Arabian Plaything Chapter 6
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FLASHBACK
“You are being consigned to the Stables, Belle.” It was Madame Vesta who spoke ... and Belle shuddered at the hideous impact of the words.
This was the fate most dreaded by all the slave-girls of Quireme. But it was never escaped by those who were fit and strong, tall and well-built. As Belle was. Very much so. She had an almost irrepressible urge to fling herself at Madame Vesta’s booted feet and beg and plead for escape. But, not only was she aware that it would be quite useless, but it was sure to earn her a thrashing. Once, long ago now it seemed, she had pleaded similarly in order to avoid some appalling kind of duty ... and had immediately been severely caned for the ‘effrontery’ of daring to query Madame Vesta’s orders.
So, somehow, Belle kept her tongue.
But the sickness rose up to her throat and she felt herself shivering uncontrollably. They had all heard something of the Stables. All of it was inhuman. A lot of it seemed impossible to bear. Whenever a slave-girl returned from such a tour of duty, she was never quite the same again. Being a Pony left a lifelong mark.
Scarcely surprising ...
Madame Vesta was looking at her with beady dark eyes ... searching for some sign of incorrect reaction. Waiting for a protest. A plea. Belle bit her lips furiously. Tears came to the back of her eyes. Still on her knees, she kept her head up in silence.
Oh what an effort!
“I think you will make an excellent Pony Girl,” Madame Vesta said. “In time, that is. You have the right kind of body for it. Limbs long and powerful, but well shaped. Excellent hindquarters. Yes ... you will be much admired.”
Belle felt sicker than ever. Already she was being talked about as it she were an a****l. Dear God! She had descended terrible depths ... but this was the worst yet!
“You will be fetched this afternoon. Inform Hassan, slave.”
“Yes, Madame . . .” Belle was a little surprised by the faltering weakness of her voice.. She had not realised her throat was so tight. Feel rubbery-kneed, trembling inside, she made her way back to her quarters.
The Stables ...
The dreaded Stables ...
At last, the very worst had happened.
She entered the slave quarters. Two of her companions were lying quietly in each other’s arms. Then she went into Hassan’s room and fell to her knees. He was lying relaxed on his bed, with one of the girls sucking him gently. Almost idly, it seemed.
The Nubian looked at her. It was unusual for a slave-girl to enter without being summoned.
“M-Master ...” she said tremulously, “forgive ... m-me. but ... but .. I have been consigned ... to ... to the Stables ...” She could not check a rush of tears.
Hassan looked unconcerned. “I have been expecting it,” he said. “You’ve got the right sort of body. You’ll find it hard work, girl. But you’ll survive.” The black face broke into a grin. “I’ll miss you, though.”
Not surprisingly, Belle had always been one of his favourites. An English Lady as your plaything! Wouldn’t any Negro be pleased? He patted the girl who was sucking him on the head.
“Off you go,” he said “Belle here can take over ... since she won’t be with us much longer.”
The slave-girl slipped silently away and Belle came crawling on to the bed. It was something very familiar to her now. This muscular, smooth, well-oiled black body. This big black penis. So virile. Never at a loss, it seemed. Not easy at first, though. Not easy for her to give herself with utter abandon to a black.
How she had hated them once!
Couldn’t bear them to touch her!
She had had to change completely. Indeed, she had been MADE to change completely!
Submissively, she took the half-erect organ into her mouth and began to suck in the same gentle fashion as the girl who had just left. Hassan sighed happily and stretched.
This was the life!
Pity about Belle going, though. She was a real beauty. And, though she hadn’t been too co-operative at first, she now made a very good fuck indeed. A half a dozen good canings for ‘failing to satisfy’ had made all the difference. Belle had never looked back.
Hassan came to a firm erection. Not bad, he reflected. He’d had the other girl only an hour ago. He tugged gently on Belle’s hair.
“Up you come,” he said, “and give me a nice ride.” He grinned. “There’ll be plenty of people riding you before long!”
