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stared up at the all too familiar ceiling of her cell. How many days? she
wondered. How long have
I been Lyndal's prisoner? ...Crystal's plaything?
Last night, Lyndal had left her on her back in a very loose
spread-eagle. She's slept with her mitten-encased hands
and leather cuffed ankles attached to chains at the head and
foot of her mattress-on-the-floor "bed" with each limb allowed
about a foot of slack. If she wanted to, she could
actually touch her face with her mittens, but she couldn't
really roll onto her front or side, not comfortably, anyway.
Erin had been a captive for at least twenty days, but it may
have been more, possibly as much as a month. She'd tried
to keep track, but some nights she was so exhausted from a
particularly arduous workout and/or yoga session... she
forgot. The evening "entertainment sessions" didn't help
her concentration, either.
Before being allowed to sleep, Lyndal would make her cum,
sometimes with a vibrator (or vibrators), sometimes with her tongue, and once with a
compact machine with an attached dildo that actually fucked her. And no
matter how Erin resisted, no matter how she tried to think of
anything other than what Lyndal was doing to her, Erin did cum. Lyndal was
as expert at expediting the entertainment process as she was at
Since their enslavement, Erin had only seen Madison once.
Lyndal had taken Erin to one of the mansion's subterranean
chambers and tied her in a hideously
tight position. Her hands still encased in their
ubiquitous mittens, Erin's wrists were lashed behind her back
and to her upper torso in a stringent reverse-prayer. Her
ankles and thighs were bound in a full lotus, something Erin
would have found to be instant
torture before Lyndal's yoga lessons, but now found to be only
gradual torture. Ropes linking her leg bonds, her upper
body bonds, and passing behind her neck were tightened, pulling
her into a full crunch. Her hair was then braided and tied
back to her crotch rope, lifting her chin and forcing her head
back. Next, several ropes bound around her bent knees,
waist, and upper bonds, were stretched up to pulleys in the
ceiling, and she was hoisted into the air and left in full
suspension, floating in a cradle of rope on her back with her
ring-gagged face staring at the ceiling and her rope-cleaved
crotch at waist height. Finally, Lyndal used thin hemp
cords to link her nipple rings to her big toes. This final
arrangement was fiddle-string taut, stretching her nipples and
forcing her to remain perfectly still.
Lyndal left the chamber and Erin suffered, the position growing
more painful with each passing minute. Minutes passed...
and the pain continued to build.
Finally, the door opened. Erin couldn't see who had
entered, but she did hear a gagged cry of alarm.
"NRRRF!" Then, Crystal and Madison came into her decidedly
limited range of vision—their heads and shoulders, anyway.
Madison's upper body and shoulders appeared to be bound, like
Erin. A leather collar—a dog collar—was around her throat, and its
attached leash was in Crystal's hand. A steel ring-gag
with four curved flanges was strapped in Madison's mouth
propping her jaws at full stretch. Erin had endured
ring-gags, herself, but not this particular model.
Madison's red hair was in a braided ponytail and her brown eyes
wide with concern.
"Well, Fire," Crystal said, "I hope you're happy." She was
addressing Madison, of course. The Evil Pixie was wearing
her usual Equestrian Bitch attire, what Erin had come to accept
as the slave handlers' working uniform. "Are you sorry you
made me have to ask Lyn to do this to poor Ice?"
Madison's eyes welled and she nodded her ring-gagged head.
"She's going to stay like this for half the day, missing her
yoga class," Crystal continued, "and it's your fault for
being disobedient, Fire."
A tear rolled down Madison's cheek.
"And you were doing so well, Fire," Crystal sighed. "Would
you like me to make things a little easier for Ice?"
Still crying, Madison nodded, again.
"I will," Crystal promised, "but you have to promise to be a
good slave from now on, and do everything Mistress tells you to
Madison nodded. The tears continued to flow, as did drool
from her ring-gag.
"What a mess you are, Fire," Crystal cooed. She produced a
white lace handkerchief from somewhere and patted Madison's
face. She then released the slip knots in the cords
linking Erin's nipple-rings and toes.
