event, but none of that had mattered. The Hollywood professionals had quickly stripped them of their clothing, put them in chairs, covered them in entirely see-through plastic capes and set to work immediately. It had been terrifying and embarrassing for both of them, but no one had paid their visible-displayed charms any mind as they set to work. The sight of naked starlets meant nothing to them, they were pros, and lewdly-exposed girls were normal for them, they had jobs to do.
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Susan was quite certain that her makeup artist was a homosexual, so nudity and immorality were probably part of his nature anyway. He seemed really sweet though, so it made her sad that his soul was destined for Hell. Maybe Daddy could help? He had a really successful anti-gay counseling program.
-
Deacon John Maisie leaned back in his chair while his wife stiffened in outrage next to him. He calmed her simple feminine mind with some gentle back-rubbing, enjoying the feel of her soft skin beneath the thin material of her dress. He knew that sex with his wife tonight would be especially exciting for him after watching one of his favorite ponies, Poppi, prancing about under the bright studio lights. That's why he had reserved a hotel room so that he could sodomize his wife Sarah right after the show. She wasn't aware of that yet, but she soon would be.
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Harriette had a policy of selling her transgender ponies after two years, so he knew she would be selling Poppi soon. Fortunately, Tulip was coming along nicely and John had just managed this week to finally cram his entire cock down the pony's throat. The boy had vomited afterward in spite of having had his gag reflex suppressed with a numbing agent, but throat training took time. Deacon Maisie was patient and was willing to sacrifice whatever time it took to assist the boy in reaching spiritual salvation.
-
But right now, his wife was upset about his daughters' appearance, so he paid attention to it. "What was the silly cunt thinking?" he thought. Of course the Slavery Channel wasn't going to allow a couple of nubile 18-yr-olds appear on a show wearing flowing calf-length gowns! This was going to happen anyway, which was why he hadn't been willing to allow her to spend her allowance at the more expensive JC Penney dress shop.
-
Sighing, he leaned forward and whispered into his wife's ear, "Don't worry, honey, we can have them change back into the more appropriate dresses before the after party."
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“Oh!" she replied, "Umm, I didn't know we were staying for the after party.”
-
“Yes, of course," Deacon Maisie told her as he trickled his finger up her back toward the bright orange hair that all of his daughters had inherited and began stroking her neck. "I've also reserved a hotel room for just the two of us.”
-
“Okay, honey, but we'll need someplace for the girls though, I don't want them taking a cab home, it's not safe.”
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John nodded thoughtfully. Under the current legal-slavery regime, it really wasn't safe for 18-yr-old prime-graded girls to be out and about in the world without chaperones. "Hmm," he said, nuzzling her ear, "suppose we ask Harriette to take them in hand and ensure their safety? Otherwise, the best solution is to hire someone to stand guard outside their hotel room. Or do you prefer that they share our room with us? But if we did that, it might cut down on this evenings' activities. I had planned to... sodomize you tonight," he said seductively.
-
At the sound of the forbidden word, an erotic thrill ran through the woman's body. Her Husband wanted to sodomize her! It was so wrong and immoral and a good girl like herself shouldn't do it... but a wife needs to obey her Husband and Master, so she would submit. Submission to one's Husband was natural. It was right and just. She just needed to obey.
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“Mmm..." she moaned, responding to his ministrations, "I agree, why don't you ask her to take care of it so we can have some 'Daddy Time'?”
-
“Actually, why don't we wait until after this punishment session? Harriette and I have a plan. I'll give you the details later, then we can go down to the ponies' break room and set things in motion.”
-
As the cheerfully-unsuspecting teens approached Mistress Harriette, she smiled in greeting and then pointed to two slave mats on the floor in front of her. "Knees!" she commanded and both teens immediately sank to their knees on the mat, just like any slave girl would do when given that command. The Texas public school system's mandatory slave yoga classes had programmed them to act like obedient slaves without thought and they dropped to their knees without hesitation.
-
But "obeying without question" is not the same as "not questioning", and both girls suddenly realized that they had instantly and simultaneously obeyed a slave command. And that they had done so before hundreds of thousands of witnesses. Although involuntary enslavements for "self enslavement syndrome" were rare, they did occur from time to time and they had both just provided damning evidence for such a lawsuit.
-
Seeing the sudden looks of apprehension and understanding on their faces, Harriette quickly distracted them. "All right prop interns, what have you brought me?" she asked.
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They quickly displayed their wares and Harriette decided. "Flags first!" The gleeful spanking ponies then performed their dual-spank move holding various combinations of props in their free hands - flags, pom-poms, sparklers, and pinwheels - toys that kids might play with running around the yard on a Sunday afternoon. It was extremely un-torture-like. Everyone had a lot of fun and the Slavery Channel cameramen got a lot of great shots of the cheerful spanking ponies.
-
Sharon also got her first up-close view of an erect penis. One of the pony girls had a penis! And it was erect! Every time the pony came up to her bucket for more props, he stood next to her. Since she was kneeling on the floor, his erection was very close to her face and it kept distracting her. It had never occurred to her that she might see an actual penis from close up before her marriage. She had seen many naked slaves around town of course, but this was a new experience for her. At one point, she noticed a glistening drop of clear liquid protruding from the hole at the end, "Is that what semen looks like?" she asked herself.
-
While Sharon was being distracted by her eye-level view of Poppi's erection, Susan was also getting an eyeful. Her two ponies were named Meadow and Daybreak. Sharon thought that under different circumstances, they might have become friends. Both girls were extremely cute and cheerful and they just seemed so bubbly and happy. It wasn't the image that Sharon had previously held of slavery. These two girls, who were probably no more than 19 or 20, didn't seem oppressed or miserable in the least. When the two ponies sprang to their feet and stood in front of Sharon to applaud the latest spank, Sharon noticed a couple other things that she hadn't realized. One was that the ponies' tails were not actually attached to their harnesses. It was puzzling, but they seemed to spring directly from their round bottoms. "I wonder how they're fastened?" she thought. Perhaps she could ask. After all, that's the only way you learn about new things, you ask questions.
-
Sharon also noticed that each girl had the HH brand on her left glute. Sharon had heard about branding and thought it was terribly cruel, but her Father had explained to her that it was actually for their own protection. It was far easier to steal an unbranded slave and, because stolen slaves couldn't legally be sold by any licensed slave merchant in the country, they almost always ended up exported to foreign countries where slavery was a permanent and sometimes fatal condition. It was a frightening thought.
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The cameramen and the studio audience were also enjoying interesting views. The cameras were able to get several high-resolution shots of the two kneeling interns' bottoms as they reached into their buckets. Since neither girl had ever worn such a tight dress - or one so short - they didn't think to take care of their hemlines, which slowly rose over the course of the event to expose their pantyless bottoms and ginger-furred vaginas. The cameramen took full advantage of the oversight, but the show's producer ensured that the resulting crotch shots only appeared on the wall screens behind the two girls. He didn't want them distracted from their important toy-distribution task.
-
Observing the salacious spectacle, Deacon Maisie, the interns' father, chuckled ruefully and thought to himself, "Yep, there will have to be spankings tonight. There's my excuse." Mrs. Maisie simply fumed.
-
He turned to her and said, "Honey, I think that the girls need to be taught a lesson in modesty tonight, don't you?" She simply pressed her lips together and nodded back, unable to tear her eyes away from the big screens showing her daughters' exposed treasures to the world.
-
Once Harriette was satisfied that the Slavery Channel had enough spanking pictures for the edited version of the show, she ordered the two grooms to coffle the minions. Since there were only two grooms, they first captured and coffled one pair while the other two ran about in circles waving their toys in the air. But soon all four had been returned to their original 4-pony coffle bondage.
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Thanh attached a guide rod to the lead pony and ordered "One-two, prance in PLACE!" The four minions began to prance in unison, making their topknots, belled breasts and round bottoms bounce in unison. The mobile cameramen quickly repositioned themselves to take in the erotic display.
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"Three-four... on the guide... ADVANCE!" shouted Thanh as she began leading the 4-pony coffle in a circuit around the studio, slowly picking up speed. As they passed the bleachers, she commanded "Eyes left, smile brightly!" and all four ponies turned their smiling faces toward the bleachers as they pranced past.
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Human pony enthusiasts in the audience were impressed by the display. Not only were all four ponies moving in perfect unison, they were looking to their left while the diminutive groom led them in a wide circle curving to the right. Such a maneuver required the utmost precision training and mutual trust and they pulled it off perfectly. Harriette's reputation as an expert trainer - already stellar - rose even higher.
-
After a second and faster pass, Thanh led them through the curtains back stage to thunderous applause.
-
Susan and Sharon took in the Minions' victory lap from their mats at Mistress Harriette's feet. When they had initially started to get to their feet, Harriette commanded them to stay down for the victory lap. They quickly returned to their knees without arguing, like the obedient girls that they were.
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As soon as the minions were gone, Harriette ordered the twins to rise to their feet. "Pull your skirts down, honeys."
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Both of the fair-skinned redheads instantly blushed bright red as they realized that their skirts had ridden up. They pulled their hemlines down frantically, hoping that no one had noticed. It was too little, too late. It had been noticed and their school and church friends were already trading screenshots. Others had helpfully forwarded those same screenshots to their mother's phone and their own phones which were being held in their mother's purse for safekeeping while they were onstage. There would be consequences later, but for the moment they remained blissfully unaware.
-
Once they had restored their (entirely real) modesty, Harriette escorted the bucket-carrying duo out of the studio. They had wanted to stay and watch the rest of the show with their parents in the bleachers, but Harriette forbade it, telling them that "The rest of the show features sodomy and whipping. It's not proper for young ladies of quality to be exposed to such things." It was the right tack to take, as both of them fundamentally identified as "proper young ladies of quality".
-
Harriette escorted them out of the studio with a girl on either side. She guided them with a manicured hand possessively cupping each girl's stretch-satin-covered ass. Harriette had a special place in her heart for athletic girls wearing tight, stretchy clothing. Who doesn't? She frequently dressed her bed-slave Sandy in snug athletic shorts in the privacy of her chambers. She was especially fond of seeing Sandy dressed solely in lycra boy shorts that produced a nicely-pronounced camel toe. It was Sandy's preference for such shorts that had first brought her to Harriette's attention before her enslavement, back when Sandy had been working on the ranch as a paid employee. Maybe Sandy would be able to wear clothing and earn paychecks again some day.

