Arabian Plaything Chapter 6
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INTERMISSION
Kemal, Head of Stables, was making one of his regular inspections. The middle-aged, fat, balding Turk, wearing a white silk shirt and leather riding breeches, entered the Main Stable first. The first two stalls were occupied by the prize Ponies, Black Beauty and Saucy Lady. Since both had had a quiet afternoon, there had been no need to hose and rub them down and they were as cool and unmarked as when they had left
their stalls earlier.
Black Beauty’s coal-black ‘coat’ was glistening superbly. He ran one hand approvingly over a flank.
„You’re a real beauty,“ he said. „I shall be sorry to lose you.“
The fact was, the Negress was due to return to the Harem in two weeks time and Kemal was having some difficulty in finding a satisfactory replacement. Perhaps, he thought, I shall ask the Princess for an extension of her stay. A month possibly.
She had granted it to him before. There was a coffee-colored pony by the name of Dark Delight who might make the grade by then. If she didn’t he would have to choose one of the white Ponies. It wouldn’t matter all that much but he knew that Princess Karina preferred to have Ponies of different colorings if possible.
Once more he patted the flank. The Negress had given him a great deal of pleasure. Not only was she a superb mover, she made a wonderful fuck as well. He felt desire warming him. He would come back and enjoy her later. Unless ‘Her Ladyship’ lured him first. Ponies with Top Honors were always reserved
exclusively for Kemal.
He went into the next stall and patted the white flank. Saucy Lady gave a slight toss of her head, as if acknowledging his caress. Kemal sometimes still found it difficult to believe that she had once really been an aristocrat... an English Lady. He slipped his hand between the thighs, feeling them part a little to accommodate him. He liked the soft, warm smoothness. An aristocratic cunt, he reflected. Once highly prized. Now mine to enjoy whenever I like. It was going to be difficult to choose when he returned after his
inspection.
„Had a quite afternoon, he said. A nod of the head. A whinny.
„Only a month to go now, Saucy.“
Like Black Beauty, Saucy Lady’s time was running out, too.
„Then you’ll be back in the Harem... and anybody’s meat again.“
Silence.
I wonder how she feels about that, thought Kemal. A case of out of the frying pan and into the fire!
„Guess you’ll miss Johnny Turk, eh?“
A nod. A whinny.
„Like feeling his cock up you, don’t you? Nice thick one, eh?“
Another nod. Another whinny.
Kemal grinned. It was delightfully amusing to have an English Lady - or ex-Lady anyway - admit to enjoying being fucked by a fat, Turkish bastard like himself!
Did she really mean it, he wondered? Or was she just agreeing to keep on the right side of him? Whether she liked it or not, what Kemal did know was that he made this oncehaughty aristocrat come quite frequently whenever he took her!
Kemal moved on around the Stable, taking a look at each of his charges. Some were sweating somewhat from the afternoons exertions; many flanks and buttocks carried weals and welts.
Everywhere, stable hands were at work putting their charges in order and filling the troughs with food and water. It was a very familiar scene to Kemal and one which he had to admit he much enjoyed.
He spent quite a while in the stall of Lady Longlegs, examining her from every angle. He was beginning to consider her as a candidate for Top Honors. He would have to take her out and thoroughly put her through her paces before he came to a decision.
Having finished with the Main Stables, Kemal went on to the smaller Training Stables.
Here the weals and welts were even more in evidence and, apart from whinnying, there was considerable whimpering and sobbing. This was perfectly normal.
Kemal inquired of Carlotta of the progress of each Pony and, having received her report, made various suggestions and recommendations.
“Any ready to come over yet?“ he asked.
„Yes,“ replied Carlotta, „Dusky Damsel, I reckon. She’s moving very well now.“
„Good, send her across,“ said Kemal, „we need another colored Pony. I’ll have another girl sent down from the Harem.“
„Thanks.“
„What about the new girl? What’s her name?“
„Miss Modesty, you mean?“
„That’s right.“
Carlotta shook her head a little sorrowfully. „I was just coming to her... a bad case, I’m afraid.“
„Oh?“
„Became almost hysterical this afternoon. Bolted, in fact.“
„Indeed?“
„Ran about a quarter of a mile before we caught her.“
„Well, we can’t have that sort of behavior.“
„Naturally not...“
Kemal frowned. „She’ll have to go to the Punishment Room. At ten o’clock tomorrow morning. A good caning might cure her.“
„Agreed.“
„Give her two dozen on arrival. Then another two dozen two hours later. Keep her on the Block between times.“
„Right.“
„And while she’s there, any of the stable hands can have her.“
„Right.“
„I’ll make an announcement shortly.“
„Fine.“
„Oh... Carlotta... and keep the speakers on while she’s getting it. I want both Stables to hear. It will make a good example. A reminder to some. A warning to others.“
The dark-eyes Carlotta smiled. „A good idea,“ she said.
A little while later, the loudspeakers which hung in both Stables crackled briefly. Then came Kemal’s voice.
„Attention... Attention. I have to tell you that, this afternoon, a new Pony bolted. Her name is Miss Modesty.
Tomorrow she is going to be punished for it. At ten o’clock she will be taken to the Punishment Room at the rear of this Stable. There, secured to the Block, she will receive twenty four strokes of the rod on her buttocks. Two hours later she will receive a further twenty four strokes. Also on her buttocks. After that, I think you will all agree, Miss Modesty will be less inclined to bolt in future. Incidentally, you will all be able to hear Miss Modesty making retribution for her willful behavior.“
The loudspeaker clicked into silence.
A heavy gloom seemed to have settled over both Stables.
