The Stallion - Bachelorette Party Part 3

[ZeeChromosome]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Meadowlark and Sparrow slung their bags over their shoulders and hustled to catch up to the morose bridesmaid as she approached the exit.

Exiting into the empty main corridor, they could hear the festive Coffle of Shame making its way through the occupied part of the building. Neither slave knew which way to go, so they just tagged along in the wake of the free woman who they now knew was named Gwen. They also knew that Gwen was someone very special to their Mistress and that they needed to ensure that the girl was watched. The slave girls were worried though, because although they were acting with their Mistress's delegated authority, the bridesmaid in the tattered and disheveled dress was a free woman with her own personal authority. It would be easy for the two of them to slip up and end up being punished by BOTH mistresses.

It didn't take them long to reach an alcove near the lobby that was partially screened by large potted plants. The walls of the alcove were made of the same dark polished wood as the rest of the corridor and there was no visible door handle. Facing the wall, Gwen spoke loudly and clearly, "Ranch-lexa, open the door, Harriette's orders."

With the familiar clunk of a disengaging mag-lock, the center wall panel swung open, revealing a small entryway and a set of stairs leading upward. Gwen entered and the two slaves followed. "Ranch-lexa," she continued, "the two slaves accompanying me are permitted entrance but not egress. My authority, Guinevere Bellefleur." The door swung shut and the girls heard the mag-lock re-engage with another, slightly different clunk. Meadowlark and Sparrow shivered. Now they were well and truly locked in. As slaves, they were always locked in, but this felt like an even deeper layer of security and an even more distant remove from the world outside. Freedom was always impossibly far away from them, and now it had just receded one level further. They were now in Mistress Harriette's private chambers, her sanctum sanctorum.

"You two, take your strappy things off and meet me upstairs in the bath, I need to get cleaned up," Gwen said in a tired voice as she kicked her pumps off and proceeded up the stairs in her stockinged feet.

The two ponies exchanged another worried look and then proceeded to remove each other's pony tack. Since there were so many pleasure ponies on the ranch and many were off-duty at any given time, the off-duty ponies generally acted as their own grooms, equipping and unequipping their sister slaves. They expertly made short work of the process, hung the harnesses up on a set of hooks and stowed their equipment bags on the floor beneath. Then the two of them rushed upstairs to check on their charge. Meadowlark scooped up the discarded shoes before she followed Sparrow.

At the top of the stairs, they followed the sound of running water and discovered Gwen washing her face in the master bath. She had tossed aside her soiled dress and was now wearing only her stockings.

Meadowlark carefully cleaned Gwen's pumps and placed them neatly together by the door, ensuring that they were touching one another so that they wouldn't feel lonely while they dried. Meanwhile, Sparrow removed Gwen's stockings and tossed the expensive cum-soaked garments into a clothes hamper nearby. Although being nude all the time wasn't the best thing about being a slave, it sure made cleanup easier, she thought.

Finally satisfied that she had removed all of her make up and had also cleaned most of the semen out of her nose, Gwen stood leaning against the counter and sighed, gazing at herself in the mirror. Since all three girls were now naked, they almost appeared to be on the same social level, with the exception of the fact that the two slave girls standing silently behind her were wearing collars. Collars that prevented them from speaking. Gwen had no collar. She could also put on a dress and leave. The other two girls couldn't do that.

Gwen really needed someone to talk to right now and her only choices were these two muted slaves. It would have to do.

"Do either of you know Hammer?" she asked. All she got in return were confused shrugs. Of course they didn't know him, the pleasure pony barracks was entirely separate from the performance ponies' stable, Gwen knew that. They certainly knew him by sight but the only times they saw one another they were all on duty and rendered voiceless by their collars. She would need to ask "yes or no" questions only.

"Do you think he's handsome?" she tried again. Both nodded enthusiastically. Gwen smiled, now she was getting somewhere. He really was a handsome man. Not in a startlingly-handsome male model way, but in a wholesome All-American teenager sort of way. He looked like the sort of boy who would cheerfully mow the neighbor's lawn if they couldn't afford a slave to do it for them. The image made her smile, that was exactly what Hank Sterkel would do. He probably wouldn't even take payment for it. Except that he was a slave, which made Gwen sad. Gwen just couldn't see him as a mere utility slave mowing lawns, though. That idea made her angry, because he was obviously so much better than that. Maybe a wealthy woman's boy-toy, doing her yard work and maintaining the pool naked, maybe rubbing on some suntan lotion and fetching drinks. And that thought made her feel jealous.

The sudden storm of emotions flickering across her face made the two girls behind her nervous, but she didn't notice. Gwen was too deeply involved in her bout of self-pity to notice much else. The two slaves knew that Mistress Harriette would want them to cheer her up, but they didn't know how, especially since they were voiceless at the moment.