Erin sighed with relief. She was still in pain, but it
wasn't the worst ordeal Lyndal and/or Crystal had inflicted on
her... not yet.
"Allrightiethen, Fire," Crystal chuckled. "Now, I want you
to lick your fellow slave's pussy, and don't stop 'til I tell
you to stop."
Madison blinked in surprise and tried to take a step back, but
the leash snapped taut and Crystal jerked her back to her former
"So soon, Fire?" Crystal sighed. "And after you promised
Mistress. And after she accepted your promise." She
drew her mini-prod from its holster and clicked it to the second
setting. With slow deliberation she poised the business
end of the punishment device above Erin's splayed and helpless
crotch. "One," she announced, and tapped Erin's labia,
over her clitoris.
"Mrrrf!" Erin flinched in her bonds. Her suspended
body began to squirm and sway, but the taut ropes pinned her in
place, vulnerable to the sting of the wand.
Another tap landed and Erin's body went rigid and she squeezed
her eyes tightly closed. "Mmmmf!"
"Nrrr!" Madison lunged forward, extended her tongue
through the ring, and slid it across Erin's labia.
"There's a good slave," Crystal purred, and returned the
mini-prod to its holster. "Keep that up 'til she
cums. Of course, that may take a while, now that you made
me spoil the mood, but keep it up."
And Madison did continue to lick and probe with her tongue, and
it did take a while for Erin to cum, as Crystal had
predicted. Eventually, however, Erin experienced an
orgasm. Not her most memorable, other than the fact that
it had arrived on the tongue of her best friend, but it had been
Crystal led Madison from the chamber, the door closed... and the
rope-enforced bondage ordeal continued.
That night, Lyndal had been unusually kind, hand-feeding Erin an
actual meal of salad, chicken breast in some sort of salsa-like
sauce, a sliver of cheesecake, and white wine. Afterwards,
the blond Mistress had stripped off her clothing and made love
to her brown-haired slave. It wasn't the "orgasm
extraction" Erin had experienced up until then. Erin could
only call it lovemaking.
Lyndal was gentle, through, and generous. Erin remained a
helpless prisoner, her mitten-encased hands locked together
behind her back and her ankles hobbled, but Lyndal had cuddled
and caressed her entire body, toyed with her nipple rings— the
piercings had long since healed—and gently squeezed her
breasts. She also licked and nibbled her thighs and
pussy—and made her cum—then cuddled with her, again—then made
her cum, again.
That had been three days ago... or was it four?
Suddenly, the key rattled in the lock and the cell door
opened. This time, it was Lyndal and Crystal, both in Equestrian Bitch mode,
and they were moving in an unusually purposeful manner.
Lyndal's morning routine was to take her time releasing Erin
from her bondage-of-the-evening, taking the time to caress and
"inspect" her body, but not today.
"Wha—mmmf." A two-inch ball-gag was stuffed into Erin's
mouth, buckled tight, and padlocked. Her mittens were
released from the chains and locked behind her back and her
ankle cuffs released and locked together. Then, Lyndal
hoisted her onto her shoulder and they were out the door.
Erin lifted her head, shook the hair from her face, and focused
on Crystal. The pixie was smiling at her... of
course. Crystal always smiled, even when she was doing
Their immediate destination was the shower room. Lyndal
planted Erin's feet on the tiles and locked her neck in the
slave-handling frame's collar. The blonde held Erin steady
as Crystal went to work with a comb and brush. She divided
Erin's hair down the middle, then braided the brown locks into
two long, tight pigtails and secured the ends with narrow, black
silk ribbons. The collar was released, Erin was back on
Lyndal's shoulder, and they were out the door and walking down
the corridor, once again.
Beverly Adair's subterranean realm was big and none of the doors
and corridors were marked, but it wasn't an actual
labyrinth. Erin had been her captive long enough to have
discerned its basic floor plan. That said, she estimated
she'd "visited" far less than half of its many chambers.