Somewhere a Pony could be heard weeping bitterly.
Personal Narrative
of
AMANDA
22-year old English girl
Blonde, blue-eyes, shapely.
Newly arrived in the Stables of Quireme...
and proving surprisingly spirited.
Re-named on arrival as
MISS MODESTY
I awoke.
Slowly...
Coming out of a pit of snakes. At least, that was the feeling I had.
A horrible feeling.
Then there were a few seconds of normality. Of peace, almost.
Then, as had happened for something like the last six months - ever since I had been dragged screaming into the slave quarters of Quireme - a hideous blanket of despair descended upon me.
Life had become a horror.
The day ahead would be a mental and physical agony. I was a slave. Those had been my emotions for something like six months. But now, as I felt the straw beneath me - as I smelt it - I was aware that things were far worse than they had ever been previously. I was worse than a slave. I was being converted into what they called a ‘Pony’.
Every fibre of my being repelled against it. And is that not natural?
The vileness that I had already endured is beyond description. But this new vileness was something even beyond that.
Can you imagine it?
Kept in a stable. Wearing the trappings of an a****l.
Treated and used like an a****l. Utterly dehumanized.
An abomination...
I cringed into my straw.
Hating everything and everybody.
I felt the tug of the lead-rein. The fury in me rose like bile. Then subsided. Around me were a score or more women enduring similar barbarities.
A sickness sped through me. Then it passed.
Suddenly, lying there, a kind of electric shock passed hit me.
I had remembered...
Oh dear God... oh dear God... I was to be punished that very morning!
They had announced it.
The previous evening...
Two dozen... followed by two dozen.
Oh dear God... I couldn’t endure it! I couldn’t! I couldn’t!
Yet, as I lay there, shivering in the straw, I knew in my heart I was going to have to endure it!
Another wave of sickness overwhelmed me.
I pressed my hands over my face and prayed for the release of death.
I waited.
No answer came.
God, it seemed, was going to let me continue to suffer.
Soon they would come for me.
Clean me. Massage me. Cream me. Polish me. Tether me.
Harness me.
Truly as if I were an a****l and not a human being.
Although, in the Harem, I had descended into unimaginable
Hell, I yearned to go back there.
Anything would be better than the Stables.
Yet there I was. Waiting to be savagely punished.
For truly no fault.
Simply for a natural reaction. The stable hand did not give me the usual hosing down. Nor did he start to groom me.
Can you understand how hideous it is for me to have to use such terms about myself. Yet, in the Stables, they were accepted with completely casual indifference. Oh God, what a vilely perverted world it is!
They were leaving me, lying in the straw.
For today, I was something special.
I lay there, like a weak and trembling new-born lamb. Helpless to control the course of events. Then, at long last, as inevitable as doom, the stable hand came.
„It is your time to be punished, Pony,“ he said.
I cringed deeper into the straw. „No... ooooo...“ I heard myself whine. How foolish... how futile! I was dragged out of the stall by the halter. But collapsed again in a heap. My legs seemed to be filled with water.
„Pick her up,“ said a male voice.
I was lifted like a sack of potatoes. Slung over a male shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Ponies
standing in their stalls. I was aware of an awful shrieking sound... and then suddenly realized that it was I who was making it.
I was carried from the stable...
Across a short yard...
Into another, smaller building...
This, I realized, was the Punishment Room.
„Mercy... m-mercy... m-m-mercy...“ I found myself croaking.
„Put her on the block,“ said the same male voice.
„No... ooooo... No.... ooooooo! It was me shrieking. I wanted to die! I wanted anything... anything... but to feel that deadly biting rod!
Remorselessly the leathern straps began to pinion me.
My thighs... my waist... my wrists...I found myself utterly helpless, with my hindquarters upthrusting.
„Any volunteers?“ asked a woman’s voice. It must have come from the woman I had become aware of was in charge of the Stable.
There was an immediate chorus of male voices... and I realized a considerable number of the stable hands must have been assembled to watch my ordeal. That it would be heard by all the other Ponies, I already knew.
„Zora!“
„Thanks, Miss Carlotta.“
Oh dear God... that was the great brute of a Nubian who had ravaged me! Now he was to wield the rod.
„And Babu!“
„Thanks, Miss.“
There were to be two of them! Wildly I turned my head this way and that, straining at my bonds. They were standing one on each side of me, each with a long, whippy rod. The negro on the left, the Arab on the right.
I heard myself starting to shriek again for mercy…
„Give it to her,“ said the woman called Carlotta.
A high-pitched whistling sound... then the rod from the left whiplashed across the tops of my helpless buttocks. To be followed almost instantly by the rod from the right biting into the lowest part of my buttocks.
My shrieks for mercy turned into shrieks of pain as I lay there writhing, absorbing the double streaks of fire which erupted over me.
Perhaps five seconds passed. It seemed an eternity. ‘Then, in quick succession, the rods fell across me again... the first a fraction lower, the second a fraction higher.
Agony!
Searing agony!
Duplicated agony!
I went on shrieking...
They would all be listening, their blood freezing. Thanking God they were not where I was. Hadn’t I done the same when I had listened to and watched, the girls being thrashed in the Harem? One didn’t feel pity. Just thankfulness it wasn’t you.
But now it was me...
Again...
One! Two!
Eighteen more such strokes to come! Followed by twenty four more later!
Impossible to endure!
I would die...
Oh yes... yes ... surely I would die!
How often I had thought that when I was being thrashed in the Harem.
But I had never died. How often I had prayed for death. But that release had never come.
Zzzzwwwweeee... ccraacckkk!