"I know you hear people talking," Gwen continued, "Have you heard good things about his personality?" This time the girls smiled and nodded. That had been a big concern for Gwen. She knew that many pony stallions had reputations for roughness and brutality. Partly, she knew, that was inherent in who they were. They were all strong, athletic men who were fiercely competitive and who took pleasure in defeating and dominating other men on the track. If they didn't have that basic personality trait, then they wouldn't have been very good stallions. On the other hand, stallion owners frequently emphasized the animal natures of their stallions and "talked them up." So one never really knew how much of it was an act and how much was their own core personality. Also, many stallions were former college and professional athletes who had gotten into trouble with the law for various reasons - drugs, fighting, even domestic violence.

But not Hank! Gwen knew that he was a voluntary indenture who had sold himself into slavery to raise money for his family's debts. She also knew that he had a pretty amiable reputation, only flashing into anger when physically challenged by another stallion. She had seen it herself once when he had suddenly shoulder-checked and kicked a particularly obnoxious stallion at the start of a race. She had seen it again this evening when he had casually tossed that smaller red-haired pleasure pony aside. But his suddenly-aggressive behavior tonight hadn't felt menacing to her, it felt protective.

Now for the big question. "Have either of you heard any negative things about him?" She smiled when they both shook their heads. That was what she wanted to know. It was the emotional energy she felt while he was physically dominating her and ravishing her. He had seemed genuinely concerned about her pleasure and well-being. Of course, that may have been due to a slave's normal fear of punishment, but it hadn't felt that way to her. She had felt like she had experienced an emotional connection with Hank where he treated her with true kindness and concern, like precious treasure. That, she knew, was the heart of her problem. Every girl who grows up in a happy family seeks a life mate that reminds her of her father. And her father treated her mother like precious treasure. Gwen wanted that for herself and, now that she had finally found him, he was utterly unavailable to her.

Gwen had been around slaves her entire life, and she knew that emotional deceit was normal for them. Not necessarily - as some members of the Master class believed - because they were inherently weak and immoral people who deserved to be controlled by their betters, but because they feared punishment. Every slave quickly learns that their quality of life is immeasurably better when they please their masters. It's just the nature of the master-slave relationship. For example, these two girls with her right here and now were probably afraid that this strange free woman that they did not know was likely to punish them for some mistake.

Gwen sighed again. That was probably all she was going to get from these two. "Don't worry," she said, "I'm not going to punish you for anything that happened tonight, you've done nothing wrong." Her heart was gladdened by the way they perked up a bit and smiled back at her. She should have thought to put them at ease earlier. Instead, she had been so wrapped up in her own misery that she was thinking only of herself.

Unexpectedly feeling that intense emotional connection with Hank - only to have it torn away from her as she watched him being led away in chains after the orgy - had hit her with a powerful emotional blow. Maybe she would feel better about it in the morning after sleeping on it. Maybe Harriette would be reasonable for once and help her out.

Gwen sighed again... she seemed to be doing that a lot tonight. Maybe Harriette would be willing to share? No, that wasn't happening. Harriette didn't share. It just wasn't who she was. She was a loving and caring big sister, but she didn't share control over her slave livestock with anyone. And she certainly wasn't going to willingly share her prize stallion. In all fairness though, if you are a woman and you own a man who can legitimately be described as a "prize stallion" - are you going to share him? The answer is no. In fact, the answer isn't just no, it's "Hell NO, BITCH, now get your filthy hands off!"

Maybe she could ask her parents for help with this? After all, they were a perfect example of a successful master-slave relationship. Gwen's father Justin Bellefleur had purchased Gabriella within hours of her enslavement. She had been a young and promising employee at Bellefleur Holdings when the slave catchers had arrived and repossessed her - in the office, in front of her coworkers - stripped her, and marched her out the door naked, terrified and sobbing.

Justin Bellefleur shared a personality trait with his daughter Harriette... he doesn't share what he considers his own.

That wasn't the only personality quirk he shared with Gwen's half-sister. When he returned from lunch and saw the two slave catchers dragging the sobbing girl out of his own front door, he said nothing. Instead, his face simply turned to stone. It was an expression that Gabriella had already started calling the "I'm going to destroy you, and you are going to be oh so surprised" face. He stepped in front of the slave catchers as they dragged their prize out the door. Angry fathers, angry brothers, angry husbands... the slave catchers could handle it all. But this tall, elegant executive wearing a thousand-dollar suit calmly stood in front of them, gave them that look, and they stopped what they were doing. "Excuse me gentlemen," he said, "may I see your Writ of Repossession?"

The two men looked at him, flummoxed by his relaxed demeanor, and the leader snarled, "We left it with that bitch inside."

Justin nodded gravely at them, "I see," he continued in that same mellow voice, "I shall enquire within, thank you for your time, you do us a valuable service." Then he was gone. Gabriella stared after him in disbelief - how could he be so calm?

