Submission by Leigh Heppell  artists & models

    by Van ©2012

  Chapter 8

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Thundering down the track towards Erin, Madison, and Beverly was a two-wheeled cart, a sulky.  It was painted a bright, ultramarine blue and perched on its minimal seat was Crystal.  The Evil Pixie was in equestrian costume, but this time as a jockey.  Her long-sleeved blouse was purplish blue silk, complementing the color of the sulky, her riding pants white, and her boots black.  Black gloves and a purple racing helmet with goggles completed the outfit.  The sadistic little monster was adorable, as ever, but Erin's and Madison's main focus was on the "pony" pulling the sulky.Pony Racing, by
            Turk--CLICK FOR BIG VERSION

It was Lyndal, and she was dressed/restrained in a version of Erin's and Madison's new costumes: head-harness bit-gag, inner and outer corsets, and what were now clearly best described as "pony-boots."  The running, sweating blonde's nipple rings were belled, also like Erin's and Madison's, and she was running flat out, exerting all of her considerable athletic skill and grace.

Erin and Madison stared as the sulky continued to approach, rounding the near turn.

Lyndal's outer corset was stainless steel, and its back was clamped or bolted in some manner to a horizontal rod stretched between the sulky's shafts.  The rings of the running blonde's bit were linked by leather reins to Crystal's left hand, and in the munchkin jockey's right hand was a buggy-whip.  She was using it, of course, delivering light but no doubt stinging snaps to Lyndal's shoulders and upper back with consummate skill.

"Magnificent, isn't she?" Beverly sighed as she tightened one of Erin's corset buckles.  "I mean Lyndal, of course.  Crystal is as cute as ever, but Lyndal is magnificent."

The sulky rolled past, the slightly damp sand of the track flying in clumps from under its spinning wheels and Lyndal's flashing hooves.

"She won the mile at last year's Sisterhood Games," Beverly continued, smiling at Erin and Madison, "setting a new record."  They watched as the sulky dwindled into the distance, continuing around the track.  "You don't know about the Sisterhood, of course," Beverly chuckled, "but don't worry your pretty heads.  All a pony needs to know is that she must do her best to run very, very fast.  A pony's total concentration must be on her training.  That and pleasing her Mistress, of course."

Lyndal continued running... and sweating... and Crystal's whip continued flicking.  The sulky completed the track, made the near turn, and once again thundered past the watching "ponies" and their Mistress.

"Magnificent," Beverly sighed, then smiled at Erin and Madison.  "And so are you, Fire and Ice.  Your bodies are responding well to your training, just as I hoped they would.  You've both gained muscle, kept up your weights, and your physiques are ever more lithe and strong—just what ponies need to pull a sulky at race-winning speed.  And yet, your curves remain deliciously feminine."

Erin and Madison exchanged wide-eyed, horrified looks, then focused on Beverly.

"The next phase of your training will strengthen your ankles and calves and get you used to walking, and then running in pony-boots," Beverly explained.  "Next, you'll learn to pull a sulky.  My ultimate goal is to have you ready for your first race by the next Sisterhood Games, as a tandem pair.  You may not win, but it will be good experience."  She stood between the tottering captives and placed an arm around each of their corseted waists, below their encased arms and above their naked rumps.  They watched as Lyndal and Crystal thundered away down the straightaway.

"You both have a lot of hard work ahead of you," Beverly purred.
artists & models 

 Chapter 8
That night, Erin and Madison weren't returned to their subterranean cells under the mansion.  From then on they slept in stalls in the stable.  Their new "homes" were the same size as their former cells and had the same "comforts"—mattress on the floor, commode, and sink/water fountain.  The main differences were the thick, wooden timber walls and the solid, sliding wooden doors with small, barred windows.  As before, they were restrained with mittens and ankle cuffs at night, in different configurations to allow their shoulders to adjust and rest.

For the next month, their waking hours were divided between exercise in the gym with Crystal, yoga sessions with Lyndal, and new training: learning to walk in their new boots.  At first, the gym's slave treadmills were used, the ones with restraining chains.  Up on their toes in the stilt-like pony-boots and restrained in mittens and waist belts, Erin and Madison would plod along, at first for only an hour at a time, but eventually for as long as up to half a day.  Later, the sessions moved outdoors and they walked together in endless circles in a walled yard, tethered to opposite ends of the long, slowly rotating arms of an equine exercise machine.  Their nipple rings were clipped to electrical leads which delivered "encouraging" shocks when they slacked off from the programmed pace and their tethers tightened.