Zzzzwwwweeee... ccraacckkk!
„AAAAAGHHHHHH... MERCE... EEEEE... MERCEEEE... EEEEE!“
The awful agonizing pause... with my nates clenching and unclenching with dread.
Zzzwweeee... ccrraaaccckkk!
Zzzwweeee... ccrraaaccckkk!
„AAAIIIEEEEE.... EEEEEGGGGHHHHHHHHH.“
It seemed my throat must split with my awful screams...
The agonizing stripes were marching down my buttocks... and up my buttocks. At the eleventh and the twelfth strokes, they met! They overlaid! And the mind-bending pain was beyond belief!
How lovely death would have been in that terrible moment.
But, as ever, it did not come.
The savage thrashing merely continued... the stripes now marching away from each other... with me shrieking with pain and howling for mercy. A mercy I knew in my heart would never come.
By about the eighteenth stroke, I was half insensible with pain. That was something quick to be observed and smelling salts were thrust beneath my flaring nostrils.
Vividly, the world, with all its pain and horror came back.
Remorselessly the rods began to fall again... Weal now overlaying weal with ever greater frequency… My agonies becoming beyond all reason... Beyond all bearing... Yet having to be borne... Then it stopped.
I could hear an ululating sound... a high-noted, up-anddown wailing like that made by a Mohammedan muezzin at prayer.
After a while I realized it was myself.
A red-hot grille now seemed to be lying over my buttocks, which continued to clench and unclench uncontrollably. Then I felt a hand running over them.
„Excellent,“ came the woman Carlotta’s voice, „she’ll be nice and tender for the second dose.“
I burst into a paroxysm of heaving sobs. To me, in that moment, it seemed that man’s inhumanity to man... or woman to woman... could go no further!
Do you imagine my ordeal was over for another two hours?
If so, you are wrong.
Unbelievably as it may seem, it was far from over.
I became hideously aware of that when I heard the woman Carlotta’s voice calling out.
„Help yourself boys... I’ll be back in a couple of hours!“
Oh no... ohhh... no!
It could not be!
Surely not!
But yes... yes.. it was to be so!
„Get in line,“ said the Arab brute named Babu, one of those who had just thrashed me so mercilessly. „There’ll be plenty of time for all of you.“
There was a shuffling sound... chattering... laughter... A sickness was rising in me.
„You goin’ first, Babu?“ That was the Nubian Zora.
„Yeah... I guess so. You can follow on.“
„Suits me...“
I was still sobbing almost hysterically, when the bone of hard male flesh came between my widened cleft.
„Miss Modesty don’t look so modest now,“ said a thick, Arab voice.
His weight came down on me, there was panting in my ear.
Then he drove into me. Brutally.
Then he began to pound. Brutally.
Grunting piggishly.
Revealing in this act of ****.
As they all do...
The b**sts... the b**sts... the b**sts!
Mercifully, it was short. No doubt, thrashing me had excited him. But, short or long, what difference did it make? There was the massive Zora to follow... Then others... Dozens maybe.. who would make use of me!
Babu, sighing, left. And, within seconds it seemed, Zora had taken his place. The size of him filled me... stretched me. I had never known such a massive organ on a man. It made me gasp breathlessly; it made me squirm involuntarily.
„Oh-ho... she likes that!“ said a laughing voice.
„Yeah... a lot of them like darkies,“ said another.
„It’s not his skin man, it’s his size she likes,“ said a third.
Laughter... jeers...
Zora was pounding and pounding against my agonisedly tender bottom, the hard piston of flesh moving easily and inexorably in and out.
Soon, I hear myself beginning to gasp...
Then to cry out...
Oh no... not that! Not that! But yes. There was nothing I could do about it. Behind me, the laughter and jeers mounted. I even heard clapping.
„Good old Zora!“
„He’s really got her going!“
„She’ll be nice and hot for me!“
Slowly, inevitable, I mounted to a climax. Fighting all the way, hating myself. Yet driven on and upward by the sheer male power of the Nubian.
To my utter, utter shame, I heard myself squealing as the orgasm swept through me... and, moments later. Zora unleashed his own lust.
Weakly I lay there, sobbing still.
Now quite defeated.
Just waiting...
From that point on, I have no clear memory of events. Man just followed man, one much like another. And I accepted what they had to give, because there was nothing else I could do. I think I must have fainted several times, for I recall the smelling salts being placed under my nostrils on numerous occasions.
Those vile b**sts wanted me to feel everything!
I think I may have had more orgasms. But I am not really sure. In the end, I didn’t feel human any more. Much more like an a****l. In fact, more like a Pony being covered by a variety of stallions. Perhaps that was the intention.
Those who wanted to make use of me had finished with me when the woman Carlotta returned.
Two more stable hands were given the rods and stood on each side.
Strangely however, the fact that I was to be thrashed again on buttocks that already felt raw, scarcely seemed to concern me.
I felt disembodied.
As if my spirit had left my body and was floating elsewhere.
At least, that’s how I felt until the whiplashing rods began to contort me in shrieking agony once more!
Rods which drove me twice more into insensibility before they had done with me!
After this inhuman ordeal, I was obviously transferred to a Recovery Room, though I remember nothing about it. Nor do I know how long I remained there. It could have been hours, days, or even a week. Most likely it was two to three days in view of the severity of my treatment. All the time I was under heavy sedation... and the lacerations over my buttocks and thighs were repeatedly treated with Healing Ointment.
Perhaps you might think I was glad to receive this treatment.