Then, as the two men jerked her bodily toward their waiting van, she looked back again toward the office building where she had worked for the past six months. This time, she stared not in disbelief, but in belief. She understood now. This thing that had eluded her for weeks now. She finally understood - Justin Bellefleur wanted her. He was going to have her. And someone or something was going to be destroyed in the process. She had seen it in his eyes, behind the mask. The slave catchers had seen nothing. She knew this man, they did not.

Gwen knew the whole story of her parents' awkwardly-cute meeting at a campus recruiting event through their subsequent sudden separation and reunion. Although most women who had passed through slavery tried to hide it, there was no way that Gabriella Bellefleur could do so. It just wasn't possible. In the modern age of social media, being videoed by one's business colleagues getting stripped, cuffed and collared was a social death sentence. It was permanent. There was no recovery from it. Except that she had. She was the wife of a wealthy and powerful banker and everyone knew who held the keys to Justin Bellefleur's heart.

Gwen would weather this, too. She had no fear of the social pressure and fear-tactics of her peers. Let them rant. She knew, as her father knew, that the real power in today's world was ones and zeros. What is your debt load, and can you pay it back before I enslave you first? That was the real question these days. If you give someone six months leeway (like they did back in the pre-slavery days) then they could usually come up with a payment plan if they wanted to. But in the modern era of debt-slavery, six hours is plenty of time to bring someone down. Guinevere Bellefleur was her father's daughter, and she wanted to prove to him that she was ready to follow in his professional footsteps. But first she needed to get off of the college-matrimony-babies-respectable-housewife trajectory that her sister Clarissa was on and chart her own path.

"No," she thought, "I can't go to them, either. I can't let them know what I'm up to until what's done is done." She pressed her hand gently to her tummy, wondering if new life was already growing within her.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Elsewhere in the building, the Coffle of Shame was entering the main dining room. Well-dressed guests of the Ranch were gathered for dinner and drinks. Many of them had naked slaves kneeling at their feet. Some of those slaves were Harriette's, some had been brought to the Ranch by their owners... and some were women who had entered the Ranch wearing clothing. As the raucous group entered the room, they were lined up against the wall and Mistress Harriette, still in her cowgirl dominatrix outfit, called for attention. "Your attention please ladies and gentlemen, we've captured this here band of pony rustlers. It's the Runaway Bride and her Bridesmaid Bandits. Let's give them all a good cheer!"

The crowded room, most of whom were entertained by this unexpected interruption, cheered and applauded the displayed revelers loudly. The slaves were silent, as is proper.

“As you can see," Sheriff Harriette continued, flicking a huge gobbet of semen off of one of Chantelle's dreadlocks, "we've already 'interrogated' them thoroughly and they've confessed to a number of heinous crimes against the Ranch. Ladies, if you would read their confessions, please?”

Each girl's "confession" had been hung on a clipboard around their necks. The non-disheveled bridesmaids eagerly began to read each criminal's exciting and informative confession, much to their chagrin and the amusement of the crowd. Once the readings were finished, Harriette inspected the bride closely and told the crowd that, "All y'all have heard of the expression 'a blushing bride'? Well, I do believe that this one is blushing up a storm. If she blushes any harder, those cheeks of hers are going to burst into flames!"

With that pronouncement, the disheveled Coffle of Shame was dragged to the pool area to entertain the guests lounging around the pool with a second reading of the rustlers' lewd confessions.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Back inside Harriette's apartment, Sparrow and Meadowlark watched Mistress Gwen's face as she went through some sort of internal struggle. They didn't know what was upsetting her, but they thought it had something to do with Hammer. Suddenly the girl seemed to come to a decision and perked up. "All right, you two," she said, "I'm covered in ick and so are you, so it's time for a shower, follow me!"

She led them to an enormous shower stall made of glass and gleaming tile. It was a far cry from the relatively spartan linoleum and concrete showers they used in the slave barracks. There was plenty of room inside for all three girls and Gwen soon had Sparrow scrubbing her body while the other slave washed her hair. Then, surprisingly, she had them change positions and had Meadowlark wash Sparrow's hair while Gwen washed Meadow's. It seemed odd that a free woman would do that for one of them, but it was actually quite fun. The mood lightened and there was giggling as the three girls scrubbed each other all over.

Gwen watched with interest as the slave girls removed their tail plugs, washed them off and placed them on a special rack that appeared to have been placed there for that exact purpose. She wanted to ask the other two girls about it, but they couldn't talk, so there was no point in asking. It frustrated her. Perhaps in revenge for her tailhooking earlier in the evening, Gwen made sure to give each pony's rectum a thorough three-finger cleansing. When they insisted on returning the favor, she allowed it, and was surprised to discover that she enjoyed the feeling of their slippery fingers moving in and out of her tight nether hole. While the two giggling slaves were doing that, she stared at the enormous tail plugs and wondered if one of those gigantic things would even fit in her bottom. She thought it would, she just wasn't sure if she would be able to walk with it inserted, much less pull a cart with people on it. She decided to check Harriette's toy drawer for something discreet that she could borrow. Hank wore a tail plug every day, and if Gwen could wear a small, discreet plug every day, then it would help her feel closer to him.