Belle rose up and, with thighs wide apart, straddled Hassan’s black body. Slowly but surely she lowered her haunches and took the solid root up into her. She began to undulate up and down seductively.
Looking up, Hassan saw the tears running silently down Belle’s cheeks.
He closed his eyes, enjoying the lovely girl’s easy-riding succulence.
Yes ... it was tough on her. Tough being sent to the Stables. Vaguely, he tried to imagine what it must be like for a woman ... especially a woman like Belle ... to be treated and use like an a****l.
After a while Hassan gave up.
He simply enjoyed the lovely fuck Belle was giving him.
Belle was taken before the Head of the Stables, Kemal. The bald-headed, potbellied Turk looked at her appreciatively. The new girl, he saw, was shivering and crying. Nothing unusual about that. None of them liked being sent to the Stables . . . which was very understandable indeed!
“Stand up . . . legs well astride . . . hands on top of your head.”
Belle obeyed without demure. She was used to carrying out that kind of order promptly. Podgy hands ran over her. Fondled and mauled her. Her bottom was suddenly smacked.
“Stop snivelling, girl.”
“I . . . I’m so sorry, Master . . . but . . . I . . . I’m s-so . . . frightened ...”
Two more smacks. “Silence, girl!” Belle gritted her teeth and endured the examination. “Not bad at all,” she heard Kemal saying, almost to himself. “Good quarters ... fine long thighs ... nice high, firm tits. I reckon we’ll make a first-rate Pony out of you.” The hand squeezed Belle’s buttocks. “Good bottom, too. That’ll look well in motion.”
Belle shuddered uncontrollably and a sob burst from her. Kemal appeared quite unconcerned.
“What stall is she to go to?” asked Greta, one of Kemal’s two female assistants.
“Number 4’s vacant. That’s one of Sven’s isn’t it?”
“Yes ... his other Pony’s Pride of Erin.”
“Fine.” Kemal turned back to Belle. “Bend over and touch your toes,” he ordered. Belle did so ... and Kemal took a long look at the charms displayed. He reckoned he’d pay a visit to Number 4 a little later on! Then he unlooped the riding crop from his belt. “Now,” he said, “Ponies do not ever talk. They just neigh and then either nod or shake their head. If they DO talk, they feel this.”
The crop whiplashed down and a shriek of agony erupted from Belle at the unexpected cut which raised a vivid red-purple welt across her bottom. She twisted this way and that, clasping at her buttocks. Just in time, she found strength and will to bend over again.
“Understand?” asked Kemal.
“Yes ... Master ...” replied Belle automatically.
Again the crop fell.
Another weal ... another agonised shriek. Belle squirmed, moaning to her knees.
“Didn’t you hear me?” rasped Kemal.
Belle almost spoke again. Then feeling the utter degradation of it, she nodded her head and neighed.
“Louder,” said Kemal.
Belle neighed louder, again nodding her head.
It was her very first lesson in the cruel world of the Stables!
“Take her away, please, Greta.”
“Sure, follow me, girl.”
Belle staggered to her feet and followed the woman ... who was clad in white blouse, tight-fitting black riding breeches and black boots. A crop was looped to her right wrist. Belle shuddered again. The two weals blazed fiercely across her flesh. She was in no hurry to feel the crop again!
They came to a kind of shed with double doors. Belle tried not to look at it. This was an actual stable! Where she was going to be kept. Like an a****l. Belle prayed that the ground would open up and swallow her. But it did not.
They entered.
There was a musty smell. Straw on the floor. Stalls on either side. Fearfully, Belle took a quick glimpse. Yes ... they were occupied. She could see naked flesh. Buttocks, backs and thighs. There was a rustling. A clinking of metal. And, above each stall. there were names . . .
Highland Lass.
Maid Merry.
Dusky Charmer.
Pride of Erin.
The woman stopped. Belle caught her breath. This must be HER stall. Where she was to be tethered.
Oh dear God!