ZeeChromosome · Post by **ZeeChromosome** » Sun Oct 03, 2021 4:22 pm

As the trio entered the break room where the ponies were, they saw that all four ponies were resting on kneeling mats along one wall. Thanh and Sandy were watering them. All of them were smiling with their hands unbound and folded in their laps. A large, scary-looking cowboy with a Wyatt Earp mustache was sitting at a card table looking at his phone. He looked up as they entered the room. Harriette reluctantly released the twins' bottoms and pointed to the the two unoccupied slave mats at the end of the row of ponies, "Knees, please," she ordered. The twins looked at one another in surprise. They were both still a little bit uneasy about how quickly they had obeyed Mistress Harriette's earlier slave commands on camera. But Scary Cowboy was sitting on the only chair in the room and at least Harriette had said "please," so it really wasn't a slave command, was it? They wordlessly shrugged and went to kneel next to the ponies. Being a twin had some advantages, one of which was that they always knew what the other was thinking and both were thinking that submitting to the authority of Mrs. Valdez was a good idea.
-
Once she finished chatting with Caleb, which was apparently the scary cowboy's name, he left the room on an errand of some sort. He returned later carrying a large plastic bin. Ms. Valdez picked up the chair and moved it to a spot in front of the four kneeling ponies, gracefully crossing her stocking-clad legs at the ankle. Caleb, seeing that his chair had been usurped, simply shrugged and leaned against a wall.
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"Attend," she began, even though the ponies were already watching her closely. "First, I wanted to tell you that you pulled that off perfectly..." all four ponies smiled in delight, "and also to inform you that I owe you a debt." This seemed to confuse them until she continued.
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"Since the four of you have spent so much time training for this event over the past few weeks, your earnings have dropped off significantly." Now they seemed genuinely worried. Harriette loved all of her ponies, but she was a businesswoman and a slaver first and foremost, and she did not hesitate to sell an unproductive or disobedient pony.
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"However," she continued, "You have now participated in today's atonement session, which should bring in significant revenue for the Ranch. And therefore, a portion of today's earnings should be attributed to your hard work. That means that once the Slave Channel pays me, a percentage of the revenue will go into your peculiums." This seemed to make the ponies happy, and there was much smiling and glancing at one another to share that happiness.
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Sharon's hand shot up, like a small child in class.
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Harriette looked over at her and said, "You may speak."
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"Umm, what's a peculium?" she asked.
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“'Peculium' is a Latin word, is basically means "slave purse." It's money held in trust for the slave by their owner until they finish their indenture. Alternatively, it can be used to shorten that indenture. All my slaves have one and they all receive a percentage of the revenue that they generate for the ranch. Since these hard-working and obedient ponies have not been able to service as many clients as they normally do, their earnings have decreased lately. Hopefully the Slavery Channel's payment will help make up for that, or even exceed it. I don't know yet, as it's based on audience share, viewer downloads, and things like that. Not every slave owner sets up a peculium for their slaves, but I do and I'm quite serious about it.”
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The twins looked at one another again, sharing the same thought. Mrs. Valdez was clearly putting them on the same level as her pony slaves, but the slaves were getting paid for their work and Susan and Sharon - both of whom were free women - were unpaid interns! It was hardly fair.
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“Listen, you two," Harriette continued, "if you had taken the indenture offer I made you a few weeks ago, you would have received a share of today's profits as well.”
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Now Susan spoke up. "Daddy said 'no', and besides, don't you force the ponies to have sex with people? We're supposed to be virgins when we get married and give our virginities to our husbands in our marriage bed."
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Harriette nodded. "I know, and your father was right to refuse my offer. I needed to make it anyway. You're both beautiful, you've been graded prime, you're near-identical twins, and you're redheads. All these things make you a very valuable property in the pony business. So I had to try. Also, you did seem genuinely interested in the dressage ponies."
-
She was right. Their parents had taken them to a number of dressage events and both girls had been entranced by the beautiful prancing ponies with their graceful moves and erotic exposure. It had secretly thrilled both of them to see it. At least, it HAD been a secret until their mother, who always ruined everything, had caught them tied together with a clothesline practicing what they imagined to be "dressage moves."
-
After some angry shouting, their parents had then shocked them by taking them to the HH Ranch, where Harriette shocked them further by proceeding to offer them a 4-year dressage pony enslavement contract. Four years as a slave? In exchange for being able to be so glamorous, to be the center of attention for thousands of fans, while naked? It had been terribly tempting. But what about their virginities? They needed to deliver those safely to their future husbands on their wedding night! They were planning a double wedding, it was going to be so romantic and they were both going to wear matching white gowns and lace veils and have flowers and... their fingers twitched toward the HH Ranch logoed pens on the signing table.
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"I forbid it," their Father has said in a Voice Of Finality (your father had one, too, admit it). And that was the end of that. Or so they thought.
-
Weeks later, they had come home with their mother from a chaperoned outing with the Church youth group and discovered their Father sitting at the kitchen table having a friendly chat with Mrs. Valdez. She needed their help. She was planning a show on the Slavery Channel and she needed two respectable girls of quality to be interns on the show. And now they were here and having so much fun! All their friends were going to be so jealous of them when they saw them again. They would have been frantically checking their phones right now, but both phones were in their mother's purse. Starlets didn't carry purses any more than they wore underwear. Being twins, their thoughts followed the same path. They gave each other a glance and carefully scooched their inadequate hemlines down a bit further.
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Just then, their parents walked in. Well, Father walked in, mother stormed in. "You two!" she started, causing them to reflexively leap to their feet and adopt the penitent position, eyes down, hands clasped in front of themselves at their waists. No positive conversation with their mother had ever started with that phrase.
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Behind mother, Father turned to the only other man in the room - Poppi didn't count - and said, "Hey Caleb, want to go grab a Coke at the bar?"
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Caleb glanced over at the angry woman and wisely nodded his head. "Yeah," he said, "I'm feelin' a bit parched." He then shifted his gaze to Ms. Harriette, who had risen from her chair. She nodded at him and he immediately headed for the door. In Caleb's life experience, nothing good ever came out of being in a room containing angry women.
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At the door, Deacon Maisie turned and said, "Honey, give me a call when you're ready for us to come back."
-
His wife was standing with her hands on her hips, glaring angrily at her daughters. She quickly turned about and shook her phone at him. "Call you? Call you?" she shouted, while brandishing the phone. "You want me to call you with THIS phone? This one right here, this... this... CONTAMINATED phone? Have you seen the PICTURES they've been sending me?"
-
Deacon Maisie, Church authority figure, Lord and Master of his household... nodded and scooted out the door with a relieved sigh. It was best to let his wife handle the girls. He made the rules that controlled his daughters' lives, she enforced them.
-
As the deacon and the cowboy scurried away from the sounds of angry women, the elevator door that they were hoping to escape into binged and opened, revealing Deacon Maisie's superior, Parson Jon Goins. Beside him was his wife, Mrs. Goins. Like Mrs. Maisie, she was holding her booping and buzzing phone with a white-knuckled grip and wore a furious scowl on her face. Ignoring her husband, she stomped her way out of the elevator and barked at Deacon Maisie, "Where are they!?!"
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They told her and the three men watched her fury-stomp her way down the hall. The deacon spoke first, "Jon, we were just going to get some cokes at the bar, care to join us?"
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Parson Goins chuckled deep in his chest before responding. "Yeah, except make mine a whiskey, I have a feeling we're going to need liquid courage tonight." The three men were soon ensconced safely in a secluded booth at the hotel bar. There were no angry women nearby, and the atmosphere was quite soothing. Both the deacon and the parson seemed to be more familiar than one might expect with Boss Caleb, a man who worked at what was essentially an open-air slave brothel. The truth of the matter was that the two religious leaders had been "counseling" the Ranch's slave boys for years now. These counseling sessions were actually quite beneficial to the boys, which is why Harriette encouraged it. It was also helpful that they were paying customers and the Church always paid on time.