Gwen had never had anal sex before. She had never even considered it. She had even specifically ruled it out of bounds for the orgy. But for some reason the idea kind of excited her now. What if... she could make Hammer her first? Had he ever had anal sex with that gigantic stallion cock of his? Was it even possible? She found herself getting very excited about the idea of giving him her anal virginity. She looked down at the kneeling slave girl washing her legs and gently pressed her face toward her mound. Sensing what Mistress Gwen wanted, Sparrow immediately slipped her tongue inside her. Gwen hadn't allowed them to wash the inside of her birth canal, so she was able to taste the commingled flavors of Hammer's semen and Gwen's love juices.

“Use your fingers, but not inside me," Gwen told her, cooing in pleasure. "Meadowlark, do what you were doing to my bottom again, I, umm, kind of liked it. I've never had any kind of anal sex before.”

Behind her, Meadowlark raised her eyebrows at that. She had lost her anal virginity immediately after losing her freedom and gaining a collar. Boss Chowser had ordered her pinned face down to the equipping rack in the Ranch's receiving tent and proceeded to lubricate her virgin sphincter. He chuckled as he whispered in her ear, "Ever have anyone in your ass before, Girlie? No? Well you're about to. Welcome to the HH Ranch, we aim to please." With the word "aim" he simply rammed his cock into her unprepared rectum. It hurt. It hurt a lot. As the gross hairy man old enough to be her father sodomized her, he encouraged her to cry, but she refused. She had signed a voluntary indenture contract and she knew that this sort of thing was going to be happening to her a lot for the next two years. She wasn't going to start her indenture by crying, even as tears of pain fell from her eyes. She thought she might be punished for failing to sob, but instead he was pleased.

“Best part of my job," he had told the other people in the tent, "Eighteen year old anal virgins. She won't be that tight ever again. Girlie, we're gonna stretch your ass out so far you'll walk around with a gape until the end of your days, slut.”

Although that prospect had terrified her, it also turned out to be entirely untrue. Even now, after months of wearing the extremely large tail plug, her sphincter muscles had adapted to the daily regimen of stretching open and then closing back up. It just required her to consciously exercise her muscles immediately after removing her tail. In truth, she was thankful for the large plug, because it protected her from pain while being sodomized. Many of the Ranch's clients had no idea how to make a woman enjoy anal sex. It hadn't ever mattered to them because they had only done it to slaves whose pleasure (and pain) were irrelevant to them. But with a caring partner, Meadowlark had learned to climax from anal sex if it was accompanied by a gentle rub on her clit.

Gwen writhed and twisted on the two ponies' skilled fingers and Sparrow's tongue easily brought the girl to her fourth orgasm of the evening.

When they were done, they rinsed off and stood together in the steamy air wringing out their wet hair. "That was fun," Gwen told them smiling, "Nothing like a good washing up to improve the mood. Maybe next time I visit the ranch we can use the bubble bath, wouldn't that be fun?" A bubble bath was a rare luxury for a slave and both ponies nodded vigorously.

"All right then," continued Gwen as she stepped out of the shower, "You've both been very good girls tonight in putting up with my nonsense, so I want each of you to have one orgasm each. Rinse off again before you leave the showers."

Soon all three girls were in the kitchen, seated at the table and eating ice cream sandwiches. They were wearing matching towel turbans. Gwen was wearing a short terry cloth robe and the other two were wearing Harriette's enormous and luxuriously-soft bath towels wrapped around their torsos like fluffy slave burritos. In the pony barracks they had to make do with cheap scratchy towels too small to wrap around their bodies. Sometimes the indignities of slavery could be quite petty, and that was one of them.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

At the cottages:

The HH Ranch had a number of guest cottages. The bridal party had reserved a small cluster situated around three hot tubs, which were now occupied with a mixture of bridal party members and former torture deputies. Each bridal party member had been assigned a slave for the night and Clarissa sat with her girl on her lap and was toying with her nipples where they poked through her badge-shaped nipple shields. Like the other women, she had opted for an immediate shower and into the hot tub. Her destroyed consignment-shop wedding dress lay on the sidewalk where they had all simply stepped out of their clothes and headed inside to the showers. The slaves could pick it up later, that's what slaves are for. Because the Ranch qualified as a "private accommodation for the sale of sexual services", nudity was entirely acceptable and most of the bridal party was nude. The slaves were always naked, not that it mattered.

“Harriette," Clarissa said, looking over her shoulder, "Are you going to go check on Guinevere now?”

Harriette approached, her high-heeled cowgirl boots clicking on the pavement. "Yes, honey, I'll go check on her now that y'all have gotten settled in. Please don't be angry with her for safe-wording out, she wouldn't have done it without a good reason."