“Good evening, Ma’am.”
A tall fair-haired man came into the stall. He was dressed in a kind of easy-going cowboy style. He glanced at Belle.
“Good evening, Sven. I’ve brought you a new Pony. Quite a promising one.”
“Ahhh ...” Sven looked Belle up and down, then walked around her. As Kemal had done, he patted and fondled her. “Good material,” he said, at last.
“Yes, I reckon so.” nodded Greta. “Well, I’ll leave her with you. Just settle her down. Oh . . . and she’ll need a feed.”
“Right ...”
As the woman left, Belle had a wild desire to flee. To run from the stall ... to run from the Stable. Anywhere ... anywhere ... anything ... anything ... was preferable to where she was! With horror she looked around ... seeing the troughs ... the bridles ... the bits ... the reins. All the paraphernalia of the horse-world! She began to shake and sob uncontrollably.
The stable-hand patted her bottom almost kindly. “Don’t take on so,” he said. “It’s always worse at first ...”
“Please ... please ... don’t make me ... don’t ...” Belle fell to her knees, hands uplifted imploringly.
Sven shook his head sorrowfully. “Haven’t you been told about not talking, Pony?” he asked.
It was the first time Belle had been thus addressed. It was like putting a knife into her. She almost spoke again. Then, remembering, nodded her head up and down and neighed loudly.
“I’ll let you off this time,” Sven said. “But, if it happens again, I’ll tan your hide.”
Belle experienced a moment’s relief. Then the horrors of the place pressed in on her again.
“Follow me ...”
They went through a door at the back of the stall.
“This is the Tack Room,” said Sven casually. “Here you are groomed and so on. Here is where the equipment is kept.”
Belle dare not look at it. She kept her eyes lowered. It was all so unbelievable. So unnatural. Yet this man was acting and speaking as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world!
“This is a ‘framework’, Sven continued. “On which you spend most of your time. You come off at night ... to lie in the straw. You go on it first thing in the morning. We’ll try it out ...”
Belle gasped and stepped back. She saw a frame of thin, light metal. A leathern hump. Supports. straps. Little castor wheels on the base.
“Don’t get nervy, Pony,” said Sven. “It’s all quite simple . . . just relax.” He took her by the arm and led her towards it. Instinctively she resisted.
Sven checked. “Do you want a real good hiding?” he asked. “I see you’ve felt a crop already . . . so you know what it’s like.”
Only in the last second did Belle check herself speaking. She shook her head and neighed.
“Well then ... just do as I say ... or that backside of yours will be in trouble. And I’m not k**ding.”
Reluctantly, Belle allowed herself to be led forward.
“Belly on the hump ... bend over ...”
Belle felt the leathern squab under her ... knew it was forcing her hindquarters up.; Her shoulders rested on two foam-rubber pads on the top of adjustable arms. The posture was reasonably comfortable. Her legs were more or less straight. Then she felt the squab raised under her until they were quite straight.
“There,” she heard the stable hand say, “that’s better.” Then she felt a strap going over the small of her back, pinioning her firmly down to the leather squab.
I am becoming a Pony, she thought, almost in panic.
Becoming an a****l!
“Arms behind your back ...”
Belle placed both arms behind her ... then felt them forced up high on her back. Some kind of leathern corset was wrapped around them ... and she felt the laces being tightened. Now she felt less comfortable... and far more helpless.
Sven moved to the front of the framework and made another adjustment. “You’ve got good tits. Pony,” he said as he raised the shoulder supports, “let’s make the most of them.”
As Belle’s shoulders went back, her breasts went thrusting forward. Sven fondled them casually. “Yes ... very good,” he remarked. Then he took hold of a nipple and examined it. “Ahh . . . so you’ve not been pierced yet. I’ll deal with that a little later.”
A shiver of dread ran through Belle. Again the urge to plead come upon her. ... and she only just resisted it. Then came the ultimate horror. Sven produced a bridle and bit ... and, as the straps went over her head and round her forehead, Belle began to sob heartbreakingly.