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Parson Goins sipped his whiskey and sighed. "John, I'm thinking of going golfing tomorrow morning. What do you think?"
-
The deacon nodded thoughtfully. "I think that's a good idea. Hey Caleb, do you think we could fit in a round of golf tomorrow if we each provide a mare to pull our bags for us?"
-
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
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Back in the slave break room, events proceeded apace. Right now, four women were locked in an angry stare-down.
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On the one side, two Church matrons wearing modest calf-length dresses. On the other side, two teenage girls wearing slinky starlet dresses. All four women had their hands on their hips. The matrons were both glaring with angry authority at the two teens, who stared back in defiance.
-
The angry voices had stopped and Mrs. Maisie, the mother of the two girls, was trying to calm things down. "The wardrobe tech is on her way here with your gowns. Once you get them back, you can change into more appropriate clothing. Then you can wait here and attend the after party. All right?"
-
Mollified, the girls nodded. They felt like they had done nothing wrong, but here they were being accused of intentionally flashing national television with their bare bottoms... and vaginas.
-
Off to one side, Harriette sat in her chair enjoying the show. Beside her the ponies and grooms had joined their respective kneeling mats together and were slumped over in a pony-pile, resting. Although Harriette's ponies were nominally only in pony-mode for 8 hours per day, they never really knew when those hours would be, so they napped whenever possible. It was likely that tonight was going to be a very long night of providing sexual services to VIP guests at the after party, so napping was a good idea.
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Harriette looked over at them, smiling fondly. She had removed their concealing headgear and could see their peaceful young faces as they napped in a tangled pile of smooth hairless limbs. She might be a slaver, but she truly did care for her charges. Two of these ponies would be leaving her soon for new owners and she was going to miss them. Her phone booped and she looked at it and then poked Thanh awake.
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Thanh quickly rose to her knees beside the pony-pile. Harriette leaned over and told her "Here it comes, keep an eye on things here in the corner in case I get called away."
-
Thanh nodded silently. She was always amazed at the elaborate machinations that Harriette went through to convince pretty girls with bright futures to voluntarily enslave themselves to her. Although Thanh's own enslavement had been extremely traumatic and involuntary, she appreciated a good voluntary enslavement plot. Part of it was perhaps schadenfreude as she watched formerly-haughty and oh-so-superior free girls fall prey to the nefarious plans of their elders. The only question she had was the role of Mrs. Goins. Although Thanh had seen Mrs. Maisie, pony name "Old Red Mare", trotting about the Ranch on full pony regalia many times, she hadn't seen Mrs. Goins before. Was she just here to add pressure on the twins, or was she also a target of the plot?
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Struck by the thought, Thanh began to critically evaluate the physical attributes of the parson's wife. Thanh was approaching her 23rd birthday and the end of her five-year indenture. Mrs. Goins looked to be about... 20 years older than she was? Like Thanh, she had thick, straight ebony hair. It was hard for Thanh to judge its length as it was in a bun, but it was likely mid-back or even waist-length. It was probably lovely when it was down, thought Thanh. On the other hand, it would also look quite fetching in a pony hairstyle - either put up in a topknot or pulled back in a mane-comb. Physically, she looked good for her age, although she could look better. Even though both of the Church matrons were wearing modest calf-length dresses, it was clear to Thanh that Mrs. Maisie's regular regimen of pony-training had made her much more physically fit. "It's amazing what a few weeks of pony chow and cart training can do to cellulite," she thought.
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A calculating smile crossed her features and she glanced up at Mistress Harriette while cocking an eyebrow. Mistress gave her own half-smile and looked down at the inquisitive groom. "Shh," she whispered to the kneeling slave while massaging the back of her neck, "Soon. Let it play out, all the pieces are already in motion."
-
Thanh nodded with determination. The ponies were now her responsibility. Mistress Harriette would be distracted for a bit and She needed Thanh to be here to protect them.
-
Thanh had failed these particular ponies before. A little over three months ago, a rowdy group of Ivy League college students led by Fratboy and Chloe had come to the Ranch and... misbehaved. Sweet, 98-pound, 18-yr-old Meadow had had a near-fatal amount of alcohol poured down her throat. Kind, gentle Daybreak had been pinned down on a splintery old picnic table and used savagely, resulting in multiple bleeding and painful splinters and lacerations.
-
Thanh had been taking the Golden Hammer, the Ranch's most powerful pony stallion, on a morning jog when she encountered the scene. Pony collars prevent ponies from using intelligible speech, but they don't prevent moaning or screaming. As Thanh drove Hammer's training cart up to the remote picnic area, she saw and heard several things that sent chills down her spine and set off all of her alarms for danger. The disturbing sight of Meadow's pale, unmoving legs sticking out of some tall weeds where she had collapsed or been tossed aside... Daybreak's anguished face as an inexperienced and uncaring sodomizer rammed himself into her repeatedly... the bloody scratches covering Daybreak's slender torso. Thanh thumbed the emergency beacon on her walkie-talkie without hesitation, tossed it into the tall grass, and leapt out of her cart seat to put a stop to it.
-
Her heroic charge was an utter failure. Of course it was. She was a slave girl. She had no rights, she had no authority of her own, she didn't even have humanity. She weighed 102 pounds. The five men grabbed her, pinned her to a breeding bench on her back, and bound her tightly. But all was not lost. Daybreak had been released and slowly crept over to Meadow's side. Daybreak's hands were still bound behind her back, so there was nothing she could do for the fallen pony, but at least they were together now. The walkie-talkie was in the tall grass somewhere, broadcasting its emergency signal. Help was on the way, Thanh just needed to endure. If a veteran slave learned anything at all, it was how to endure.
-
As she was slammed down on the bench, she had managed to turn her head to see what Hammer was doing and was relieved to see him walking away. The Hammer was... volatile. The safety and well-being of Mistress Harriette's prize stallion was Thanh's primary responsibility and she had committed a serious beach of slave discipline in trying to rescue a few relatively-inexpensive pleasure ponies instead. She saw him jogging away by himself in the direction of the next watering hole before her vision was occluded by a sweaty, blood-and-shit-covered cock that was then rammed into her mouth. Then she was looking up at Fratboy's leering face as he slammed himself into her unprepared rectum in a single powerful thrust. Sunlight... daylight... white light... she screamed.
-
Back in the present, she shuddered, eyes open wide and seeing nothing. It was Mistress Harriette's reassuring touch that brought her back.
-
“Shh, shh, honey, it's all right. That was a bad one, wasn't it?”
-
Wordlessly, Thanh nodded.
-
Harriette leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Just remember... after tonight it will never happen again. Fratboy is experiencing the joys of anal sex right now at the hands of the Sheriff's deputies and their chromium steel strapons. We're going to whip him in a few minutes. Everyone will know that I protect what is mine and what I do to those who harm my property."
-
Just then the door banged open and a women entered the room. She wore a Slave Channel logoed polo shirt and carried a clipboard. Although the break room was technically a dressing room, she didn't bother to knock. Slaves have no right to privacy. "Hi, I'm Marcie from props, I believe you have..." she began before Mrs. Maisie rounded on her.
-
"Where are the dresses?" she demanded.
-
"Oh yeah, that... I checked and we already disposed of them."
-
The twins' mouths popped open in surprise, but one fierce look from their mother kept them from saying anything.
-
"And can you tell me why the new dresses that I just bought with my own money were disposed of?" she asked in a tone of voice that made liquid helium seem like a pleasant afternoon beverage.
-
The woman shrugged and responded, "Because they were on the disposal rack. Everyone just assumed that they were going to be signing starlet contracts and we figured they didn't need clothing any more because they would be leaving here naked and collared..."
-
She was about to continue, but Mrs. Maisie held up her hand to silence her and looked inquiringly at her daughters.
-
Suddenly the defiance leaked out of them and they looked very abashed.
-
Susan spoke first, "Well, umm, you see mom, we talked to a talent scout and..."
-
Sharon finished the sentence in a rush, "And nothing happened, we didn't sign anything, Caleb came in and said 'That ain't happening' and brought us down here."
-
Their mother just stared at them for a few agonizing moments and then spoke again. "I see, and this so-called 'talent scout' handed you a contract?" Her tone of voice hadn't warmed in the slightest. The girls nodded, now looking extremely embarrassed. "I see, and did he hand you a pen?"