But not so. It is not a kindness. It is a cruelty. The purpose of it is not to make us suffer less, but simply to
heal the flesh so that it is speedily fit and ready to suffer again.
Thus, when a stimulant injection had brought me out of sedation, my body was quite unscarred. Though, of course, the scars remained in my memory.
No time was lost.
I was put straight onto a mobile framework and led back to the Stables by the hand in charge of me - named Max - who had come to fetch me. Perhaps you can imagine some of the misery and despair I felt as my ‘hooves’ click-clacked across the yard and when I entered the cool gloom of the stable itself again. Is it any wonder that my tears flowed unchecked as the lead rein which ran from my bridle and bit was fastened to
the ring in the wall? To the left and right of me were the mangers I was forced to use. One filled with water, the other with the mush we had to eat up morning and night.
The stable hand patted my flank as if in commiseration.
„There... there... it’s all over,“ he said now.
Again... he patted.
„Going to be a good Pony now?“
I tossed my head up and down, whinnying in the required manner.
„Not going to bolt again?“
This time I shook my head from side to side as I whinnied.
„Good. Because, I’m sure, if you do, you’ll get an even worse thrashing on this pretty bottom of yours.“
He ran his hand caressingly, at will, over my flesh. I endured it. Indeed, I accepted it. Already, in the Harem, I
had become used to accepting such things.
„Now, eat up, Pony,“ he said. „Then I’ll come back and give you a good grooming. You’ll feel better after that.“
He spoke perfectly naturally. As if I really would feel better after such a****l-like treatment! Wretchedly, I moved to the right manger and, feeling the familiar nausea, lowered my face into it. I had to. I simply had to. Or there would be a merciless thrashing from the riding crop of one of the Stable Heads. And, it seemed to me, I had already suffered quite enough pain for the time being.
Eventually, I got it all down, licking the manger clean.
Then I had a drink before just standing there, feeling slightly sick.
After a little while, I had to do what filled me with a feeling of utter degradation every day.
I straddled my legs to perform my natural functions. Max, I knew, would not be too pleased since, by the look of the fresh straw, he had already ‘mucked out’ that morning.
Still, it couldn’t be helped.
However, he made no comment when he returned and simply led me into the Tack Room... there to clean me up; rub me down and groom me for a good hour or more.
I was a Pony again.
And now I truly knew there was no possibility of escaping my atrocious fate. They would not let up on me until I performed exactly as they wished. And to the limit of my capabilities.
That, indeed, was bitter knowledge.
In the afternoon, I was taken by my Arab trainer, Babu, to the circular track from which I had bolted.
My mouth held a serrated bit, the worst type of all. Max had put it there, deliberately I suppose. My torso was pulled back to the maximum, my head reined high. It was a cruelly uncomfortable posture. Before me thrust my breasts, the bells on my nipples jingling with every movement. Behind me my hindquarters curved up, ready to receive the whip or the leather strap.
That it was to be latter I soon knew when I was harnessed into one of the low, chariot-like close-carriages. Babu seated himself in it. My helpless buttocks would be no more than a few feet from his gaze ... or his strap.
Thwack!
He had laid it across me before we had even moved...
„Right, Miss Modesty,“ he said, „I’m really putting you through it this afternoon. You’ll know you’ve had a work out... „
Thwack!
„Got it?“
I tossed my head and whinnied urgently. Oh dear God, give me strength!
„And, by the time I’ve finished, I’ll have you moving as smooth as silk...“
Thwack!
„Got it?“
Again I nodded and whinnied.
„Right, off you go... at the walk... hup!“
Thwack!
Already my buttocks were beginning to burn painfully.
I moved off as smoothly as I could manage, stepping out the required, measured pace I had been taught. I could imagine his eyes on my rolling, naked bottom... the strap at the ready, in case the pace became inaccurate.
One circuit...
Two circuits...
He seemed satisfied.
The tight rein was eased somewhat and I could lower my head a little.
„Now... trot...“ came the order.
Thwack! Thwack!
Left and right... stinging and burning...
I half stumbled at the pain ... quickly recovered and went into the rhythmic, knee-raising stride demanded. My breasts bounced... and my bottom rolled... more vigorously.
Jingle... jingle.. jingle... went the little bells.
Oh the unbelievably inhuman dignity of it!
One circuit...
„Faster!“
Thwack! Thwack!
I increase the piston-like action of my limbs. I must keep the rhythm! Try... try! Think of nothing else. Only of that...
Another circuit...
„Faster!“
And again...
Thwack! Thwack!
Oh dear God... is it possible?
Yes... driven on my relentless pain... it is possible.
I must make the effort. I must.
My breath begins to rasp. The sweat was already beading my body.
But I had to go on. I had to!
Ten minutes or so later, I was in a state of near exhaustion... my body was so drenched in sweat I might have just come out of a bath... and my buttocks and thigh-tops were a throbbing-burning mass of welts.
„Whoa!“ cried Babu at last, reining in with deliberate savagery. I would have fallen but for the support beneath me.
He led me out of the ring, tied me alongside a watertrough.
I was half-blinded by tears and sweat.
„Ten minutes rest, Pony,“ he said, „then we’ll do it all over again.“
Then I heard his footsteps move off. Immediately I plunged my face into the water.
Slurrpppp... sluurrrpppp...
Slurrpppp... sluurrrpppp...
I just couldn’t get it down fast enough. The indignity of it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Except the insensate desire to quench my raging thirst.
And when I had done so, I stood there, panting and dribbling, still sweating, and now shivering with fatigue, wondering how I was going to summon enough strength for another session on the track.
Knowing, in my heart, that the flailing, cracking strap would surely stimulate me into doing so!