“Open your mouth, Pony,” ordered Sven unemotionally.
“P-P-PLLLEEEEE . . . EEEASE . . .” beseeched Belle, blue-green eyes wide and pleading desperately, mouth quivering out of control.
“I warned you, Pony,” said Sven as he strolled to the other end of the framework. Then he began to lay his crop across Belle’s upthrusting bottom.
Her agonised screams echoed loudly through the stable as she kicked and threshed, the sounds chilling the blood in other Ponies under training as they stood tethered in their stalls.
Ten more savage weals had erupted across Belle’s buttocks and thigh-tops before the stable hand lowered his crop.
“You do NOT disobey me, Pony,” Sven said as he went back to the girl’s head. “You’ll soon learn that here!”
It was always best to be tough on newcomers. They were usually in a state of half-hysteria at that stage ... and it was important to break them in quickly to their new conditions and way of life.
“Open your mouth, Pony,” Sven repeated, picking up the bit again. This time, though Belle was weeping copiously, there was no delay. The pink mouth, with its beautifully even white teeth, opened wide. In went the steel bit. The mouth closed. Belle, for the first time, felt the hard coldness of this new intrusion. It ground on her teeth, pressed down on her tongue and, as Sven shortened the reins, cut into the corners of her mouth. An awful sobbing-moan came for Belle as, taking hold of the bridle, Sven led her back into the stall. There Sven tethered her to a rind in the ring which hung between two metal troughs.
Now Belle did indeed feel truly like an a****l!
Sven patted her flank in a consoling kind of way. “You’ll soon get used to it, Pony,” he said.
The he strolled out of the stall and was gone.
A little while later, that sense of being an a****l intensified. For, an urge of Nature came upon Belle. She fought it for as long as she could but, in the end, nature was irresistible.
Oh what could she do?
Oh could she do that?
It was too, too horrible!
Yet, in the end, Belle had to straddle her limbs ... and she passed water on to the straw beneath her.
“You are being consigned to the Stables, Belle.” It was Madame Vesta who spoke ... and Belle shuddered at the hideous impact of the words.
This was the fate most dreaded by all the slave-girls of Quireme. But it was never escaped by those who were fit and strong, tall and well-built. As Belle was. Very much so. She had an almost irrepressible urge to fling herself at Madame Vesta’s booted feet and beg and plead for escape. But, not only was she aware that it would be quite useless, but it was sure to earn her a thrashing. Once, long ago now it seemed, she had pleaded similarly in order to avoid some appalling kind of duty ... and had immediately been severely caned for the ‘effrontery’ of daring to query Madame Vesta’s orders.
So, somehow, Belle kept her tongue.
But the sickness rose up to her throat and she felt herself shivering uncontrollably. They had all heard something of the Stables. All of it was inhuman. A lot of it seemed impossible to bear. Whenever a slave-girl returned from such a tour of duty, she was never quite the same again. Being a Pony left a lifelong mark.
Scarcely surprising ...
Madame Vesta was looking at her with beady dark eyes ... searching for some sign of incorrect reaction. Waiting for a protest. A plea. Belle bit her lips furiously. Tears came to the back of her eyes. Still on her knees, she kept her head up in silence.
Oh what an effort!
“I think you will make an excellent Pony Girl,” Madame Vesta said. “In time, that is. You have the right kind of body for it. Limbs long and powerful, but well shaped. Excellent hindquarters. Yes ... you will be much admired.”
Belle felt sicker than ever. Already she was being talked about as it she were an a****l. Dear God! She had descended terrible depths ... but this was the worst yet!
“You will be fetched this afternoon. Inform Hassan, slave.”
“Yes, Madame . . .” Belle was a little surprised by the faltering weakness of her voice.. She had not realised her throat was so tight. Feel rubbery-kneed, trembling inside, she made her way back to her quarters.
The Stables ...
The dreaded Stables ...