They paused before yet another ubiquitous door, Crystal stepped
forward and opened the heavy portal, and Lyndal carried Erin
across the threshold.
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was lifted off Lyndal's shoulder and planted on her feet, again,
then spun around. She found herself in a large chamber
with a high ceiling. Near the far wall was a framework of
steel rods or pipes in the form of an armchair without a
seat—and bound to the terrible thing was Madison! The
redhead was naked, of course. Will either of us ever wear clothing again?
Erin wondered. Madison was strapped in place at the
ankles, thighs, waist, upper arms, throat, and left wrist.
Curiously, her right wrist was not strapped down, and under her right hand
was a tablet computer, mounted at the proper angle for
writing. In front of the tablet, mounted at about ninety
degrees, was a small, flat-screen monitor. Finally,
Madison was ball-gagged. From her expression, she was
obviously very worried.
Beverly Adair, dressed like her staff in Equestrian Bitch
costume, stood next to Madison's "chair"—and that was all Erin
had time to absorb before Lyndal and Crystal hustled her to the
center of the chamber. Her mittens were released and
reattached to chains dangling from the ceiling. Erin
looked up and followed the chains through a series of pulleys
and down to an electric winch off to one side. Meanwhile,
her ankle cuffs were separated and locked to rings set in the
floor, splaying her legs about three feet apart.
Crystal strolled to the winch, turned and smiled at Erin, and
thumbed a switch. The winch hummed to life and began to
turn, drawing the chains onto its drum.
What had been a loose, standing spread-eagle quickly became a
stringent standing spread-eagle. Crystal didn't turn off
the winch until Erin's heels left the floor and she was up on
her toes with her body at full stretch. The Evil
Pixie-Bitch then strolled to Erin, threaded the ends of her
pigtails through her nipple rings, pulled them taut, and tied
the end ribbons together with a decorative bow. Now, if
Erin turned her head or lifted her chin, her hair tugged on her
Erin's bonds positioned her facing Madison's seat-less chair at
an angle of about forty-five degrees. She could see her
fellow slave without turning her head and stressing her nipples.
Beverly stepped forward until she was equidistant from the two
captives, then addressed Madison. "It was a simple
request, Fire," she sighed, shaking her head with
disappointment. "Write your name 100 times, then write
whatever words appear on the screen until I tell you to
stop. A simple request." She turned to Erin.
"Don't worry, Ice, you'll have a chance to train the software of
my auto-scribe machine as well; but not today. Today, you
suffer because Fire has decided to be willful." She nodded
at Crystal and returned to her former position.
"Nrrrrf!" Madison was squirming, tugging on her bonds, and
reaching towards Beverly with her right hand.
Beverly pulled a stylus from behind her right ear. "You
want to use this?" she asked Madison. "You've decided to
be a good slave and
follow your Mistress' orders without question?"
"M'mmfh!" Madison did her best to nod, despite the strap
buckled across her throat.
Beverly slowly shook her head. "I'm afraid it's too late,
Fire," she sighed. "I don't make empty threats. You
should know that by now."
Meanwhile, Crystal had sauntered to a cabinet against the far
wall, in the range of vision of both Erin and Madison. She
opened its double doors, revealing dozens of whips, crops,
canes, and multi-tailed floggers hanging from hooks. She
unbuckled her corset-belt and hung it from an empty hook, then
unbuttoned and removed her sleeveless, V-neck blouse and hung it
from the same hook. She pulled on a pair of thin gloves of
black kid, then lightly ran her now leather-clad fingers over
the many instruments for inflicting pain.
Erin hung in her inescapable bonds and watched. Her heart
was pounding, but she remained silent. She didn't struggle
and didn't even attempt to plead for mercy. Her captors
would do whatever they'd decided to do, and she was helpless.
Crystal settled on a flogger, twenty or more three-foot ribbons
of chamois-thin leather braided together to form a stiff handle
at one end. Its many loose tails shook and rattled as
Crystal took it from its hook, slipped the handle's loop over
her right wrist, and gave it a shake. She then began a
series of torso twists and arm stretches. Her toned
muscles slid under the pale, smooth skin of her diminutive
form. Her brown eyes sparkled as she smiled at Erin.