“It's that stallion of yours, he probably upset her somehow," replied Clarissa. "You know she's had a crush on him for months now, don't you?”

Harriette hadn't known that and she frowned at this new bit of unwelcome information. When Gwen specifically requested Hammer for the bachelorette orgy, she had thought nothing of it. He was a good-looking stallion and he was Gwen's age, and they were both White, so it had seemed like a natural choice.

Chantelle laughed. She was sitting next to Clarissa on the rim of the pool with her feet in the bubbling water. Her chosen companion for the night was the pony boy that Strongheart had tossed away from her earlier. He was happily rubbing massage oil into her shoulders. Harriette made sure that all of her pony boys received masseur training and, if Chantelle's murmurs of appreciation were any indicator, she was very happy with him. On his part, he was also extremely happy, since his usual clientele was either men or older women. Young women didn't normally need to pay for sex.

“Yup," Chantelle chimed in, "she been making moon eyes at that "secret" poster of hers for months now. I can't believe she has that.”

“Oh hush, girl," Clarissa shot back, "you've got two posters of your stallion-crush, one on the football field in uniform and one on the race track bare-ass nakey.”

Chantelle laughed, it was true. She had been lusting after those muscular man-buns for years. Now that Deshonte was approaching the end of his racing career, she wanted to be first in line to welcome his newly-freed ass back into the world. There were probably dozens of other girls with the same plan, but she intended to be at the head of the line.

"Seriously, though Harriette," Clarissa continued, "you need to talk to her. It's bad enough that they already call us "slave-spawn" behind our backs. If word gets out that she has a slave-crush of her own, it'll be unbearable. Mom and Dad will be furious. It's not respectable and it's not socially acceptable. Mommy and Daddy can get away with it only because Mom was the slave, not the other way around, and you know that."

Harriette nodded thoughtfully. This really could be a problem. Her sister Clarissa was overly-focused on social acceptability and appearances - nobody else would have married a guy like Chad - but she may have a solid point.

"Do you recall which poster it was? I have several," she asked.

Clarissa sighed, "Does it matter? It's his poster, she's slave-crushing and it needs to stop. It's offensive, gross, and socially unacceptable. It's fine for some lower-class girl to act that way, but not one of us. It just isn't. Whatever she thinks she's doing, talk to her, find out what it is, and make her stop it."

“Actually, it does matter, Clarissa." Harriette replied evenly, "tell me which poster it was, I have eight. Each one is different, each one has a different meaning and a different focus. If I'm to help you in this, then I need to know which one it was.”

Harriette glanced up, taking in the larger scene. The other two hot tubs were filled with laughing and bouncing naked young people. They weren't paying any attention to the discussion taking place at this hot tub. That was good. But this hot tub included two slaves, which meant that there were four ears that didn't need to be here. "Jayko," she said, "pick up these dresses and take them to the laundry. There should be a basket in one of the cabins. Do not dally." He looked up from his massage, nodded, and headed off. He had just received Harriette's code phrase for "Do what I said and do not allow anyone to tell you otherwise." One of the hazards of being a slave is that one is theoretically at the command of every non-slave that one encounters. It's the reality of being a slave. Any free person can give you any command at any moment and expect you to obey. Commands like "knees, mouth", a demand for oral service, or "bend over, slut" and you need to bend over and take it. But if your owner commands "Do not dally", then even a slave can push back and say "I am about my Mistress's orders, do not interfere."

Harriette turned her attention back to her younger sister. "Which picture was it, Clarissa?"

Clarissa gave an exasperated sigh and shoved the slave off of her lap with a splash. "Slave," she said, "fetch me my phone. It's over there, the pink one," she said, pointing behind herself without looking around. "And pour me another mojito, this one is defective, it's empty."

The pony girl, whose name was Peony, not that Clarissa cared, quickly surged out of the hot tub and returned with her phone.

“Goddammit, you stupid girl," she complained, "towel first, I'm all wet!”

The intimidated slave girl returned with a huge fluffy towel so that Mistress Clarissa could dry her hands before picking up her waterproof phone.

Harriette said nothing, simply watching the interchange. She didn't like it when her slaves were mistreated, but discourtesy and rudeness towards a slave really wasn't something that she could call Clarissa out on.

“Seriously, Harriette," complained Clarissa peevishly, "you need to give your slaves better training.”

“Honey, not all of my ponies have pool duty, it's an easy mistake for her to make.”

“Well she needs to do better, here's the picture you want, satisfied?”

Harriette glanced at the photo. It wasn't a very good picture, being a quick-snap of the inside of Gwen's closet door. It seemed that Gwen had a tiny bit of discretion after all. Harriette didn't need to take a close look at it to know exactly which promotional poster it was. It was one of her own favorites. She occasionally brought out photographers to take pictures of her performance ponies in action and this had been one of the best. The photographer was just a random middle-aged guy taking a photography course who needed some action photos for his portfolio. The snap itself had been almost entirely accidental. He was very pleased when she paid him $500 for the rights to it.