-
"Well yeah, Mom, that's how you sign contracts..."
-
"Quiet! I know how to sign contracts! I also know when it's a profoundly stupid thing to do!' she snapped at them. She looked at Mrs. Goins, who had remained silent while Mrs. Maisie chastised her daughters. "What do you think?" she asked.
-
Mrs. Goins continued to stare stonily at the two girls. "I think they need to be taught a lesson," she said.
-
"Agreed," Mrs. Maisie responded, then turned to the prop manager and addressed her, "Marcie, was it? I assume you're here to take these two jezebel costumes?"
-
Marcie smiled and nodded.
-
"Good! They never should have put these on in the first place!" Mrs. Maisie declared.
-
"But Mom, they told us to!"
-
"Then you should have told them 'no'. Now strip!"
-
"But Mom!" they protested simultaneously while looking around frantically for support. There was no support. Not in this room.
-
"It's fine, we're all girls here, it's no different from stripping in the girls locker rooms or when you and your little friends practiced slave yoga in the nude when you thought we didn't know about it... now strip!"
-
Huffing and sighing in protest, the two teenagers reluctantly shimmied out of the satin starlet dresses and stood their arms and hands covering their breasts and unshorn copper-colored bushes. Harriette smiled at the sight. One of the reasons she personally preferred fair-skinned girls was because their blushes were so intensely obvious. Even the skin between their breasts was turning a bright rosy pink. Fortunately, there was no place for the girls to hide or they might have panicked and run off. Instead, they just stood there blushing furiously.
-
"Nice fire-crotches" commented Marcie as she scooped up the costumes and left the room.
-
"Mom, how are we supposed to get home now?"
-
"Don't worry, I've arranged for transportation. Harriette?"
-
Harriette was arranging twin stacks of paper on the table across the room. Both matrons went over and started having a discussion with her in low tones. The girls couldn't hear what they were saying, but Mrs. Goins initially seemed quite distressed although was eventually brought around to support whatever it was that they were doing. She even turned around to give the girls a triumphant and malicious look before turning back to the pile of documents on the table.
-
"What are they doing?" whispered Sharon, "are they going to transport us home like slaves, naked in a cage or something?" Susan didn't respond, as she was suddenly imagining herself crouched in a steel cage on the back of a trailer or pickup truck roaring down the highway, exposed to the lusting views of all the passing drivers. All her life she had been locked in a chaperoned modesty prison of ankle-length dresses and hawk-eyed hovering matrons. She was stifled, her twin sister was stifled. They couldn't breathe.
-
During their senior year in high school, the first crack in the prison walls opened up. During their mandatory slave yoga classes sponsored by the Church, they could imagine themselves surrendering their modesty to their future husbands and suddenly they could breathe again. They became devoted practitioners of the art, even taking up the school's offer of additional training classes. Not only was it a great physical fitness and flexibility regimen, it allowed them to briefly fantasize about their sexual future instead of simply focusing on projecting an image of being non-sexual creatures in the present.
-
That was what had attracted them to the dressage pony competitions. The ponies were sexual beings with zero modesty. They were slaves and slaves had no modesty at all. It was not permitted. They were beautiful and glamorous as they pranced around the arena, moving with trained grace and style, sexually exposed for all the world to see. They might have been imprisoned in leather bondage, but they were free of the invisible modesty chains that Susan and Sharon wore on their own bodies. That was the second crack in the walls of the modesty prison.
-
The third crack was tonight, when they had run out on the studio floor wearing emerald satin mini dresses. The kind that real starlets wore every day. It had been so thrilling to hear the approval of the crowd as they ran out from behind the curtain, braless and bouncing, clad in nothing but a single piece of skintight stretch satin that went nowhere near their ankles.
-
The two girls' thoughts, as always, had run in parallel. They looked at one another and then, with triumphant smiles, folded their arms beneath their breasts, exposing their charms to the room. Witnessing the defiant display, Thanh giggled and gave them both a thumbs-up. She was going to have SO much fun playing with them this weekend.
-
Finally the ladies seemed satisfied. Mrs. Maisie turned around and summoned her wayward daughters forward and indicated the two stacks of paper on the table. "These are contracts for a weekend of dressage pony training... with you two as the ponies. They're "Free In Name Only" contracts. That means that you're not actually a slave, but you will be treated as one for the next 48 hours. You wanted a taste of slavery, your Father and I are giving you your wish. I am acting with his authority here. If you are concerned with losing your virginities - as you SHOULD be - then don't be. The contract contains a rider that specifies that neither one of you will have vaginal intercourse during the next 48 hours. Your virginities will remain intact for your future husbands to claim on your wedding night. The penalty clause in this contract is $50,000 each. Mrs. Valdez isn't going to take any chances. Your Father and I will arrive on Sunday afternoon with clothing for each of you and then we will go home. If anyone asks us regarding your whereabouts, you are both on a "penitential spiritual retreat" as punishment for your shameful display out there on the studio floor. I will keep your phones in my purse until then. Any questions?"
-
"Fifty thousand dollars? You're keeping our phones!" The girls were shocked.
-
Mrs. Valdez answered the first question, "It's the going price for the virginity of a prime-graded pleasure slave. Don't worry, I have no intention of auctioning off your hymens. I've actually had quite a number of virgin FINO slaves at the HH and all went home with their virginities intact."
-
“You can auction off a girl's virginity?”
-
Harriette smiled at them. It was not a reassuring smile. "Yes I can, I've done it before and I'll do it again. But not in your case, sign here."
-
She handed them HH-logoed pens and they both signed, scowling at everyone. They really DID want to at least try to be dressage ponies, but they had originally imagined doing it while wearing spandex exercise gear. That's how the under-18 dressage ponies did it. Maybe they would be provided with leotards at the ranch?
-
Harriette looked at her phone. "Normally I would tell you to strip right now, but you've already taken care of that for me," she said drily. She then pointed at their mats and commanded "Knees!" The two naked girls rushed over to the mats and got on their knees. The full magnitude of what they had just done hadn't quite hit them just yet. They would be learning more about that throughout the evening. Once they were both on the mats, Harriette commanded "Collar!" and both girls obediently bent their slender necks and raised their hair up, clearing them to be collared.
-
Thanh came up with two custom-made and rhinestone-decorated white leather pony collars and offered them to her Mistress. Harriette shook her head and said "I think that these two helpful chaperones should handle that."
-
The women quickly reached for the collars and secured them around the kneeling teenagers' necks. They closed with a loud simultaneous double-click that seemed to reverberate through the quiet room, echoing off the cinderblock walls and linoleum flooring.
-
Mrs. Maisie stared down at her two youngest daughters in shock. The four of them had arrived here as a happy, well-dressed, Godly family that others must have envied. And now her beautiful daughters had been stripped and collared and... she herself had done it. She had sold her daughters onto slavery. She needed to save them!
-
"Harriette?" she said, realizing that Mrs. Valdez was headed for the door, "Do you have a key for these collars?"
-
"Yes, I do," Harriette responded, "See you at the after party." And then she walked out the door.
-
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
-
Back in the Studio
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
-
Mr. Smith watched the final victory lap of the Evil Pony Minions and smiled a genuine smile. So many of these atonement shows were the boring same-old, same-old. This had been new and original and he'd really enjoyed it. Maybe he would renew his employment contract this year. He said that to himself every year. Then he always did.
-
Slave announcer Kylie, newly returned from freshening up, marched past him, microphone held high in front of her, headed toward Sheriff Donovan. Something was off about her tonight and it worried him. He knew that her initial self-indenture contract was ending soon and sometimes this happened. Starlets foolishly started thinking that they would be free women soon and they started to lose focus and become unpredictable. Smith had seen it many times. He had also seen what the Slavery Channel's usual response was - the girl was quickly transferred over to the Porn Channel for the last few weeks of her indenture. If she endured that and then refused to renew her indenture and instead returned to her former home to re-start her former life - good luck with that, her porn videos would hit every Porn Channel website all at once. In spite of everything, Mr. Smith actually liked this girl, and it would make him sad to see that happen. But he was a hardened professional and not a single trace of his emotions leaked through his cheery professional façade.
-
Instead he went to the camera and, in his usual excited-and-delighted-for-the-cameras face and voice declared, "Now THAT was one of the best spankings ever! I'm sure we can all agree on that. It MIGHT be one of the cutest spankings ever, but I have to say, the annual Christmas Elf shoplifter spankings are pretty darn hard to beat!"