Madison was sobbing through her ball-gag and her eyes welled.
Erin steeled herself for what was to come.
Lyndal stepped to Beverly's side and took her hand.
Crystal strolled behind Erin, leaving her field of view.
Seconds passed as Madison continued to cry.
Finally, Erin heard a whistling noise—and her back exploded with searing
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head had lolled forward and her drool-wet chin was on her
chest. Her back, butt, and thighs felt like they were on
fire, and her entire body was dripping with sweat. She
hung in her bonds, her breasts heaving and nostrils flaring as
she panted. It had been bad, very bad. How long
Crystal had worked her over with the flogger, she wasn't
sure. It had been several minutes, possibly more than
ten. Pinioned with her arms and legs outstretched, all she
could do was take it as blow after lashing blow landed.
And then, finally,
mercifully, it was over.
Madison was still sobbing, her cheeks flushed and wet above her
ball-gag. Her right hand was busy, writing her name over
and over on the tablet with the stylus.
Beverly was looking over Madison's shoulder, smiling and
nodding. "Good, good, Fire," she cooed. "Take your
time and write naturally."
Erin didn't blame Madison for her ordeal. She knew why her
friend had refused to cooperate. Unless she was mistaken,
an "auto-scribe" machine mechanically reproduced
handwriting. Properly programmed, it mimicked the pressure
and speed of a person's handwriting, and Madison was training
the software as she wrote, providing the required data.
Eventually, the device would be able to produce a perfect
replica of her signature, good enough to fool even a handwriting
expert. And Beverly had promised Erin a chance to train
the machine as well.
Beverly's plan was obvious. Powers of attorney, postcards,
even entire letters could be produced, as needed, to satisfy
legal requirements or answer the inquiries of their friends and
relatives. Erin knew she didn't have a lot of either,
friends or relatives, that is—not close friends, anyway. Most if not all
of her acquaintances in the art scene would probably forget all
about her when they stopped seeing her at Starbucks or at
parties, especially since Beverly had spread plausible rumors to
explain her absence. And as for relatives, there were a
few living across the country, but they didn't even exchange
Christmas cards. As for Madison, she had an aunt living in
the city, but they'd had some sort of a falling out. The
bottom line was, no one was likely to inquire about either of
Lyndal stepped in front of Erin, untied the bow linking the ends
of her pigtails, and gently pulled the braids free of her
nipple-rings. "Poor Ice," the blonde cooed.
Erin lifted her head and stared at Lyndal with tear-stained
"That's twice you've been punished for Fire's disobedience,"
Lyndal continued. She cupped Erin's breasts and gave them
a gentle squeeze. "Let's hope she's finally learned her
lesson and we don't have to do it again." She glanced at
Madison, still crying and writing on the tablet. "I guess
it's true what they say about redheads and their tempers, but
she does seem sorry."
Erin wasn't buying it, but she kept her feelings masked.
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night, Lyndal led Erin to what the brunette took to be her
handler's own bedroom. The decor was spartan, modern, and
tasteful, and was dominated by a giant framed photograph of wild
horses running across the plains. The lead horse was a
palomino. Whether it was a stallion or mare, Erin couldn't
tell, but it was a truly magnificent animal, as were the horses
running behind. Morning or evening transitional light
flooded the foreground, highlighting the horses' exhaled breath
and their flying manes against the darker background of the
rolling hills and distant, purple mountains.
It was a beautiful photograph—and Erin was suddenly devastated
by the loss of her art—and her freedom. She stared at the
thundering horses—and tears trailed down her cheeks.
"Poor Ice," Lyndal said as she led Erin to her bed. "I'll
put some ointment on your back and make you feel better."
It's not my back, Erin
thought, but she didn't try and speak. The ball-gag was
still strapped and padlocked in her mouth.