It depicted The Golden Hammer rounding the 3/4 turn, preparing to run for the ribbon. In a normal racing situation, ponies wore visored safety helmets. But in this picture it was just Hammer alone on the track doing a timed heat. He wasn't wearing a helmet. His sun-bleached mane was streaming in the wind behind him - the wind gods were on the photographer's side that day - and he was turning toward the finish line with a look of determined fury in his eyes. His groom/driver Thanh was riding chariot-style behind him and leaning deeply into the curve, so her face was visible on his left. It was a gorgeous photo of power in motion. Every lean and powerful line of muscle on his body had been sharply delineated by the unforgiving light of the setting Texas sun. Harriette had sold a lot of those posters. It was one of her best sellers and it was especially popular with teenage girls like her sister Gwen.

It was a picture that provoked mixed reactions from her. At one level, the Human primate primordial level, it screamed "Have his babies!" Two million years of evolution can't be wrong. But at the level at which Harriette existed, the Master-class slaver level, it said, "My trainers think he can easily pack on another 15-25 pounds over the next few years. He's at 207 pounds right now and is only 18 years old. If we keep training him at his peak potential, I'm looking at a gold mine here, potentially a national-level performer."

Two levels. Two visceral responses. Harriette knew which level she operated on, and she had a good idea which level her youngest sister Gwen was operating on. The key now was to figure out how to reconcile the two in a way that served her and her family's best interests.

Harriette walked over to the snack table and poured the last of the mojito pitcher into an empty cup. "Peony," she said, "take this empty pitcher up to the bar and get it refilled. Don't dally."

"Yes Mistress," the girl responded and padded barefoot toward the bar with the empty pitcher. This area was getting uncomfortable for her as the two Mistresses seemed to be having some sort of family quarrel. Although she felt confident that Mistress Harriette wouldn't take her anger out on an innocent slave girl, she couldn't be so sure about Miss Clarissa.

Now that there were no unnecessary ears in the immediate area, Harriette knelt between Clarissa and Chantelle and asked, "All right, what do you know?"

Neither responded. Harriette waited. Finally Clarissa spoke up. "Just make double-damn sure she takes a morning-after pill tomorrow. I'm pretty sure she's off her birth control right now and has been for weeks."

Harriette blinked. That... wasn't what she was expecting. When the two young women had first informed her of Gwen's possible romantic interest in her favorite stallion, she had assumed that she would have time to work something out. Now it appeared as though that might not be the case. She turned and looked quizzically at Chantelle.

Chantelle smiled back at her and patted her own tummy. "Never mind me," she said with a self-satisfied smile, "I got what I wanted out of tonight. That's why I'm sitting on the edge of the pool, these here baby-makers need time to work."

Harriette snorted. "Well this just keeps getting more interesting," she thought. She was also suddenly very pleased with herself for sending the slaves away before the conversation reached this point.

“Chantelle honey," Clarissa said in a fondly-exasperated tone, "Texas is not Louisiana. Things are different here and you know that. You've got slaves and people owning each other all up and down alla y'alls family trees going back to the 1500's. It's not like that here. People will talk, people do talk, and some of the things they say can make life a little bit difficult if you know what I mean. If Strongheart...”

"His name is Deshonte," her friend interjected.

"... fine, Deshonte," Clarissa continued, "If Deshonte shows up for Thanksgiving dinner in Baton Rouge next year wearing a nice suit, everyone will be glad to meet him and want to shake his hand. Then all y'all are going to sit down like a big happy family and say nice things to one another. Life isn't like that here, people hide things. Mom can't hide that she was once a slave and Daddy bought her at auction. That causes social problems for her and for Gwen and for me. But that's nothing compared to what a woman goes through if she got knocked up by a slave. It's not fair, but that's slavery for you. I have nothing against slave-spawn, I'm one myself. It's also one of the reasons why you and I became besties in college because nobody wanted nothing to do with either one of us socially. But if Gwenny goes around flaunting a baby bump with no baby daddy in sight, people are going to ask questions, people are going to know, and her future respectability quotient goes to zero and her chance for a prestigious marriage does, too."

She finished off her mojito with a quick gulp, tossed the plastic cup aside and looked around, asking peevishly "Where is that stupid slave girl? She should have been back by now! Never mind. Harriette, go and talk to Gwen and make sure she does the right thing. If she doesn't, it's your fault, not mine, and you need to be the one who explains to Mom and Dad how you helped Gwen ruin her life."

“All right, sweetie," Harriette responded, ignoring Clarissa's tone, "I'll look into it and see what I can do to set things right.”