At last, the very worst had happened.
She entered the slave quarters. Two of her companions were lying quietly in each other’s arms. Then she went into Hassan’s room and fell to her knees. He was lying relaxed on his bed, with one of the girls sucking him gently. Almost idly, it seemed.
The Nubian looked at her. It was unusual for a slave-girl to enter without being summoned.
“M-Master ...” she said tremulously, “forgive ... m-me. but ... but .. I have been consigned ... to ... to the Stables ...” She could not check a rush of tears.
Hassan looked unconcerned. “I have been expecting it,” he said. “You’ve got the right sort of body. You’ll find it hard work, girl. But you’ll survive.” The black face broke into a grin. “I’ll miss you, though.”
Not surprisingly, Belle had always been one of his favourites. An English Lady as your plaything! Wouldn’t any Negro be pleased? He patted the girl who was sucking him on the head.
“Off you go,” he said “Belle here can take over ... since she won’t be with us much longer.”
The slave-girl slipped silently away and Belle came crawling on to the bed. It was something very familiar to her now. This muscular, smooth, well-oiled black body. This big black penis. So virile. Never at a loss, it seemed. Not easy at first, though. Not easy for her to give herself with utter abandon to a black.
How she had hated them once!
Couldn’t bear them to touch her!
She had had to change completely. Indeed, she had been MADE to change completely!
Submissively, she took the half-erect organ into her mouth and began to suck in the same gentle fashion as the girl who had just left. Hassan sighed happily and stretched.
This was the life!
Pity about Belle going, though. She was a real beauty. And, though she hadn’t been too co-operative at first, she now made a very good fuck indeed. A half a dozen good canings for ‘failing to satisfy’ had made all the difference. Belle had never looked back.
Hassan came to a firm erection. Not bad, he reflected. He’d had the other girl only an hour ago. He tugged gently on Belle’s hair.
“Up you come,” he said, “and give me a nice ride.” He grinned. “There’ll be plenty of people riding you before long!”
Belle rose up and, with thighs wide apart, straddled Hassan’s black body. Slowly but surely she lowered her haunches and took the solid root up into her. She began to undulate up and down seductively.
Looking up, Hassan saw the tears running silently down Belle’s cheeks.
He closed his eyes, enjoying the lovely girl’s easy-riding succulence.
Yes ... it was tough on her. Tough being sent to the Stables. Vaguely, he tried to imagine what it must be like for a woman ... especially a woman like Belle ... to be treated and use like an a****l.
After a while Hassan gave up.
He simply enjoyed the lovely fuck Belle was giving him.
Belle was taken before the Head of the Stables, Kemal. The bald-headed, potbellied Turk looked at her appreciatively. The new girl, he saw, was shivering and crying. Nothing unusual about that. None of them liked being sent to the Stables . . . which was very understandable indeed!
“Stand up . . . legs well astride . . . hands on top of your head.”
Belle obeyed without demure. She was used to carrying out that kind of order promptly. Podgy hands ran over her. Fondled and mauled her. Her bottom was suddenly smacked.
“Stop snivelling, girl.”
“I . . . I’m so sorry, Master . . . but . . . I . . . I’m s-so . . . frightened ...”
Two more smacks. “Silence, girl!” Belle gritted her teeth and endured the examination. “Not bad at all,” she heard Kemal saying, almost to himself. “Good quarters ... fine long thighs ... nice high, firm tits. I reckon we’ll make a first-rate Pony out of you.” The hand squeezed Belle’s buttocks. “Good bottom, too. That’ll look well in motion.”
Belle shuddered uncontrollably and a sob burst from her. Kemal appeared quite unconcerned.
“What stall is she to go to?” asked Greta, one of Kemal’s two female assistants.
“Number 4’s vacant. That’s one of Sven’s isn’t it?”
“Yes ... his other Pony’s Pride of Erin.”