Lyndal spreadeagled Erin on the bed, face down, and rubbed
ointment on her back as promised, as well as her butt and
thighs. "You're striped like a zebra," Lyndal told her
prisoner, "but your skin isn't broken. Crystal is quite
expert with the whip. You'll feel much better in the
There was another special meal—several savory, salty, and
delicious courses hand fed to Erin by Lyndal—and it definitely wasn't monkey
chow—but she didn't really care.
Later, Lyndal made love to her, several times, taking care to
avoid the now mildly sensitive skin Crystal had punished.
This, Erin did care
about. The gentle caress of her handler's strong hands,
the feel of the muscles gliding under the blonde's skin as their
bodies rubbed together, the way she toyed with Erin's
nipple-rings and stroked her breasts, and above all, the
wonderful things she did with her fingers, lips, and
tongue... Erin writhed and tugged on her loose but
implacable bonds, relishing the waves of pleasure washing over
her body as Lyndal gave her orgasm after orgasm.
It was Erin's only escape—her only escape.
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Yoga in the morning, gym in the afternoon, sex with Lyndal at
night—Gym in the morning, yoga in the afternoon, sex with Lyndal
at night—it was an endless cycle.
Nine out of ten of Erin's meals were monkey chow, with the tenth
taking the form of a randomly appearing breakfast, lunch, or
dinner, each a shining example of Alison Devereaux' gourmet
Erin saw neither peach-pink hide nor ginger-red hair of
Madison. Apparently, "Fire" had decided to become an
obedient slave and there were no further requirements to punish
"Ice." Erin remained alert, but no opportunities for
escape presented themselves. She was constantly bound and
usually gagged and her handlers made no mistakes.
Twenty more days.
Thirty more days.
Then, one morning, the door of Erin's cell opened and instead of
and Ali appeared. The Mistress-of-Mistresses was in
equestrian drag and Ali was in her usual sandals, jeans, and
Erin was still only half-awake as Ali buckled and padlocked a
ball-gag in her mouth, locked her mittens behind her back, and
hobbled her ankles. She was then lifted to her feet and
they were out the door with Beverly in the lead.
Their destination was upstairs and out of the mansion, the first time Erin had
left the main building since her capture and enslavement.
It was a clear morning, but it appeared to have rained during
the night. The path under Erin's bare feet was cool and
damp, and the grass was wet. They entered a barn-like
building and passed door after door, all tall and with small,
barred windows. The
stables, Erin remembered. Beverly mentioned she had
Erin was led to what was unmistakably a tack room. Straps,
bridles, and other leather and steel accouterments hung from
hooks and wooden cabinets lined the walls. Curiously,
there were no saddles or saddle stands.
Beverly watched as Ali buckled a leather collar around Erin's
throat, positioned her in the center of the room, and made sure
she stayed there by stretching a chain from either side and
snapping them to rings in the collar.
Next, a corset of thinly padded black canvas was wrapped around
Erin's waist and buckled tight. This was followed by a
corset of brown leather. It had steel rings on either
side, solidly stitched to the outer corset, and the pair, canvas
and leather, were obviously a set. The straps and buckles
of the inner corset slid into channels in the outer corset's
interior lining. When Ali was finished, Erin's ribs,
tummy, and lower back were squeezed in a business-like but not
actually punishing grip. At least there aren't any laces, Erin
mused. Leather shoulder straps anchored the top of the
outer corset, but there were no lower straps passing through her
crotch or encircling her thighs, nor were any needed.
An arm-binder followed. Erin's mittens were passed through
the opposite ends of a leather tube and buckles tightened around
her upper arms, just below her armpits. The terminal rings
of her mittens were snapped to rings in the tube's interior,
zippers were closed, and Erin's arms were now sheathed behind
her back in a U-shaped manner. There were more snaps and
tugs, and the center of the binder was attached to the back of
the outer corset.