-
He smiled another genuine smile at this. The Christmas Elf shoplifter spankings really were a favorite of his. The spanking victims were all carefully chosen - lots of teenage girls of course, MILFs in their twenties, maybe sometimes GILFs in their thirties for those with kinky tastes, and for variety, a few especially-photogenic young men and boys. The spanking elves were always extra-petite starlets wearing snug red or green velvet Christmas minidress costumes with candy-cane stockings and pointed hats. The Slavery Channel scoured the suck-bars of Los Angeles every fall in order to find the right girls. They were usually sold immediately afterwards, so Smith never saw the same elves twice. The former suck-bar girls were always told that this event would almost-certainly be their first big break in Hollywood and they were always incredibly enthusiastic and cheerful as they unwittingly advertised for their own sale into a lifetime of bondage. But it was still fun and cute, and Smith enjoyed it.
-
He continued, "And that concludes the rated PG-13 segment of tonight's events, we're going to go to a commercial break in order to give our viewing audience time to send the kiddos to bed. When we come back, we'll begin the R-rated session. We'll be RIGHT BACK!"
-
Before the reinstitution of slavery, the nation's moral majority had a different opinion about what was appropriate for kids to watch. Nudity was almost entirely forbidden, but skull-splattering violence was perfectly all right. But times had changed and morality changed with it. Now nudity was commonplace in everyday life and it was violence that the censors worried about. The show was about to get more violent. The kids needed to go to bed.
-
"Sluts! Over here," shouted Mr. Smith. It was time for the sluts to be stripped of their PG-13-rated costumes. The slave announcer who was approaching the Sheriff for unexplainable reasons promptly turned about and headed back to the center, microphone still held in front of her. She was still smiling for the cameras, but there seemed to be something missing. Her head wasn't in the game right now. Smith decided to do his best to sideline her for the rest of the evening. Or maybe he should have her just stand next to him and keep her from using her mic.
-
The two slave nurses ran over, smiling and waving for the studio audience and the cameras. At least they were still focused on the present, he thought.
-
Once he had all three girls lined up, he turned to the audience and cried out, "Do we have any more sluts in the audience that shouldn't be wearing clothing?" You never know, sometimes there are. Doesn't every set of bleachers contain dozens of sluts who don't deserve to wear clothing? One of the unfortunate side-effects of modern slavery was that sluts were so quickly identified and collared that it made events like this slightly less fun.
-
In the audience, the Slave Channel President looked around, not seeing any additional volunteers. There were a quite a few slaves in the audience, but they were already naked. Then he looked over at the former pop star kneeling between his husband's knees with her pony-tailed head bobbing up and down furiously as she tried to get him off. Mortie could last forever when he had a woman sucking his dick. Although he enjoyed the power and dominance of getting a blowjob from a woman, he really wasn't into girls. He just liked putting them in their proper place - on their knees with a dick in their mouth.
-
The President reached over, grabbed the slut's convenient ponytail and yanked her head off of his husband's cock with an audible "pop!".
-
"You, slut!" he growled, "get over there with the other sluts!"
-
She stumbled to her feet on the stilettoes chained to her feet, then staggered toward the studio floor. Mr. Smith, who had been enjoying himself - everyone loves a good stripping - frowned at her approach, then swiftly walked past the unsteady girl toward his boss.
-
"Sir," he said urgently, "What's your artistic vision here?"
-
The President had subsided into his seat. He was happy now that the nasty creature was no longer near him. He hated having to drag the chained, sighing, and moaning little bitch everywhere. Under California's "taken in hand" statute, he needed to keep the thing on a leash in order to ensure his continued de-facto ownership of her. It was growing wearying.
-
Slavers have a weakness. They tend to think of themselves as the apex predator in every gathering. This is rarely true. Slavers have a tendency to congregate together, so when there is a slaver in the room, there usually is more than one slaver in the room. Therefore, any given slaver is only ONE OF the predators present at any given time. This studio was filled with VIPs from the state of Texas. So there were in fact MANY alpha predators in the room. His weakness was noted, identified, and filed away for future reference. The current subject of his predation was studied, evaluated... and found desirable. Multiple covetous and predatory eyes turned in that direction.
-
"Just rip her dress off," he said. "Make sure the cameras get a good shot. I'm done playing nice with this shit-bird father of hers. Rip her dress off on national TV, it's time to ruin her professionally."
-
"Uh, Sir, won't that affect the value of..."
-
"Hardly. Let me worry about that while you handle the stripping. "
-
Smith nodded and turned back to group of sluts on the studio floor. The fluffy-haired teenage youtuber chosen to strip the slave nurses was already there with his personal cameraman, mugging for the camera with the two busty nurses on either side.
-
Kylie was standing between them and the former popstar in the soiled designer gown. She had her microphone held in front of her with both hands and had a huge, insincere smile plastered on her face. Smith was becoming more and more of the opinion that this was the last time she would ever hold a microphone. Judging by her fierce grip on it and the slightly-panicked look in her eyes, she was having much the same thoughts.
-
The former pop star, on the other hand, just looked resigned to her fate. She probably still held held out hope that her father would see reason and settle the copyright lawsuit some time soon. Smith highly doubted that. As he walked past them toward the Sheriff's group, he glanced over at a technician who gave him the two-minute hand signal. He nodded crisply and went up to the Sheriff. "Sheriff Donovan, I need your help if you could please," he said.
-
Sheriff Donovan nodded. He had five deputies who were experienced in stripping women of their clothes and their dignity. It was a no-brainer. Deputies were quickly assigned to each of the remaining two women to be stripped.
-
The obnoxious youtuber went first. He stripped both nurses while ensuring that his personal cameraman kept his face and the four newly-revealed breasts in most of the shots. Underneath their dresses the nurses were wearing a lattice-work of white leather straps similar to the torso harnesses of the human ponies. These particular harnesses had nothing to do with pulling carts, though. Their only purpose was to provide whoever was shafting their wearer with something to hold onto. This function would be put to use later at the VIP after party. The nurses smiled continuously for the cameras throughout the process, even when the obnoxious teenager licked and groped them. Neither girl made eye contact with him once. When he was done, they then bounced back to their station, revealing the crystal butt-jewels winking between their lower cheeks. Just another day of work at the Slavery Channel.
-
It was slave announcer Kylie's turn next. She suddenly realized that she was flanked by two of the female deputies whose power and dominance had impressed her earlier. Both were in full uniform, had their sleeves rolled up to expose their muscular, tattooed forearms, and were wearing their chromium strapons with pride. They were also wearing blue latex gloves and looking at her like she was a morsel to be devoured.
-
"Oh!" Kylie said, "Umm, is it my turn, then?"
-
"Sure honey, we'll let you go next," one said as the two deputies restrained her by gripping her upper arms.
-
"Okay, umm, do you need gloves to take my dress off? I'm pretty sure it was just washed?" She was still holding her microphone in front of her chin with both hands and still trying to maintain a smiling professional demeanor, but her tone of voice had begun to betray her nervousness and uncertainty. Usually at a show like this, the girls would do a little striptease for the studio audience during the PG-13-to-R ratings break. Slaves learned to fear the unexpected, as it rarely meant good things for them.
-
"No honey. See, here's the thing," the lead deputy replied. "We get a lot of drug runners through here, and we have developed a drug runner profile description. You fit the profile perfectly and it would be a breach of professional ethics to strip you and then fail to do a full cavity search."
-
"But, but, I don't have any contraband!" Kylie squeaked.
-
"That's what they all say, sweetie, that's what they all say."
-
During this conversation, a third deputy approached the girl from behind and slowly peeled the satin costume down her body. Kylie even managed to continue to interview with the deputies as she wiggled her hips to help out. Underneath the dress, like the slave nurses, she was wearing an arrangement of leather straps. Hers was red, though, to match the rest of her costume.
-
The deputies were very pleased by this development. "Hey Beth," said the woman on Kylie's right, "Why don't you buy this outfit and I'll let you wear it for me when I fuck you silly tonight?"
-
The other woman, whose name was apparently Beth, chuckled and replied, "Naw, how 'bout I buy this outfit and you can wear it for ME when I fuck YOU silly tonight? Or better yet, we'll take turns, but you're still going first."
-
"So, umm..." Kylie began, still trying to do her job under trying circumstances. Maybe she could salvage the situation if she just tried hard enough. "So, umm, do you two know each other?"
-
"Yeah, this is my wife."
-