Kemal, Head of Stables, was making one of his regular inspections. The middle-aged, fat, balding Turk, wearing a white silk shirt and leather riding breeches, entered the Main Stable first. The first two stalls were occupied by the prize Ponies, Black Beauty and Saucy Lady. Since both had had a quiet afternoon, there had been no need to hose and rub them down and they were as cool and unmarked as when they had left
their stalls earlier.
Black Beauty’s coal-black ‘coat’ was glistening superbly. He ran one hand approvingly over a flank.
„You’re a real beauty,“ he said. „I shall be sorry to lose you.“
The fact was, the Negress was due to return to the Harem in two weeks time and Kemal was having some difficulty in finding a satisfactory replacement. Perhaps, he thought, I shall ask the Princess for an extension of her stay. A month possibly.
She had granted it to him before. There was a coffee-colored pony by the name of Dark Delight who might make the grade by then. If she didn’t he would have to choose one of the white Ponies. It wouldn’t matter all that much but he knew that Princess Karina preferred to have Ponies of different colorings if possible.
Once more he patted the flank. The Negress had given him a great deal of pleasure. Not only was she a superb mover, she made a wonderful fuck as well. He felt desire warming him. He would come back and enjoy her later. Unless ‘Her Ladyship’ lured him first. Ponies with Top Honors were always reserved
exclusively for Kemal.
He went into the next stall and patted the white flank. Saucy Lady gave a slight toss of her head, as if acknowledging his caress. Kemal sometimes still found it difficult to believe that she had once really been an aristocrat... an English Lady. He slipped his hand between the thighs, feeling them part a little to accommodate him. He liked the soft, warm smoothness. An aristocratic cunt, he reflected. Once highly prized. Now mine to enjoy whenever I like. It was going to be difficult to choose when he returned after his
inspection.
„Had a quite afternoon, he said. A nod of the head. A whinny.
„Only a month to go now, Saucy.“
Like Black Beauty, Saucy Lady’s time was running out, too.
„Then you’ll be back in the Harem... and anybody’s meat again.“
Silence.
I wonder how she feels about that, thought Kemal. A case of out of the frying pan and into the fire!
„Guess you’ll miss Johnny Turk, eh?“
A nod. A whinny.
„Like feeling his cock up you, don’t you? Nice thick one, eh?“
Another nod. Another whinny.
Kemal grinned. It was delightfully amusing to have an English Lady - or ex-Lady anyway - admit to enjoying being fucked by a fat, Turkish bastard like himself!
Did she really mean it, he wondered? Or was she just agreeing to keep on the right side of him? Whether she liked it or not, what Kemal did know was that he made this oncehaughty aristocrat come quite frequently whenever he took her!
Kemal moved on around the Stable, taking a look at each of his charges. Some were sweating somewhat from the afternoons exertions; many flanks and buttocks carried weals and welts.
Everywhere, stable hands were at work putting their charges in order and filling the troughs with food and water. It was a very familiar scene to Kemal and one which he had to admit he much enjoyed.
He spent quite a while in the stall of Lady Longlegs, examining her from every angle. He was beginning to consider her as a candidate for Top Honors. He would have to take her out and thoroughly put her through her paces before he came to a decision.
Having finished with the Main Stables, Kemal went on to the smaller Training Stables.
Here the weals and welts were even more in evidence and, apart from whinnying, there was considerable whimpering and sobbing. This was perfectly normal.
Kemal inquired of Carlotta of the progress of each Pony and, having received her report, made various suggestions and recommendations.
“Any ready to come over yet?“ he asked.
„Yes,“ replied Carlotta, „Dusky Damsel, I reckon. She’s moving very well now.“
„Good, send her across,“ said Kemal, „we need another colored Pony. I’ll have another girl sent down from the Harem.“
„Thanks.“
„What about the new girl? What’s her name?“
„Miss Modesty, you mean?“
„That’s right.“
Carlotta shook her head a little sorrowfully. „I was just coming to her... a bad case, I’m afraid.“
„Oh?“
„Became almost hysterical this afternoon. Bolted, in fact.“
„Indeed?“
„Ran about a quarter of a mile before we caught her.“
„Well, we can’t have that sort of behavior.“
„Naturally not...“
Kemal frowned. „She’ll have to go to the Punishment Room. At ten o’clock tomorrow morning. A good caning might cure her.“
„Agreed.“
„Give her two dozen on arrival. Then another two dozen two hours later. Keep her on the Block between times.“
„Right.“
„And while she’s there, any of the stable hands can have her.“
„Right.“
„I’ll make an announcement shortly.“
„Fine.“
„Oh... Carlotta... and keep the speakers on while she’s getting it. I want both Stables to hear. It will make a good example. A reminder to some. A warning to others.“
The dark-eyes Carlotta smiled. „A good idea,“ she said.
A little while later, the loudspeakers which hung in both Stables crackled briefly. Then came Kemal’s voice.
„Attention... Attention. I have to tell you that, this afternoon, a new Pony bolted. Her name is Miss Modesty.
Tomorrow she is going to be punished for it. At ten o’clock she will be taken to the Punishment Room at the rear of this Stable. There, secured to the Block, she will receive twenty four strokes of the rod on her buttocks. Two hours later she will receive a further twenty four strokes. Also on her buttocks. After that, I think you will all agree, Miss Modesty will be less inclined to bolt in future. Incidentally, you will all be able to hear Miss Modesty making retribution for her willful behavior.“
The loudspeaker clicked into silence.
A heavy gloom seemed to have settled over both Stables.