The first nights had been painful, ameliorated by vibrator massages of their aching feet and calves from the skilled hands of Lyndal and Crystal and by long soaks in steaming, bubbling foot baths.  The handlers took good care of their charges, escalating the intensity of the boot workouts with deliberate speed and giving their foot muscles time to adjust and gain strength.

The nightly sex continued, with Erin and Madison restrained in some manner, always.  The sessions were the highlight of the ponies' day, and neither captive realized their responses had evolved from near passivity to active participation.  On those occasions when their gags were removed, Erin would do her best to lick and suck Lyndal to orgasm, and Madison did the same for Crystal.  It wasn't love.  A psychologist might be able to explain it, but Erin and Madison didn't care.  They remained prisoners and no opportunities for escape presented themselves... other than the bliss of orgasm.

Pulling a sulky turned out to be less of a challenge that either pony had thought.  The racing carts were mature technology, and the double-corset system aligned the center-of-gravity of the pony with the sulky and rider, distributing the load to her shoulders, hips, and abs.  At first the ponies learned to pull special training carts, but eventually they progressed to actual racing sulkies, usually with Crystal in the driver's seat.  They could still only run for short distances, but were making progress.

There were other changes to their routine.

Previously, the captive's mittens had only been removed for an hour at a time, for weekly grooming sessions.  Their hands would be scrubbed, their fingernails trimmed, and then tucked back into the locking mittens.  But now, Erin and Madison were allowed to go mitten-free two or three days at a time.  They were still restrained, of course, in padlocked leather cuffs or tightly laced and locked in arm-binders and body harnesses of various design.

In yet another change, Erin and Madison were now required to groom each other.

One morning, Lyndal marched Erin into the stable's version of the shower room and the brunette found her red-haired "fellow pony" locked in the collar and four-point shackles of the dressing-frame.  Lyndal removed Erin's mittens, but her ankles remained hobbled and a ball-gag padlocked in her mouth.  At Crystal's direction and with Lyndal on guard, Erin hosed off and scrubbed Madison's body, shampooed her hair, then shaved her crotch, legs, and armpits.  The next day, Madison returned the favor.  As they were always under the watchful gaze of their crop and prod wielding handler/trainers, rebellion remained as impossible as ever.  This became the new bathing routine.

One memorable night, ring-gagged, hobbled, and with her mitten-encased hands locked behind her back, Crystal led Madison to a stall different from her own.  Lyndal and Erin were waiting.  The brunette pony was loosely spreadeagled on a double-sized mattress with her hands locked in the usual mittens, and a ring-gag was strapped and padlocked in her mouth.  Crystal removed Madison's mittens and both handlers stepped into the stable corridor.  The stall door slid closed, a key turned in the lock, and Madison and Erin were alone.

Erin gazed down at her friend, then sighed, reclined beside her on the mattress, and put her arms around her firm, smooth body.  They lay together and closed their eyes.  Conversation was impossible, and they were both tired from a hard day of training.

Later, they made love as best they could.

Erin's fingers and hands were encased and bound, but Madison's were not, and they had long ago learned how to thrust their tongues through a ring-gag and give pleasure to a partner.  Both captives experienced orgasm—and the explosions of ecstasy had a sweet, melancholy flavor different from the raw, extracted nature of the orgasms forced upon them by the hands, lips, and tongues of Crystal and Lyndal.

Afterwards—after more than an hour of Madison caressing Erin's body, licking her pussy, and toying with her breasts—after Madison straddled Erin's body and they pleasured each other—the prisoners slept.

Another  week passed.

After yet another day of training, it was bedtime and Erin was loosely spreadeagled on the mattress-bed of her own stall with a naked Lyndal sprawled against her side.  Suddenly, they heard the soft, unmistakable sound of a piano being played somewhere in the stables.  "Madison?" Erin whispered.

"Mistress has gifted Fire with a keyboard," Lyndal whispered in Erin's ear, "as a reward for diligent attention to her training."