Harriette left and started walking back to the Ranch's main building. The Sun had set and it was dark out. The long path was lit only by a series of foot lights, creating a series of lighted pools. Harriette wasn't concerned for her safety, though. Every slave and every free person on the HH Ranch grounds was tracked at all times by the Ranch AI, Ranch-lexa.

She saw approaching feet on the path ahead of her and halted Jayko as he came into her presence. At 6'2" in her high-heeled cowgirl boots, she was about five inches taller than he was. She pulled his nude form close to her leather-clad body in the darkness with one hand on his smooth and muscular rump as she wrapped her other hand around the base of his unusually large cock. It wasn't a penisillin-enhanced cock like her stallions had, but it didn't need to be. When she first saw him on the auction block, she knew she had to have him. She loved groping slave boys that she owned personally and controlling them with their cocks.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

“Yes, Ma'am," he responded, "I... sorry about the delay, I needed to wash out the laundry basket, it had some goo on it.”

“Good," she murmured in his ear, "I'm so glad you've made it back safely. Did you have any trouble?”

“Umm, yes, Ma'am, I mean no Ma'am, just the usual with that one lady.”

Harriette knew exactly who "that one lady" was. If she had had any doubts, Ranch-lexa's RFID location logs could tell her the answer in an instant. There were a lot of people who hired on at slave-owning businesses for the sexual opportunities. Not all of them were men.

She pulled him closer and slipped his hardening cock across the smooth leather chaps she was wearing until it crossed over to the strip of exposed skin between the soft leather and the tiny bikini bottoms she was wearing. He dropped the plastic laundry basket, but didn't dare raise his arms to participate in the almost-embrace. She was his owner. She was powerful... and she frightened him. She didn't frighten his cock, though. The damn thing seemed to have a mind of its own. Mistress Harriette slowly pumped her hips, sliding the shaft of his hardening cock along the sensitive skin just fractions of an inch from her utterly-impossible-to-obtain pussy. Jayko was quite certain that he would die instantly if he actually penetrated her.

Harriette released her grip on his perfectly-rounded glute and trailed her pointed nails up along the skin of his spine, savoring his fearful arousal. She slid her fingers into his thick curls and turned his head slightly toward her, as though she was going for a kiss. It was a kiss that would never come. It was a kiss that she would never give. She was a slaver. She was a slave-owner. She owned this slave. Power was her aphrodisiac, and this boy had none at all. But he was a fun toy, he was a beautiful boy, and she enjoyed toying with him.

Instead, she kissed him gently on the forehead above his right eyebrow. "Go back to the cottages and make sure that Chantelle has a good time. These are your orders for tonight. Also, if possible, you are to enjoy yourself. Do you understand these orders?"

He nodded. He would do anything for her and she knew it. It wasn't just fear and desire. It was indeed those things but it was also more than that. She was the fount of power and authority in the microcosmic world of the HH Ranch and they both knew it. And unlike many slave owners, she honestly and truly cared about the well-being of her property. Not just their physical health, but their emotional health as well... but she was still scary.

Harriette wasn't done yet. She tightened her grip around his now fully-engorged penis and gave him one final command. "Nothing you heard tonight will ever be spoken of - to anyone ever. Is that understood? I have a long reach and that doesn't just mean people I own, it means people out and about in the world, slave or free. Is that understood as well?"

He nodded vigorously. She savored the feel of his thick and heavy curls between her fingertips. She spent a lot of money on getting him just the right hair care products to keep those curls luxurious and shining. Her herd of pleasure ponies, like her clientele, was very diverse. Jayko was a good money-maker. With his thick head of pencil-width curls, dark skin, impressive endowment, and gentle smile, he hit a lot of clients' fantasies of the ideal Black lover. Chantelle, like many Black women nowadays, had specified that she would only have sex with Black slaves tonight, and Jayko was her only Black pleasure pony at the moment. Strongheart was of course Chantelle's real target, but Jayko would do in his absence.

"All right then," Harriette said, pulling back from the one-sided embrace of her property, "go make sure that Ms. Chantelle has a good time." He nodded and headed off with his laundry basket, with his unsatisfied heavy penis bouncing erectly left and right in front of him. Perhaps he would find somewhere soft and warm to put it tonight, but that was up to Chantelle, not him.

As she continued her walk toward the Ranch's main buildings, Harriette saw another set of feet approaching through the pools of light. In contrast to the pony boy behind her, these feet were small and slender. Peony wasn't one of Harriette's petites, but she did have a very small shoe size. Not that she wore shoes any more.

"Everything all right?" Harriette asked, accosting her in the same way as her other pony a few moments ago. She cupped the girl's smooth vagina in one hand and pulled her close with the other hand palming the girl's taut little butt cheek. One of the things that had originally attracted Harriette to pony play was the look and feel of tightly-muscled athletic girls' bottoms. When she was in school, she got her fix by participating in - and watching - girls' sports. On the other hand, showering up after a game was difficult for her because she could look but not touch. Now, though, she could literally own girls with spankable bottoms. Tonight she planned to bring Meadowlark into her bed and indulge herself even more. After her spanking, of course.