Somewhere a Pony could be heard weeping bitterly.
Personal Narrative
of
AMANDA
22-year old English girl
Blonde, blue-eyes, shapely.
Newly arrived in the Stables of Quireme...
and proving surprisingly spirited.
Re-named on arrival as
MISS MODESTY
I awoke.
Slowly...
Coming out of a pit of snakes. At least, that was the feeling I had.
A horrible feeling.
Then there were a few seconds of normality. Of peace, almost.
Then, as had happened for something like the last six months - ever since I had been dragged screaming into the slave quarters of Quireme - a hideous blanket of despair descended upon me.
Life had become a horror.
The day ahead would be a mental and physical agony. I was a slave. Those had been my emotions for something like six months. But now, as I felt the straw beneath me - as I smelt it - I was aware that things were far worse than they had ever been previously. I was worse than a slave. I was being converted into what they called a ‘Pony’.
Every fibre of my being repelled against it. And is that not natural?
The vileness that I had already endured is beyond description. But this new vileness was something even beyond that.
Can you imagine it?
Kept in a stable. Wearing the trappings of an a****l.
Treated and used like an a****l. Utterly dehumanized.
An abomination...
I cringed into my straw.
Hating everything and everybody.
I felt the tug of the lead-rein. The fury in me rose like bile. Then subsided. Around me were a score or more women enduring similar barbarities.
A sickness sped through me. Then it passed.
Suddenly, lying there, a kind of electric shock passed hit me.
I had remembered...
Oh dear God... oh dear God... I was to be punished that very morning!
They had announced it.
The previous evening...
Two dozen... followed by two dozen.
Oh dear God... I couldn’t endure it! I couldn’t! I couldn’t!
Yet, as I lay there, shivering in the straw, I knew in my heart I was going to have to endure it!
Another wave of sickness overwhelmed me.
I pressed my hands over my face and prayed for the release of death.
I waited.
No answer came.
God, it seemed, was going to let me continue to suffer.
Soon they would come for me.
Clean me. Massage me. Cream me. Polish me. Tether me.
Harness me.
Truly as if I were an a****l and not a human being.
Although, in the Harem, I had descended into unimaginable
Hell, I yearned to go back there.
Anything would be better than the Stables.
Yet there I was. Waiting to be savagely punished.
For truly no fault.
Simply for a natural reaction. The stable hand did not give me the usual hosing down. Nor did he start to groom me.
Can you understand how hideous it is for me to have to use such terms about myself. Yet, in the Stables, they were accepted with completely casual indifference. Oh God, what a vilely perverted world it is!
They were leaving me, lying in the straw.
For today, I was something special.
I lay there, like a weak and trembling new-born lamb. Helpless to control the course of events. Then, at long last, as inevitable as doom, the stable hand came.
„It is your time to be punished, Pony,“ he said.
I cringed deeper into the straw. „No... ooooo...“ I heard myself whine. How foolish... how futile! I was dragged out of the stall by the halter. But collapsed again in a heap. My legs seemed to be filled with water.
„Pick her up,“ said a male voice.
I was lifted like a sack of potatoes. Slung over a male shoulder. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Ponies
standing in their stalls. I was aware of an awful shrieking sound... and then suddenly realized that it was I who was making it.
I was carried from the stable...
Across a short yard...
Into another, smaller building...
This, I realized, was the Punishment Room.
„Mercy... m-mercy... m-m-mercy...“ I found myself croaking.
„Put her on the block,“ said the same male voice.
„No... ooooo... No.... ooooooo! It was me shrieking. I wanted to die! I wanted anything... anything... but to feel that deadly biting rod!
Remorselessly the leathern straps began to pinion me.
My thighs... my waist... my wrists...I found myself utterly helpless, with my hindquarters upthrusting.
„Any volunteers?“ asked a woman’s voice. It must have come from the woman I had become aware of was in charge of the Stable.
There was an immediate chorus of male voices... and I realized a considerable number of the stable hands must have been assembled to watch my ordeal. That it would be heard by all the other Ponies, I already knew.
„Zora!“
„Thanks, Miss Carlotta.“
Oh dear God... that was the great brute of a Nubian who had ravaged me! Now he was to wield the rod.
„And Babu!“
„Thanks, Miss.“
There were to be two of them! Wildly I turned my head this way and that, straining at my bonds. They were standing one on each side of me, each with a long, whippy rod. The negro on the left, the Arab on the right.
I heard myself starting to shriek again for mercy…
„Give it to her,“ said the woman called Carlotta.
A high-pitched whistling sound... then the rod from the left whiplashed across the tops of my helpless buttocks. To be followed almost instantly by the rod from the right biting into the lowest part of my buttocks.
My shrieks for mercy turned into shrieks of pain as I lay there writhing, absorbing the double streaks of fire which erupted over me.
Perhaps five seconds passed. It seemed an eternity. ‘Then, in quick succession, the rods fell across me again... the first a fraction lower, the second a fraction higher.
Agony!
Searing agony!
Duplicated agony!
I went on shrieking...
They would all be listening, their blood freezing. Thanking God they were not where I was. Hadn’t I done the same when I had listened to and watched, the girls being thrashed in the Harem? One didn’t feel pity. Just thankfulness it wasn’t you.
But now it was me...
Again...
One! Two!
Eighteen more such strokes to come! Followed by twenty four more later!
Impossible to endure!
I would die...
Oh yes... yes ... surely I would die!
How often I had thought that when I was being thrashed in the Harem.
But I had never died. How often I had prayed for death. But that release had never come.
Zzzzwwwweeee... ccraacckkk!