A wooden stool was positioned behind Erin's back, the collar
chains were slackened, and Ali plunked the naked captive's rump
on the seat. Erin watched as Ali went to a cabinet and
returned with a pair of boots—a very strange pair of boots. They were
knee-boots, with integrated, cuff-like straps at the tops and
ankles. That was unusual, but it wasn't the strange
part. Instead of normal soles and heels, the boots ended
in what Erin could only describe as hooves, and they were "shod"
with steel horseshoes!
"Point your toes as Ali fits your new boots," Beverly ordered.
Erin did so, as much curious as fearful of punishment. Her
feet slid into close-fitting, padded channels. Ali zipped
the boots closed, tightened the buckles, and Erin found her feet
would now remain on
point. She had no choice in the matter. A
double-ended steel clip was snapped to rings in the boot-top
straps, and Erin knew her steps would now be hobbled—assuming it
was even possible to take steps
in such absurd footwear.
Finally, Erin's ball-gag was removed and immediately replaced by
an elaborate head-harness that anchored a red rubber bit between
her teeth. Again, Ali accomplished the task with deft,
practiced fingers while Beverly smiled and watched. A
horizontal band encircled Erin's brow. Additional straps
stretched from the steel rings at either end of the bit, crossed
her cheeks, met at the bridge of her nose, and continued to a
steel ring just behind the crown of her head. Her brown
hair was passed through the ring, enforcing a ponytail, the many
buckles were secured, and the harness was uniformly snug and
tight. Erin knew herself to be not as well gagged as she
had been before, but the thick, stiff bit trapped her tongue and
tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was gagged.
"Beautiful," Beverly sighed.
Ali unbuckled the collar and helped Erin to her feet.
"Mwrf!" The horseshoe-boots were precarious. Their
insteps provided even support, but there were no actual
heels. Erin was tottering on her toes. She had
always had a little height on Beverly, but now, up on her toes
and said toes balanced on the horseshoe platforms, she felt like
a giant—a naked, corseted, arm-binder bound, bit-gagged, and
knee-hobbled giant. The boots weren't exactly stilts, but
the top of Beverley's head was now even with her chin.
"You can handle her?" Ali asked Beverly.
"Of course," Beverly answered, looking Erin's leather-bound body
up and down with a broad smile.
Ali turned and left without another word. Not for the
first time, Erin noted the difference between Ali's attitude and
the other staff. She was respectful and attentive of her
Mistress, but never subservient.
"Come, Ice," Beverly said, pulling the riding crop from her
right boot and slipping its thong over her wrist. She
gestured towards the open door and Erin staggered across the
threshold, encumbered by the boot's unfamiliar design and the
knee-hobble. Beverly led her to one of the stalls.
Erin watched as she unlocked and unbolted the stall door and
rolled it aside on its overhead track.
The space beyond was small, too small for a horse, and waiting
inside was Madison. She was restrained in an identical
manner to Erin: bit-harness, double corset, arm-binder, and
horseshoe-boots. In terms of tack, they were a matching
pair. The only exception was the color of Madison's canvas
inner corset, which was white.
Beverly beckoned with her crop and Madison lurched forward to
stand beside her fellow slave. "Such a pretty pair,"
Beverly sighed, then reached into her pocket and pulled out four
small, tinkling jingle-bells. She snapped their attached
clips through each of Madison's and Erin's nipple-rings.
Erin and Madison stared at each other... and sighed through
Beverly waved her crop towards the large double-doors at the far
end of the stables. The roommates lurched and staggered
towards their new goal.
"Congratulations are in order," Beverly purred. "You've
done so well in your training, I've decided you're both ready
for promotion." They'd reached the doors and Beverly's
hand was poised at a panel with a pair of buttons. "You
are no longer slaves, but are now ponies." She thumbed the
"OPEN" button and the doors parted and began to swing open.
Erin and Madison exchanged confused looks. Their thoughts
were the same: 'Ponies?'
Beyond the doors was a running track. Beverly led her
"ponies" into the sunshine.
They heard an approaching jingling and whirring noise, turned
their heads—and something truly remarkable came into view.
Erin and Madison's eyes popped wide and they stared in
|| THE END
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