Erin recognized one of Madison's original compositions.  The melody was in a minor key and was plaintive, complex... and very beautiful.

Lyndal kissed Erin's neck.  "You're to receive a reward as well, Ice, tomorrow morning.  Mistress has a special camera for you.  Its lens mounts on the forehead strap of your bridle, like a third eye, and it has blinders with sensors that track the focus of your eyes.  The entire system is extremely rugged and lightweight and has a huge memory.  You'll be able to capture images from a pony's point of view.  You won't be allowed to use it all the time, of course, but..."  She kissed Erin's neck, again.  "Don't cry, Ice."

"I-I can't help it, Mistress," Erin sobbed.  She was, indeed, crying.

"Hush."  Lyndal continued kissing her pony's neck and face.  She licked Erin's tears, pressed their lips together, and probed her mouth with her tongue.  Meanwhile, Lyndal's fingers were doing probing of their own.  Eventually, over the course of several long, pleasurable minutes, as Madison's music continued to echo through the stables, she led Erin's writhing, helpless body to a crashing multiple orgasm.
artists & models 

 Chapter 8
An additional month passed, and one bright, sunny morning Erin and Madison were introduced to a tandem sulky for the first time.  The wheels and seat were more or less the same as the single-pony version, but the cart's curving shafts were set farther apart to accommodate two ponies pulling side-by-side.

"Tandem racing is trickier than you might think," Crystal lectured from the sulky's seat as Lyndal harnessed the ponies.  Madison was on her left and Erin on the right.  "You'll have to learn to walk and run in perfect unison, as a team.  This first time, we'll keep the pace to a quick walk.  Concentrate on matching each other step for step."  With that, she took the buggy whip in her hand and flicked the reins.  "We'll take the bridal path."


Erin and Madison stepped off with their left hooves, as they'd been taught, and followed the tug of the reins to pull the sulky around the stable to the start of the bridal path.

The path in question snaked through the forest and around the lake, always within the bounds of the estate's interior fence.  It branched and came back together at several points, allowing a variety of possible routes.  Both Erin and Madison were familiar with its component trails, having pulled single-pony sulkies through the trees many, many times.  One branch led past a small meadow that sloped down to the lake and was overlooked by a gazebo-like pavilion, and it was there that they were guided by Crystal.

As they drew near, they beheld Marta Hartleben harnessed to a scaled down, two seat surrey and hitched to a post on the far side of the clearing.  Her tack was black, but similar to their own: pony-boots, U-shaped arm-binder, double-corset, and bit-gag harness; however, Marta's accouterments were more decorative and elaborate, with many narrow and functionally unnecessary straps crisscrossing her shoulders and thighs and framing her breasts.  She had jingle-bells clipped to her breast rings, like Erin and Madison, but a third bell dangled from a six-inch chain clipped to a ring between her legs.  Finally, Marta's bridle had blinders and was topped with red ostrich plumes, their color matching the fringe and sunscreen of the otherwise black carriage.

Based on previous encounters, Erin and Madison had independently reached the rather obvious conclusion that Marta was Beverly's slave, but this was the first evidence that she was also their Mistress' pony.
Crystal pulled on the reins and stopped at a hitching post well away from Marta, the mini-surrey, and the pavilion.  She hitched the reins to the post, then hobbled the ponies with double-ended clips, binding each of their knees together, then joining their inside ankles with a third clip.

Meanwhile, Beverly descended the steps from the pavilion.  She was dressed in a sundress and sandals, and at her side—

"MRRRPFH!"  Madison's eyes popped wide, she screamed through her bit-gag, and squirmed her harnessed and hobbled body, fighting her inescapable bonds.  The struggling lasted for only a few seconds, with predictable results.  Madison remained as helpless as ever.Madison's aunt!!

At Beverly's side was a redhead, about their Mistress' age and similarly dressed.  The stranger's sundress revealed a great deal of smooth, firm, pale skin and her flaming red hair lay in long curls about her lightly freckled shoulders.

Erin blinked in surprise, staring at the newcomer.  Who the hell is she?  Obviously, Madison knew but was hardly in a position to provide an introduction.

"As you can see," Beverly was saying to the redhead, "they're both well-fed and fit, like I promised."