Zzzzwwwweeee... ccraacckkk!
„AAAAAGHHHHHH... MERCE... EEEEE... MERCEEEE... EEEEE!“
The awful agonizing pause... with my nates clenching and unclenching with dread.
Zzzwweeee... ccrraaaccckkk!
Zzzwweeee... ccrraaaccckkk!
„AAAIIIEEEEE.... EEEEEGGGGHHHHHHHHH.“
It seemed my throat must split with my awful screams...
The agonizing stripes were marching down my buttocks... and up my buttocks. At the eleventh and the twelfth strokes, they met! They overlaid! And the mind-bending pain was beyond belief!
How lovely death would have been in that terrible moment.
But, as ever, it did not come.
The savage thrashing merely continued... the stripes now marching away from each other... with me shrieking with pain and howling for mercy. A mercy I knew in my heart would never come.
By about the eighteenth stroke, I was half insensible with pain. That was something quick to be observed and smelling salts were thrust beneath my flaring nostrils.
Vividly, the world, with all its pain and horror came back.
Remorselessly the rods began to fall again... Weal now overlaying weal with ever greater frequency… My agonies becoming beyond all reason... Beyond all bearing... Yet having to be borne... Then it stopped.
I could hear an ululating sound... a high-noted, up-anddown wailing like that made by a Mohammedan muezzin at prayer.
After a while I realized it was myself.
A red-hot grille now seemed to be lying over my buttocks, which continued to clench and unclench uncontrollably. Then I felt a hand running over them.
„Excellent,“ came the woman Carlotta’s voice, „she’ll be nice and tender for the second dose.“
I burst into a paroxysm of heaving sobs. To me, in that moment, it seemed that man’s inhumanity to man... or woman to woman... could go no further!
Do you imagine my ordeal was over for another two hours?
If so, you are wrong.
Unbelievably as it may seem, it was far from over.
I became hideously aware of that when I heard the woman Carlotta’s voice calling out.
„Help yourself boys... I’ll be back in a couple of hours!“
Oh no... ohhh... no!
It could not be!
Surely not!
But yes... yes.. it was to be so!
„Get in line,“ said the Arab brute named Babu, one of those who had just thrashed me so mercilessly. „There’ll be plenty of time for all of you.“
There was a shuffling sound... chattering... laughter... A sickness was rising in me.
„You goin’ first, Babu?“ That was the Nubian Zora.
„Yeah... I guess so. You can follow on.“
„Suits me...“
I was still sobbing almost hysterically, when the bone of hard male flesh came between my widened cleft.
„Miss Modesty don’t look so modest now,“ said a thick, Arab voice.
His weight came down on me, there was panting in my ear.
Then he drove into me. Brutally.
Then he began to pound. Brutally.
Grunting piggishly.
Revealing in this act of ****.
As they all do...
The b**sts... the b**sts... the b**sts!
Mercifully, it was short. No doubt, thrashing me had excited him. But, short or long, what difference did it make? There was the massive Zora to follow... Then others... Dozens maybe.. who would make use of me!
Babu, sighing, left. And, within seconds it seemed, Zora had taken his place. The size of him filled me... stretched me. I had never known such a massive organ on a man. It made me gasp breathlessly; it made me squirm involuntarily.
„Oh-ho... she likes that!“ said a laughing voice.
„Yeah... a lot of them like darkies,“ said another.
„It’s not his skin man, it’s his size she likes,“ said a third.
Laughter... jeers...
Zora was pounding and pounding against my agonisedly tender bottom, the hard piston of flesh moving easily and inexorably in and out.
Soon, I hear myself beginning to gasp...
Then to cry out...
Oh no... not that! Not that! But yes. There was nothing I could do about it. Behind me, the laughter and jeers mounted. I even heard clapping.
„Good old Zora!“
„He’s really got her going!“
„She’ll be nice and hot for me!“
Slowly, inevitable, I mounted to a climax. Fighting all the way, hating myself. Yet driven on and upward by the sheer male power of the Nubian.
To my utter, utter shame, I heard myself squealing as the orgasm swept through me... and, moments later. Zora unleashed his own lust.
Weakly I lay there, sobbing still.
Now quite defeated.
Just waiting...
From that point on, I have no clear memory of events. Man just followed man, one much like another. And I accepted what they had to give, because there was nothing else I could do. I think I must have fainted several times, for I recall the smelling salts being placed under my nostrils on numerous occasions.
Those vile b**sts wanted me to feel everything!
I think I may have had more orgasms. But I am not really sure. In the end, I didn’t feel human any more. Much more like an a****l. In fact, more like a Pony being covered by a variety of stallions. Perhaps that was the intention.
Those who wanted to make use of me had finished with me when the woman Carlotta returned.
Two more stable hands were given the rods and stood on each side.
Strangely however, the fact that I was to be thrashed again on buttocks that already felt raw, scarcely seemed to concern me.
I felt disembodied.
As if my spirit had left my body and was floating elsewhere.
At least, that’s how I felt until the whiplashing rods began to contort me in shrieking agony once more!
Rods which drove me twice more into insensibility before they had done with me!
After this inhuman ordeal, I was obviously transferred to a Recovery Room, though I remember nothing about it. Nor do I know how long I remained there. It could have been hours, days, or even a week. Most likely it was two to three days in view of the severity of my treatment. All the time I was under heavy sedation... and the lacerations over my buttocks and thighs were repeatedly treated with Healing Ointment.
Perhaps you might think I was glad to receive this treatment.
But not so. It is not a kindness. It is a cruelty. The purpose of it is not to make us suffer less, but simply to
heal the flesh so that it is speedily fit and ready to suffer again.