"Oh!" Kylie chirped as inquisitive fingers from the unseen deputy behind her began to investigate the slithery folds of her now-revealed vagina. The bottom-most straps of the leather harness looped through her crotch, neatly framing and enhancing her pouting labia for the viewing pleasure of the audience. The producer quickly put the close-up view of the scene on the big wall-screens. Looking up at the wall-screens, Kylie was simultaneously bombarded with the view of her bare vagina being fingered, the full knowledge that said fingering was being broadcast live across the country - which include Cornhenge, Iowa - and the pleasurable sensation of the deputy's expert vaginal massage. It was almost too much. Almost. But Kylie was a professional. She had come this far and she would see it through to the end. She gathered her scattered thoughts and focused on the interview.
-
"You know, we have that back in California, too. And, umm, in Iowa. Lots of women can't find a husband and... Whaa-o-o-ah!"
-
The groping deputy had decided that the best way to conclude the examination of Kylie's vagina was to detach the (cold, hard, metal, chromium) dildo from her hip harness, lubricate it, and slide it smoothly into Kylie's arousal-slicked opening. The unforgiving cameramen made sure to capture her O-face as she reacted to the cold metal intruder. It didn't hurt, the deputies had no interest in harming pretty girls, quite the opposite. But the deputy had been wearing her chromium-steel phallus in the chilly air-conditioned studio for quite some time now and it... was... COLD! Kylie's reaction was quickly looped onto the studio wall screens.
-
Behind the scenes, hard-working studio technicians were editing "Kylie Is Surprised" reaction GIFs for sale on the Channel's web site. First, the reaction to Harriette's "weak and ineffective" leather paddles. Now this. Kylie's peculium received a percentage of the royalties from the new GIFs. So far she had earned seven dollars. It's a start. Fame and fortune take time. Kylie was on her way to the top now. Really.
-
The deputy behind Kylie suddenly kicked her stilettoed feet out into a much wider stance. Under normal circumstances, a woman wearing high heels couldn't possibly maintain this pose without spraining both ankles. But these were not normal circumstances. Kylie was under the physical control of three very experienced women who performed this maneuver often. They could have removed her high heels first, but where's the fun in that? The two women holding Kylie in place simply positioned their boots in just the right place to brace Kylie's overstressed ankles. Then they tightened their grip on the slave girl's torso-harness, knelt down on their outer knees and... folded her in half.
-
Suddenly, Kylie's world topsy-turvied, and she was looking at the studio upside down. Her long hair fanned out on the studio floor as she looked up at the upside down deputy's face behind and/or in front of her. It was all so confusing. But she was determined to carry on. She was going to persevere. Some day she would be a star, she just had to work hard and stay cheerful and she would get here. Cornhenge, Iowa was only three weeks away, but she couldn't think of that now. She needed to please her Master, who was physically present in the studio tonight. So she needed to carry on, smiling brightly and cheerfully. That was the path to success!
-
Kylie was now looking down/up at the deputy behind her and gripping the microphone tightly in two hands like a religious talisman... while folded in half and looking up at the world from between her own ankles. "Hi!" she began the interview, "I'm Kylie, what's your name?" Then she pointed the mic in the general direction of the deputy kneeling behind her.
-
Deputy Ta'Shawna Adams looked down at the contorted girl's face. The poor thing really was trying to do her job under impossible circumstances. It wasn't going to make Ta'Shawna go easy on her, but it was pretty impressive. The deputy smiled at the girl under her power. "Hi," she said, "I'm Deputy Ta'Shawna Adams and today we're going to inspect your rectum in order to ascertain if you're smuggling any contraband. Do you consent to this search?"
-
Kylie looked up/down at her and replied hopefully, "Do I have a choice?"
-
Ta'Shawna chuckled deep, silent belly laughs at the question and the hopeful expression on the girl's face. "No, sweetheart, we're gonna search you anyway. It would be a breech of professional ethics if we didn't. You really DO fit our drug smuggler profile, so it needs to be done. Here's what I want you do do for me, I'm going to help you relax your sphincter and then take a peek into your rectum. If you're cooperative and helpful, I'll just look inside and not actually ram my entire first into your butthole. Which method do you prefer?"
-
Kylie considered the proposition thoughtfully and responded "The 'not ramming a fist into my butthole option' please?" This position was really starting to have an effect on her breathing and blood flow and she was feeling a bit dizzy. Fortunately, the kind deputies had her pinned in place and she was entirely unable to move.
-
Ta'Shawna had no intention of ramming her fist into any of this girl's openings. But it was her experience that she needed to keep girls under control in order to achieve her own goals. This girl wasn't going to be a problem, though, so Ta'Shawna decided to go easy on her. She began lubricating the girl's anal opening with her blue latex-covered fingers while advising her to relax. Given the girl's physical position and willingness to submit, it was unsurprising to her that the girl's sphincter swiftly dilated under her ministrations and she had to quickly grab her butt-jewel before it vanished inside her rectum. She explored inside for a bit then released the girl. Once she was standing again, Ta'Shawna slipped the plug back into her butt, making Kylie meep in surprise.
-
This wasn't what Kylie thought Hollywood was going to be like. She had dreams of appearing on the red carpet, wearing expensive clothing, and riding in limos. Instead she is here, naked, and she gets shipped from place to place in a crate like cargo. For a brief moment, her smile wavered, then she smiled brightly for the cameras. Maybe her dreams of stardom really will come true some day! She just had to power through the humiliation and abuse and her star would rise!
-
Smith beckoned her over. He was no longer holding his microphone in his hands and was wearing blue latex gloves, like the two deputies who were holding the former pop star in the soiled dress. Kylie - and the cameras - hadn't gotten a good look at her before. The fallen pop star was wearing a backless designer gown that had long sleeves and a high slit up the thigh made of shiny gold cloth. It must have been extremely glamorous originally, thought Kylie. Oh how beautiful she must have looked and felt on the red carpet wearing that. But now it was just a soiled rag that had to make her feel hideous, ugly, and low-class. Better to be naked and have done with it.
-
Mr. Smith had cut two slits near the top of the dress and simply ripped it off the girl and tossed the soiled rag aside. Although she had known it was coming, the shock and humiliation of her sudden and violent exposure almost made her cry out. But she was wearing a special kind of shock collar that would have punished her with a jolt of electricity to the front of her slender throat, temporarily paralyzing her vocal cords. She was a professional singer and she wanted to sing again one day. Too many such jolts could easily cause permanent damage. This, more than anything, is what kept her docile and under the control of the President.
-
Kylie carefully kept her eyes away from the disgraced girl's face. She couldn't bear it and she didn't want to be distracted from her own job. She needed to perform very well for three more weeks. Then she could leave this place and these people behind forever. Instead, she looked at the other faces in the group and realized that nobody was having any fun right now.
-
"So, Sheriff," Mr. Smith said in a somewhat hollow version of his usual excited-and-delighted voice, "Do you think we need another cavity search? She looks like a drug smuggler to me!"
-
Sheriff Donovan shook his head. "Naw, son, I think we've done enough here. So let's just call it a done deal and return the slave to her owner."
-
The two deputies holding the singer's arms released her and walked away toward the condemned criminals. Kylie followed, still holding up her microphone talisman. "What's the plan?" she asked. Her voice had gone back to it's usual chipper self and she bounced along between the two women. Somehow that made her feel safe and her happy-and-excited professional demeanor was recovering somewhat.
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The deputy she was interviewing was walking around one of the hanging criminals inspecting him. "We're going to fuck him to at least two orgasms. He's only had one so far and he needs to cum at least two more times to get the penisillin out of his system. So we're going to help him out with that."
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She looked up at the face of the condemned man, "You like that Sniffer? Are you ready for some butt-love? Because my strap on sure is. Oo-oo! Hey girls, guess what, let's name him Sniffer!"
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Butt-fucking ensues. The female deputies are different from the ponies, they can talk. There is much ribald and degrading commentary as they got to work. The prisoner on the left, the former deputy, received his new slave name - "Sniffer". As it turns out, he had been seen more than once sniffing women's shoes in the locker room. Fratboy received his slave name as well - "Fratboy". Not exactly creative, but we have to call him something.
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Prisoners jizz... twice. Shots are measured. Fratboy wins again because Sniffer's cock is too curved. Because Sniffer is being butt-fucked at the time, his curved cock was bouncing up and down in time to the thrusts of the woman behind him and his chest and face are splashed with his own cum.
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Rated-R session concludes. No additional stripping occurs. Everyone strippable has already been stripped.