The redhead nodded, an evil smile curling her lips.  "Hello, Madison," she said, then shifted the focus of her blue eyes to Erin.  "And you would be my niece's friend, Erin."

"I'm sorry," Beverly chuckled.  "I didn't realize we weren't all acquainted.  Ice, allow me to introduce Fire's aunt, Patricia Fallon, CEO of Fallon, Limited."

"Please, call me Pat," Madison's aunt said, "when you aren't gagged, of course."  She smiled at Beverly.  "Fire and Ice?"

"Their pony names," Beverly explained.

Pat nodded, her eyes on Madison's nipple rings.  "Have you pierced them anywhere else?"

Beverly shook her head.  "No, and I have no immediate plans to pierce their labia or clitoral hoods.  Naughty-bit bells are for dressage-trained show-ponies---"  She nodded over her shoulder towards the surrey.  "Like my Marta, not racing ponies.  And as long as they're obedient and work hard, I see no need to pierce their tongues to allow the use of punishment bits."

Erin glanced sideways at Madison.  Fire was staring daggers at her smiling aunt.

Beverly smiled at Crystal.  "Pip, please join me for tea in the pavilion.  Pat would like to have a private word with Fire and Ice."

"Of course, Mistress."  Crystal executed a graceful curtsy.  The pose looked a little odd in boots and riding pants, but was undeniably cute.  The Evil Pixie smiled at Madison as she stepped to her Mistress' side and tapped her pony-prod holster in silent warning.

Pat watched them depart, then turned back to the waiting ponies.  Her eyes on Madison, her smile hardened.  "Maddie, remember about two years ago when you told me there would be 'big changes' at Fallon once you turned thirty and inherited the controlling shares of the partnership?  How you had already found allies among the junior partners and were planning all sorts of projects in your artistic little head?  I politely explained that business was best left to those of us who knew what they were doing, and you had a rather heated and colorful response?  Your final words were something to the effect that there was nothing I could do about it?"  Her smile turned truly evil.  "Well... it turns out you were wrong."

"NRRRRRF!"  Madison screamed through her bit, and her eyes welled.

"With the binding power-of-attorney and other documents you've so graciously 'signed' for me," Pat continued, "my position as senior partner and CEO is unassailable, now and forever.  And since you'll be away touring Europe and Asia for the next several years, your townhouse will be used as company housing.  Remember, all those years ago, when I explained the tax advantages of keeping the title in the company name?  That will make the new arrangement trivially easy.  No red flags.  Not so much as a hint of impropriety.  From now on, the rent your trust fund has been paying to Fallon, Ltd. will pay your 'boarding fee' at Beverly Adair's stable—all carefully disguised as other expenses, of course."

Pat smiled to Erin.  "And as for you, Ms. Gillard, I'm afraid you're collateral damage."

Madison was weeping in earnest, and now Erin's eyes were also wet.

Pat reached out and flicked Madison's left nipple ring, causing the attached bell to jingle.  "I can't say that I approve of this unique and unconventional lifestyle that you've chosen," she purred, "you and your lesbian lover; but after all, who am I to tell you how to live your life?"

"Mmpfh!"  Madison stomped her left boot in frustration and continued to cry.

"I was a pleasure meeting you, Erin," Pat said, then focused on her niece.  "Well, goodbye, Maddie.  We probably won't be meeting again."  With that, she turned her back on the weeping ponies and strolled towards the pavilion.

Erin watched her go, then turned to Madison.  She'd felt guilty that her ambition, her pursuit of her "big break" in the form of a one-woman show at Beverly's gallery, was the cause of their predicament.  But now it was clear that the true target had been Madison, all along.  Erin was, as Pat Fallon said, "collateral damage."  It wasn't Madison's fault, of course.  They were both victims.

Meanwhile, Pat had mounted the steps to the pavilion and passed from sight.  They heard the clink and clatter of what were probably tea cups, as well as laughter and conversation.  Across the clearing, Marta stood patiently in her fancy pony-bondage, waiting to take Mistress and her guest back to the estate.

Erin tugged on her arm-binder, shuffled her pony-booted and hobbled feet, and wept.  We are so very, very screwed, she thought, and she could tell that Madison very much agreed.

 Chapter 8
artists & models 

Chapter 7