Thus, when a stimulant injection had brought me out of sedation, my body was quite unscarred. Though, of course, the scars remained in my memory.
No time was lost.
I was put straight onto a mobile framework and led back to the Stables by the hand in charge of me - named Max - who had come to fetch me. Perhaps you can imagine some of the misery and despair I felt as my ‘hooves’ click-clacked across the yard and when I entered the cool gloom of the stable itself again. Is it any wonder that my tears flowed unchecked as the lead rein which ran from my bridle and bit was fastened to
the ring in the wall? To the left and right of me were the mangers I was forced to use. One filled with water, the other with the mush we had to eat up morning and night.
The stable hand patted my flank as if in commiseration.
„There... there... it’s all over,“ he said now.
Again... he patted.
„Going to be a good Pony now?“
I tossed my head up and down, whinnying in the required manner.
„Not going to bolt again?“
This time I shook my head from side to side as I whinnied.
„Good. Because, I’m sure, if you do, you’ll get an even worse thrashing on this pretty bottom of yours.“
He ran his hand caressingly, at will, over my flesh. I endured it. Indeed, I accepted it. Already, in the Harem, I
had become used to accepting such things.
„Now, eat up, Pony,“ he said. „Then I’ll come back and give you a good grooming. You’ll feel better after that.“
He spoke perfectly naturally. As if I really would feel better after such a****l-like treatment! Wretchedly, I moved to the right manger and, feeling the familiar nausea, lowered my face into it. I had to. I simply had to. Or there would be a merciless thrashing from the riding crop of one of the Stable Heads. And, it seemed to me, I had already suffered quite enough pain for the time being.
Eventually, I got it all down, licking the manger clean.
Then I had a drink before just standing there, feeling slightly sick.
After a little while, I had to do what filled me with a feeling of utter degradation every day.
I straddled my legs to perform my natural functions. Max, I knew, would not be too pleased since, by the look of the fresh straw, he had already ‘mucked out’ that morning.
Still, it couldn’t be helped.
However, he made no comment when he returned and simply led me into the Tack Room... there to clean me up; rub me down and groom me for a good hour or more.
I was a Pony again.
And now I truly knew there was no possibility of escaping my atrocious fate. They would not let up on me until I performed exactly as they wished. And to the limit of my capabilities.
That, indeed, was bitter knowledge.
In the afternoon, I was taken by my Arab trainer, Babu, to the circular track from which I had bolted.
My mouth held a serrated bit, the worst type of all. Max had put it there, deliberately I suppose. My torso was pulled back to the maximum, my head reined high. It was a cruelly uncomfortable posture. Before me thrust my breasts, the bells on my nipples jingling with every movement. Behind me my hindquarters curved up, ready to receive the whip or the leather strap.
That it was to be latter I soon knew when I was harnessed into one of the low, chariot-like close-carriages. Babu seated himself in it. My helpless buttocks would be no more than a few feet from his gaze ... or his strap.
Thwack!
He had laid it across me before we had even moved...
„Right, Miss Modesty,“ he said, „I’m really putting you through it this afternoon. You’ll know you’ve had a work out... „
Thwack!
„Got it?“
I tossed my head and whinnied urgently. Oh dear God, give me strength!
„And, by the time I’ve finished, I’ll have you moving as smooth as silk...“
Thwack!
„Got it?“
Again I nodded and whinnied.
„Right, off you go... at the walk... hup!“
Thwack!
Already my buttocks were beginning to burn painfully.
I moved off as smoothly as I could manage, stepping out the required, measured pace I had been taught. I could imagine his eyes on my rolling, naked bottom... the strap at the ready, in case the pace became inaccurate.
One circuit...
Two circuits...
He seemed satisfied.
The tight rein was eased somewhat and I could lower my head a little.
„Now... trot...“ came the order.
Thwack! Thwack!
Left and right... stinging and burning...
I half stumbled at the pain ... quickly recovered and went into the rhythmic, knee-raising stride demanded. My breasts bounced... and my bottom rolled... more vigorously.
Jingle... jingle.. jingle... went the little bells.
Oh the unbelievably inhuman dignity of it!
One circuit...
„Faster!“
Thwack! Thwack!
I increase the piston-like action of my limbs. I must keep the rhythm! Try... try! Think of nothing else. Only of that...
Another circuit...
„Faster!“
And again...
Thwack! Thwack!
Oh dear God... is it possible?
Yes... driven on my relentless pain... it is possible.
I must make the effort. I must.
My breath begins to rasp. The sweat was already beading my body.
But I had to go on. I had to!
Ten minutes or so later, I was in a state of near exhaustion... my body was so drenched in sweat I might have just come out of a bath... and my buttocks and thigh-tops were a throbbing-burning mass of welts.
„Whoa!“ cried Babu at last, reining in with deliberate savagery. I would have fallen but for the support beneath me.
He led me out of the ring, tied me alongside a watertrough.
I was half-blinded by tears and sweat.
„Ten minutes rest, Pony,“ he said, „then we’ll do it all over again.“
Then I heard his footsteps move off. Immediately I plunged my face into the water.
Slurrpppp... sluurrrpppp...
Slurrpppp... sluurrrpppp...
I just couldn’t get it down fast enough. The indignity of it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Except the insensate desire to quench my raging thirst.
And when I had done so, I stood there, panting and dribbling, still sweating, and now shivering with fatigue, wondering how I was going to summon enough strength for another session on the track.
Knowing, in my heart, that the flailing, cracking strap would surely stimulate me into doing so!
Hester
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