“Fine.” Kemal turned back to Belle. “Bend over and touch your toes,” he ordered. Belle did so ... and Kemal took a long look at the charms displayed. He reckoned he’d pay a visit to Number 4 a little later on! Then he unlooped the riding crop from his belt. “Now,” he said, “Ponies do not ever talk. They just neigh and then either nod or shake their head. If they DO talk, they feel this.”
The crop whiplashed down and a shriek of agony erupted from Belle at the unexpected cut which raised a vivid red-purple welt across her bottom. She twisted this way and that, clasping at her buttocks. Just in time, she found strength and will to bend over again.
“Understand?” asked Kemal.
“Yes ... Master ...” replied Belle automatically.
Again the crop fell.
Another weal ... another agonised shriek. Belle squirmed, moaning to her knees.
“Didn’t you hear me?” rasped Kemal.
Belle almost spoke again. Then feeling the utter degradation of it, she nodded her head and neighed.
“Louder,” said Kemal.
Belle neighed louder, again nodding her head.
It was her very first lesson in the cruel world of the Stables!
“Take her away, please, Greta.”
“Sure, follow me, girl.”
Belle staggered to her feet and followed the woman ... who was clad in white blouse, tight-fitting black riding breeches and black boots. A crop was looped to her right wrist. Belle shuddered again. The two weals blazed fiercely across her flesh. She was in no hurry to feel the crop again!
They came to a kind of shed with double doors. Belle tried not to look at it. This was an actual stable! Where she was going to be kept. Like an a****l. Belle prayed that the ground would open up and swallow her. But it did not.
They entered.
There was a musty smell. Straw on the floor. Stalls on either side. Fearfully, Belle took a quick glimpse. Yes ... they were occupied. She could see naked flesh. Buttocks, backs and thighs. There was a rustling. A clinking of metal. And, above each stall. there were names . . .
Highland Lass.
Maid Merry.
Dusky Charmer.
Pride of Erin.
The woman stopped. Belle caught her breath. This must be HER stall. Where she was to be tethered.
Oh dear God!
“Good evening, Ma’am.”
A tall fair-haired man came into the stall. He was dressed in a kind of easy-going cowboy style. He glanced at Belle.
“Good evening, Sven. I’ve brought you a new Pony. Quite a promising one.”
“Ahhh ...” Sven looked Belle up and down, then walked around her. As Kemal had done, he patted and fondled her. “Good material,” he said, at last.
“Yes, I reckon so.” nodded Greta. “Well, I’ll leave her with you. Just settle her down. Oh . . . and she’ll need a feed.”
“Right ...”
As the woman left, Belle had a wild desire to flee. To run from the stall ... to run from the Stable. Anywhere ... anywhere ... anything ... anything ... was preferable to where she was! With horror she looked around ... seeing the troughs ... the bridles ... the bits ... the reins. All the paraphernalia of the horse-world! She began to shake and sob uncontrollably.
The stable-hand patted her bottom almost kindly. “Don’t take on so,” he said. “It’s always worse at first ...”
“Please ... please ... don’t make me ... don’t ...” Belle fell to her knees, hands uplifted imploringly.
Sven shook his head sorrowfully. “Haven’t you been told about not talking, Pony?” he asked.
It was the first time Belle had been thus addressed. It was like putting a knife into her. She almost spoke again. Then, remembering, nodded her head up and down and neighed loudly.
“I’ll let you off this time,” Sven said. “But, if it happens again, I’ll tan your hide.”
Belle experienced a moment’s relief. Then the horrors of the place pressed in on her again.
“Follow me ...”
They went through a door at the back of the stall.
“This is the Tack Room,” said Sven casually. “Here you are groomed and so on. Here is where the equipment is kept.”
Belle dare not look at it. She kept her eyes lowered. It was all so unbelievable. So unnatural. Yet this man was acting and speaking as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world!
“This is a ‘framework’, Sven continued. “On which you spend most of your time. You come off at night ... to lie in the straw. You go on it first thing in the morning. We’ll try it out ...”