ZeeChromosome · Post by **ZeeChromosome** » Sun Oct 03, 2021 4:25 pm

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
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The Sheriff has agreed that Harriette has permission to brand the men with the HH brand. Mr. Smith announced the branding to the audience. Mobile forges were brought in and branding irons were heated in front of the condemned and humiliated criminals. The heat from the forges radiated toward them and heated the fronts of their sweating bodies.
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A smiling black-clad studio hand monitored each forge.
-
As Harriette returned to the studio floor, Mr. Smith rushed up to her, microphone leading the way. "Ms. Valdez, the forges are ready."
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Harriette went over to the forges and inspected them. "Take them away," she ordered. Then she turned to Mr. Smith. "Mr. Smith," she began, "Sheriff Donovan gave me permission to brand them with my brand... he did not tell me HOW to brand them. I introduce to you... Vortex!"
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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Vortex is summoned.
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The smoke and light show began behind the curtain again. This time, no one came out. Instead, the curtain withdrew to one side, revealing a dark silhouette clad in mist.
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Vortex marched outward through the billowing smoke. She did not stride - that's a running pace for ponies - she did not walk, she did not prance... she marched.
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The delegation of deputies from Tarrant County had marched, too. They were free women, wearing Human boots, under oath, backed by the authority of the State of Texas. They were soldiers marching into battle (wearing chromium-steel strapons!). Vortex was not a free woman, she was a slave. The only authority she had was derived from the commands of her owner, Mistress Harriette Valdez. As long as Vortex was acting under orders, she acted with the authority of a free woman. Not herself, of course, the authority of Mistress Harriette. It was enough. It would suffice.
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She marched. Each powerful hoof slammed into the floor with a clap of thunder - the Slave Channel sound technicians were very good. Her pony costume was similar to that of the Evil Pony Minions who had preceded her. There were differences, though. It was necessary. The Minions were cute-evil, whereas Vortex was... unmodified-evil. Her thigh-high pony boots had been crafted from the actual legs of an actual Clydesdale. Roscoe MacDougal, the HH Ranch's leatherworker, had gone to a meat-processing plant and claimed them himself... with a knife and an axe.
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On her head-harness, she wore horns. Some pony owners liked to affix mock horse's ears to the head harnesses of their ponies. Harriette had decided that Vortex needed horns. She had gone to a stockyard and personally selected the horns for Vortex. They were black and tightly-curled. They protruded from either side of her head, waxed and glistening with menace. This was not a fun little prancing pony, this was a pony of retribution. A pony of vengeance.
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The Minions had been wearing their manes in fun and bouncy top-knots. It was cute and it was fun and their manes had swished and swayed as they had pranced about. Vortex was different. The sides of her head had been shaven down to the bare skin on her first day as a slave and her long chocolate-brown hair had been harvested for a custom-made tail. So instead of the usual generic slender nylon tail which exposed and sexualized the Minions' pert little asses, Vortex wore a bushy covering of her own hair. The denuded sides of her head were shaved daily and Harriette had decorated each side with a savage scene of an on-rushing pack of demon-ponies, manes flowing, eyes glowing, fanged mouths open for the kill.
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The Minions wore little golden bells hanging from short chains dangling from their pierced nipples. The little bells chimed and flashed in the light as their perky breasts bounced. Vortex's areola were covered with black shields decorated with a golden starburst design. They were attached by a bar that ran through her pierced nipples, which protruded through a hole on the center of the shields. The Minions had also had similar golden bells hanging from their pierced belly buttons and genitals, whereas the Vortex had nothing there. She was a performance pony, she was a completely different animal. One does not decorate such an animal, their performance IS their decoration.
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Vortex marched between the two condemned criminals without sparing them a glance. They meant nothing to her, they barely even existed. They had raped Chloe Morgenstern in prison the night before Tarrant County had enslaved her. She may have been in been in custody, but she was a human being at the time. She had not been enslaved yet. If they had only been willing to wait a few more hours, then their crime would not have been a crime at all. It just would have been the way things are.
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But they HAD done it while she was still - technically - a free woman. When Boss Caleb MacDougal inspected Harriette's new property in the courtroom, with her clothing still strewn about her on the floor like the wreckage of all of her hopes and dreams, he had noticed something unexpected. "Yer Honor, can someone explain to me why this slave is bleeding from her rectum? Wasn't she a free woman just now? As in a minute ago? Can someone explain to me how Harriette's new property is already in a damaged condition?"
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Chloe Morgenstern no longer existed. Chloe Morgenstern, still in pain from her anal rape the night before, had been legally expunged from the universe on that hot summer day in Texas twelve weeks ago. The Slave Court of Tarrant County had decreed it and it was so. But although Chloe Morgenstern no longer existed... Vortex remained.
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When the still-nameless slave had been pulled - violently, by her hair - from her shipping crate, she had been confused, she had been terrified, she was all alone.
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And then suddenly she wasn't. While she lay gasping and retching on the gravel, Mistress Harriette Valdez had appeared above her. She knelt down on her stockinged legs, She had looked the trembling girl in the eye... and read her soul. "I will name you 'Vortex'," She spoke calmly in order to sooth the frightened slave. "I will name you 'Vortex' and you will become the instrument of my vengeance. Answer my question now, for ever and for all time, as I will ask this question only once... will you be my instrument of vengeance on the men who harmed you?"
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Lying there in the dirt, naked, covered in piss and sweat... she had no other choice, she had no other answer. The nameless slave girl gasped out, "Mistress Harriette, I am at your command."
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The woman above her kept looking her in the eye, kept reading her soul... and then nodded. Apparently she had been found worthy. It was that tiny nod that began the rise of Vortex from the ashes of Chloe's life. "Then it will be so. Chloe will have her vengeance and so shall I. After that, we shall see. I have not decided yet." Then the Mistress was gone, her overwhelming presence withdrawn from the newly-named slave Vortex as she strode away barking orders, "You, you, and you! Get Vortex cleaned up and put her in a stall to rest. Training starts immediately, Whipmaster Kim will be here this evening for an evaluation. Do not delay!"
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In the present, Vortex marched toward the announcer group as if to go past... then halted. She turned to face her Mistress with a "Clop-STAMP!" of her feathered hooves. In her pony boots, Vortex was an intimidating 6'3" in height. Her torso, almost entirely exposed in her pony leathers, was lean and powerful, a graceful pillar of female athleticism and sensuality. In her elegant pumps, and fully-clothed, her Mistress was nearly the same height. The two women gazed at one another. No words were exchanged, no words were needed, all orders had long ago been given and received. Mistress Harriette Valdez reached to her hip, unsnapped a leather loop, and handed her slave the bullwhip.
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The now-almost-naked slave announcer Kylie had approached Ms. Valdez at the same time as the demonic vengeance pony in an attempt to get a few words in. Instead, she gasped and stepped back as the slave-Mistress handed over the ultimate symbol of a slaver's power - a bull whip. Since the dawn of human civilization, there had been slavery. And since the dawn of slavery, there had been the bull whip. Ms. Valdez had just handed one away... to a slave. The slave announcer's startled reaction was noted, and the final edited version of today's events would feature it prominently. The President watched the entire interaction and turned to Mortie, "Time to sell this one, don't you think?"
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To all persons outside of their marriage, Mortie was the classic actor/model/barista/gold-digger. The truth was somewhat different. Although Mortie was in fact all of those things, he was also something more than that. His golden-maned California surfer looks concealed a keen mind and he was the President's trusted sounding board for personnel decisions. He didn't answer right away, though. "I need a blowjob," he said, "we got any cock-sucking whores about?"
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The President smirked and smacked the cock-sucking whore at his feet on the side of the head, "Suck his cock!" he ordered. The miserable fallen pop star shuffled over to Mortie on her knees and he grabbed her head by her trademarked topknot and slammed her mouth down on his growing hardon. In his view, woman were either cock sucking whores or commodities to be sold... or both. It mattered not.
-
"Well, honey," Mortie replied to his husband while thrusting his cock into the girl's mouth, "We have at least three in the pipeline that would be good fits. This announcer slut is nearly 21 now, and that's seriously pushing hard into MILF territory. I say we get her sold and replace her with that Asian bitch we just bought from Singapore. The one that was the daughter or niece of the previous dictator-for-life, Fang Kwang or whatever. She speaks pretty good American and I think that our viewers will enjoy her exotic looks."
-
The President nodded contemplatively. "Agreed, let's talk more after the show. I say we dispose of this slut and replace her with that Singapore whore you mentioned."
-
Down on the studio floor, Vortex accepted the bullwhip, then turned aside. She looked about. She wasn't pleasure pony. She wasn't a happy little thing who lived to please others. Vortex was a performance pony. She obeyed guidance... she did not simply obey commands as given, because she was more than that. More was expected of her. She was expected to obey her Mistress's guidance, she was expected to obey her Mistress's will. Actual commands were simply... guidelines.
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As Vortex turned and looked about, she observed the surrounding environment while she decided exactly how to go about following her Mistress's orders. Behind her was Sheriff Donovan talking to a row of female deputies, most of whom were looking quite pleased with themselves. Some were still sporting their shiny silver-colored strapons. This was a group of people Vortex considered worthy of her attention. They were gunslingers. Always keep an eye on the gunslingers in the room.
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Surrounding everyone was a C-shaped bleacher filled with VIPs. She recognized them, she knew them. Not personally, not individually, but as a clutch, she knew exactly who they were. They were the good-looking, they were the well-connected, they were the popular, they were the wealthy, they even included youtubers. For the most part, they were worthless and meaningless vermin whose presence she simply blocked from her mind. Especially the youtubers.
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But in the bleachers was a man she had been told to look for, it was the President of the Slave Channel.
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She spotted him looking in her direction and offered him the slave salute that she had given Harriette. It was the same salute that the gladiators in ancient times had offered to the Roman Emperor from the sands. For that is what Vortex was. She may have been a slave, but she was still a warrior, she was still a gladiator... and her day was going to be a bloody one... in the service of her Empress.
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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
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Beginning of Redacted X-rated Segment
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It can be found in Atonement Session Ch. 1B Redacted Whipping Scene
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End of Redacted X-rated Segment
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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
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Without turning around to look at her audience, without bothering to ask permission, the demon-pony tossed her whip into a pink-tinged puddle of salt water and walked out of the studio, threading her way through the emergency medical crews curating her artworks.
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Mistress Harriette, on the other hand, was not able to ignore the audience. She was of them, she was from them, she was a free person, she was Human.
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The Sheriff was standing with his hands on his hips, surveying the scene, nodding with grim approval. Two of the deputies behind him had disappeared, perhaps to "freshen up." In fact, a third of the audience had left the room entirely. Of those who remained, some looked ill, some looked pleased, and some were even aroused. None of them appeared to be bored, though. In spite of the hard-working ventilation system, there was a scent of vomit in in the air.
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Mortie still sat next to his husband, but his face was entirely drained of color and he was clutching his husband's arm. The former pop star's head was still in his lap, but it was clear that she was accomplishing nothing at all except hiding her face from the horror behind her. The President, on the other hand... he was VERY pleased. He thought he was going to meet some stupid prairie hillbilly rancher cunt, but he had instead discovered a slaving genius. She had purchased a young rape victim and transformed her into an exquisitely-trained weapon of destruction in only 12 weeks. It was impressive and there was potential here. This was a woman he needed to form an alliance with. Sometimes, when one was a businessman, one needed to do distasteful things. Like treating a woman like an equal.
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On another hand, she owned a VERY pretty slave boy. One of the Evil Pony Minions had a penis. Not a tiny shriveled thing, like most femme boys had, but an actual cock. He found that intriguing and he wanted to know more.
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Of course, the most important thing was that this show was going to be ratings gold - on the Slavery XXX Channel.
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Mr. Smith had seen a lot of whippings in his four-year career at the Slavery Channel, but this one was new. He had seen quite a few dominatrixes before, but he had never seen a demon-pony dominatrix. And he had NEVER witnessed a whipping quite like that. He started to seriously consider that job offer from the new Canadian media company, the Yukon Broadcasting Company. He had heard that Canadians were polite. Maybe he needed to check that out.
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Kylie the slave announcer just stood rooted in place with her mouth open. The microphone had fallen from her hand and it lay in a small puddle of urine at her feet. Her butt jewel lay on the studio floor behind her. Fortunately, she had just been given an enema on the last break as the studio slave handlers prepared her for the VIP afterparty. As it was, the video of her physical reaction quickly found its way onto the Internet and became a very popular reaction meme. She had just achieved her Hollywood dream. She wanted to be famous and she wanted everyone to know her name. It had finally come true, she just didn't know it yet.
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Harriette surveyed the scene at a glance and made her decision. She walked over to the slave girl and asserted authority over her. "Slave!" she barked, "Pick those up."
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Startled into action, the slave girl immediately knelt and picked up the soiled microphone and butt jewel. Burning with shame and still in a fugue state, she raised the microphone toward Harriette's face.
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Kylie was rescued by Mr. Smith who quickly approached and lifted his own mic, pushing hers aside. "Well, well, well, that was quite the show! Quite the show, quite the show! What happens next?"
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Mistress Harriette smiled at him. He had just become a person to her. His swift move in saving the slave girl from yet another painful mistake made her like him. As a prominent slaver, she needed to project an image of unimpeachable authority at all times. If the girl had actually managed to put that urine-soaked microphone to Harriette's face, another punishment would surely have followed. Harriette liked pretty young girls, and she liked this one. She didn't want to have to punish her again. Maybe later, in the privacy of her hotel room. She would ask if she could borrow the girl for the night. "I believe that concludes our business here today. The after party is in the Sam Houston Ballroom. Refreshments will be served."
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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
End Chapter 1.
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Next up, the after party. There will be spankings, oral sodomy, and some shaving. Also, purely for insurance purposes, someone will need to take close-up photos of a couple of hymens.
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Zee!