"Oh, umm, yes Ma'am, just had to wait a bit to get the order filled. There were some clients at the bar." Although she was picking up an order for free women, the bartender would still have to serve the free people at the bar first. It was right and proper that actual people didn't have to wait behind mere livestock.

Harriette nodded and nibbled on the girl's ear. She had such a cute and sweet voice. Standing in the darkness like this just made her enjoy it even more. Perhaps she would bring Peony up to her room for playtime some time soon.

“Peony, please keep in mind that anything you heard tonight regarding Hammer is a Ranch secret, do you understand?”

Peony nodded, careful not to slosh the pitcher of mojitos in her hands as her Mistress's talented fingers explored the inner folds of her pussy. Keeping secrets was very important in their line of work. Clients needed to be able to come to the Ranch, relax, and indulge themselves sexually without fear of information getting out. What happens on the Ranch stays on the Ranch. Also, although rumors ordinarily flew about the pony barracks at the speed of light, ponies knew which topics were forbidden. That included almost everything about Harriette's racing ponies. And if she had heard the hot tub conversation correctly, there seemed to be some of Harriette's family drama surrounding it, making the topic exponentially more untouchable.

“Good," Harriette told her, "you're a very good girl for keeping my secrets. I don't want to punish you for anything, it would make me sad.”

The last part was not entirely true. Harriette generally didn't enjoy punishing slaves, but spanking submissive girls was fun. She usually did it in private though, so that she could comfort the girl afterwards. That was also delightful. Tonight she planned to have fun spanking Meadowlark. She had seen the girl sneaking Gwen's hair accessories and discarded skirt into her equipment bag. The items had little intrinsic value, but it was technically stealing from a free person, and that was all she needed. One should never punish one's slaves for actions that they didn't do or for things that they did not know were wrong, but Meadowlark's secretive body language had given her away to her owner's sharp eyes. She knew what she did was wrong and she would have to be spanked for it.

“All right my good girl," she purred as the diddled her slave, "go have fun tonight, but don't let Clarissa drink too much. If she insists, get Chantelle to convince her. Or better yet, talk to Chantelle first if you can.”

Peony scurried off with her pitcher and Harriette continued on her way. She needed to find out what her youngest sister thought she was up to. The thought brought a frown to her face. Gwen had always been willful, but she always had a reason for what she was doing. Even when she was very small, "Because I said so" combined with overbearing authority simply made her dig in her heels. You had to sit her down and talk to her and convince her that you were right. Fortunately, even when angry and being stubborn about it, she was usually willing to listen to other opinions as long as she felt like she was being heard. So that's what Harriette needed to do now. She needed to listen to Gwen and then explain to her why she was wrong. If she was wrong, Harriette hadn't heard her side of the story yet, she only Clarissa and Chantelle's suspicions to go on.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

-
Part Four is next, stay tuned!
-

[jeepster]

Harriette walks like me! Head down so the first thing you notice is shoes or feet!

[ZeeChromosome]

Harriette walks like me! Head down so the first thing you notice is shoes or feet!

Heh. Jeep, gonna tell you a funny joke. I'm an accountant and I swear to you by all that it Holy that this is a real thing:

Question: How do you tell the difference between an introverted accountant and an extroverted accountant?

Answer: The extroverted accountant is the one who stares at your feet while talking to you.

[jeepster]

Haha! I do it because I had a stroke. So I want to see what I am walking on and where my bad leg is stepping! So when I am out walking it's always me staring at the ground 1-2 meters in front of me!

[ZeeChromosome]

Haha! I do it because I had a stroke. So I want to see what I am walking on and where my bad leg is stepping! So when I am out walking it's always me staring at the ground 1-2 meters in front of me!

Glad to hear you're back on your feet, Jeep!

[Carl Bradford]

Heck, Jeepster, I walk like that, staring intently at the ground, because I have not only zero depth perception but also weak ankles that get twisted on the least little pebble or whatever. Glad to hear I'm not the only one, even if in my case the causes are much less dramatic.

[jeepster]

Yeah I have to watch what I step on and what I put the cane on! Cause if its not solid its bad! So a well swept sidewalk is my favorite!

[ZeeChromosome]

Yeah I have to watch what I step on and what I put the cane on! Cause if its not solid its bad! So a well swept sidewalk is my favorite!

Working on Part Four. It's in review. I hope to have it to you soon. Seems like there's gonna be a Part Five, too. And maybe a Part Six.

Fortunately or unfortunately, my kinkiness advisors - Smith and Bradford, LLC - have far more imagination than I do and they're hitting me with genius ideas and forcing me to add things. So I expect to deliver Part Four shortly. At the same time, I expect to add Part Five and the additional story "Internalship Adventures" to my list of projects.

Pity me. I command it!

Zee