Belle gasped and stepped back. She saw a frame of thin, light metal. A leathern hump. Supports. straps. Little castor wheels on the base.
“Don’t get nervy, Pony,” said Sven. “It’s all quite simple . . . just relax.” He took her by the arm and led her towards it. Instinctively she resisted.
Sven checked. “Do you want a real good hiding?” he asked. “I see you’ve felt a crop already . . . so you know what it’s like.”
Only in the last second did Belle check herself speaking. She shook her head and neighed.
“Well then ... just do as I say ... or that backside of yours will be in trouble. And I’m not k**ding.”
Reluctantly, Belle allowed herself to be led forward.
“Belly on the hump ... bend over ...”
Belle felt the leathern squab under her ... knew it was forcing her hindquarters up.; Her shoulders rested on two foam-rubber pads on the top of adjustable arms. The posture was reasonably comfortable. Her legs were more or less straight. Then she felt the squab raised under her until they were quite straight.
“There,” she heard the stable hand say, “that’s better.” Then she felt a strap going over the small of her back, pinioning her firmly down to the leather squab.
I am becoming a Pony, she thought, almost in panic.
Becoming an a****l!
“Arms behind your back ...”
Belle placed both arms behind her ... then felt them forced up high on her back. Some kind of leathern corset was wrapped around them ... and she felt the laces being tightened. Now she felt less comfortable... and far more helpless.
Sven moved to the front of the framework and made another adjustment. “You’ve got good tits. Pony,” he said as he raised the shoulder supports, “let’s make the most of them.”
As Belle’s shoulders went back, her breasts went thrusting forward. Sven fondled them casually. “Yes ... very good,” he remarked. Then he took hold of a nipple and examined it. “Ahh . . . so you’ve not been pierced yet. I’ll deal with that a little later.”
A shiver of dread ran through Belle. Again the urge to plead come upon her. ... and she only just resisted it. Then came the ultimate horror. Sven produced a bridle and bit ... and, as the straps went over her head and round her forehead, Belle began to sob heartbreakingly.
“Open your mouth, Pony,” ordered Sven unemotionally.
“P-P-PLLLEEEEE . . . EEEASE . . .” beseeched Belle, blue-green eyes wide and pleading desperately, mouth quivering out of control.
“I warned you, Pony,” said Sven as he strolled to the other end of the framework. Then he began to lay his crop across Belle’s upthrusting bottom.
Her agonised screams echoed loudly through the stable as she kicked and threshed, the sounds chilling the blood in other Ponies under training as they stood tethered in their stalls.
Ten more savage weals had erupted across Belle’s buttocks and thigh-tops before the stable hand lowered his crop.
“You do NOT disobey me, Pony,” Sven said as he went back to the girl’s head. “You’ll soon learn that here!”
It was always best to be tough on newcomers. They were usually in a state of half-hysteria at that stage ... and it was important to break them in quickly to their new conditions and way of life.
“Open your mouth, Pony,” Sven repeated, picking up the bit again. This time, though Belle was weeping copiously, there was no delay. The pink mouth, with its beautifully even white teeth, opened wide. In went the steel bit. The mouth closed. Belle, for the first time, felt the hard coldness of this new intrusion. It ground on her teeth, pressed down on her tongue and, as Sven shortened the reins, cut into the corners of her mouth. An awful sobbing-moan came for Belle as, taking hold of the bridle, Sven led her back into the stall. There Sven tethered her to a rind in the ring which hung between two metal troughs.
Now Belle did indeed feel truly like an a****l!
Sven patted her flank in a consoling kind of way. “You’ll soon get used to it, Pony,” he said.
The he strolled out of the stall and was gone.
A little while later, that sense of being an a****l intensified. For, an urge of Nature came upon Belle. She fought it for as long as she could but, in the end, nature was irresistible.
Oh what could she do?
Oh could she do that?
It was too, too horrible!
Yet, in the end, Belle had to straddle her limbs ... and she passed water on to the straw beneath her.
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