jeepster · Post by **jeepster** » Sun Oct 03, 2021 8:19 pm

Wow! That had something of everything! Not into the male sodomy but Vortex was interesting!

ZeeChromosome · Post by **ZeeChromosome** » Sun Oct 03, 2021 8:42 pm

jeepster wrote: ↑Sun Oct 03, 2021 8:19 pm Wow! That had something of everything! Not into the male sodomy but Vortex was interesting!

Thanks, Jeep! I had originally planned for it to be a short one-off, but it kept getting bigger.

I couldn't get into the mood for the pegging segment so I just sorta pasted it over with some words and moved on. It was that last scene I had to do before I posted and it was holding everything up. I spent all day Saturday noodling around with it periodically, then just gave up.

I'm glad you liked Vortex. Not sure what to do with her now, but she might pop up in future stories if I need a demon-pony dominatrix for something.

Gonna pivot over to Isabelle's story and then come back to this one for the after party.

jeepster · Post by **jeepster** » Mon Oct 04, 2021 2:07 am

Not sure what to expect at the after party!

ZeeChromosome · Post by **ZeeChromosome** » Mon Oct 04, 2021 3:11 am

jeepster wrote: ↑Mon Oct 04, 2021 2:07 am Not sure what to expect at the after party!

Last paragraph of the story: "Next up, the after party. There will be spankings, oral sodomy, and some shaving. Also, purely for insurance purposes, someone will need to take close-up photos of a couple of hymens."
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The VIP after party is a no-pictures event, so the VIPs can indulge a bit without worrying about salacious pictures appearing on the Internet. There's a form you have to sign to attend. Unfortunately for a certain cocky fluffy-haired youtuber, the penalty for violating that is 2 years in the collar and, umm... spy-camera glasses aren't as big a secret as he thinks they are. Oh well. He'll be dragged off to the kennels and out of the story. Good riddance.
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The 4-pony coffle of Evil Minions arrives with 2 additional ponies attached to it. Fire and Flame, who were interns wearing dresses only an hour ago, have been added to the herd. They're a bit shocked at this turn of events. They're even more shocked when they discover that Harriette has planned an impromptu demonstration of how to put a new pony in the surprised-cheerleader position and remove her unsightly free-woman pubic hairs. The guests are encouraged to examine not one, but two intact hymens from close up. The twins are simultaneously hating and loving the attention. Harriette is pleased with their performance and authorizes one public orgasm each. Sandy and Thanh, the slave grooms, have very dexterous fingers. There is squirting.
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The girls didn't know that their university's Dean of Students is present with his collared slut who was once the president of the student council (or maybe the feminist alliance, haven't decided which is juicier yet). Apparently her plan to require that all female student council members sign a chastity pledge with an automatic-conversion penalty has backfired badly.
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The room features hidden nooks concealed behind screens and plants for those guests not interested in doing their business out in the open.
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The Dean and the Governor decide to swap slave girls for the night.
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Miss Texas leaves in an actual-diamond-studded collar. Damn tech-startup billionaires, always stealing the good pussy.
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Vortex isn't there. Everyone is afraid of her.
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It'll be fun, I'll see you there.
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Zee
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Also, will include an added bonus scene wherein Harriette takes Sandy and Kylie up to her hotel room for some sexy fun-times.

ZeeChromosome · Post by **ZeeChromosome** » Sun Oct 10, 2021 2:07 am

So, two things:
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Thing One - this is Jeepster's fault by the way - we're not doing Isabelle's cart training next.
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Jeep direct-messaged me about an off-hand comment I had made earlier about a bachelorette party.
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I have several composed-and-outlined stories in the hopper and that's one of them. I've decided to respond to Jeepster's request by producing the goods that he has requested. He's been very supportive and my perversion-advisors, Smith & Bradford LLC, have agreed that this is the best course of action.
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So, I'm working on "The Stallion - Bachelorette Party" right now. There will be tickle-torture and side-by-side sister-sodomization in this one. Also, instead of stripping our bridal party, there will be dishevelment instead. Then the disheveled bridal party will be paraded about in a fun walk of shame. I'm looking forward to seeing you there.
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Thing Two: I just discovered that I've misspelled a main character's name. I'm very embarrassed about this. I've been spelling "Thanh" all wrong, before I was using "Than". I've corrected that going forward.
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Thanh is ethnically Vietnamese and is from Galveston, Texas. The Gulf Coast has a large Viet-American community and that's where Thanh is from. Personally, I despise racial stereotyping and strive to avoid it. So when I want to use a clearly-ethnic character, I strive to use an ethnic name and then simply don't describe them. For example, "De'Shonte" is clearly an African-American male. "Thanh" is a Viet-American woman. And so on.
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I like for my readers to use their imaginations with my characters. So if I tell you that a character is "busty", then use your imagination. What does "busty" mean to you? It's different for everyone. I recently had a real-world discussion with a woman who was bragging about her successful diet, during which her breast size dropped from a HH cup to a G cup, to a mere F cup. She was so excited. I nodded my head sagely and said. "Golly, that's great. You think the Cubs are gonna take the pennant this year?"
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I mean... is there another appropriate response?
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Zee!

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