|by Van © 2016
managed to get more sleep, but again, it was troubled and only
marginally restful. Her muscles ached from hours
of her body being clamped and strapped in the same position on
the hard steel of the gynecological examining table, or whatever
her captors called the adjustable apparatus. No doubt
they have a clever equestrian name for the hateful thing,
Bridget thought at one point. She weakly tugged against
the rubber-padded steel clamps trapping her wrists a foot to
either side of her ball-stuffed mouth and tape-sealed
lips. She also flexed her bare feet in the similar clamps
trapping her feet and legs in the table's troughs and squirmed
under the rubber straps pinning her upper arms and thighs.
Her efforts were attempts to find comfort. She knew escape
from the table was impossible.
Oddly, Bridget's pierced and band-aid covered nipples didn't
hurt. That is, there was no throbbing or tingling or any
other sensation to remind her of the involuntary and humiliating
needle perforation and post emplacement Eve had performed
earlier. Involuntary. Humiliating.
The thoughts kept running through Bridget's mind. Also...
fear. She wasn't quaking in terror, not at the
moment, but she was very much afraid.
Alone and helpless in the total darkness, Bridget ignored her
growing hunger... her sore, aching muscles... calmed her racing
thoughts... and drifted off to sleep. At least for now,
sleep would be her only escape from Wilkinson Ranch.
|A Pony Named Freckles
Maya made her
way to Lydia's abode. She was naked, as ordered, but no
one was out and about to observe her nudity as as she padded to
the cottage door. The new pony, Freckles, was busy being
helpless in the bowels of Building 7, while Scheherazade and
Prancine were busy in Mistress' bedroom doing whatever degrading
activity Eve had decided would ring her chimes on this
particular evening. Maya raised her fist to knock—and the
cottage door abruptly opened on its own. Apparently,
someone had noted her approach.
That someone was Lydia, of course, and the Stable Mistress was
as naked as her guest. "You're late," she purred, a coy
smile curling her lips.
"And a gracious buenas noches to you, as well," Maya
huffed as she breezed past her hostess and padded to the middle
of the living room. "I have duties and responsibilities,
remember? Do you want breakfast to be late in the
morning? Do you want Mistress Eve to be hungry and crazy?"
"Eve is too distracted playing with her new pony to care," Lydia
"Easy for you to say," Maya responded, "and I didn't
come here to talk." A sly smile curled her lips as, hands
on hips, she gazed at her fellow employee. "It isn't fair,
you know. You can be as slovenly as you like with your
stables and Mistress won't even notice. But she will
notice the first time her stomach growls and there isn't food on
the table." The words were all Maya, gruff and tough, but
her expression was... adorable?
Lydia smiled as she strolled towards her guest (meaning her
soon-to-be prisoner). Maya could be many things, but
"adorable?" It was a paradox. Maya was a
Piled on the sofa was a tangle of black leather straps with
steel buckles and rings, at least part of which was recognizable
as a standard body-harness designed to hug and restrain its
wearer's arms and torso. There were also four thick, wide,
padded leather cuffs, each of which secured by means of three
narrow straps and tiny buckles.
"You said you wanted to show me something new," Maya huffed,
frowning at the restraints. "None of this is new."
Lydia shrugged. "I changed my mind." She picked up
the harness, sorted out the tinkling buckles and twisted straps,
dropped it over Maya's head, and began fitting it around her
"Like I said," Maya huffed, "lazy."
Lydia's lips curled in a knowing smile. Maya was trying to
provoke her. It was all a part of the game. Lydia
said nothing as she buckled the strap passing under the
beautiful Latina's armpits and above her breasts... then the
strap encircling her narrow waist. A cuff captured Maya's
right wrist... the second cuff captured her left... then Lydia
pulled her hands behind her back and up, until they were
palm-to-palm with her little fingers nudging her spine, just
below her shoulder blades. She then snapped the cuffs to
the harness, enforcing a decidedly no-nonsense reverse-prayer.
"Bitch," Maya complained. The harness had many options,
but reverse-prayer was probably the most stringent. "Ow!"
Still smiling, Lydie had used the harness strap between the
upper torso and waist to pin her guest's folded arms against her
sides, threading the supple leather through its buckle, then
cinching it tight enough to dimple the brown flesh of Maya's
biceps and forearms.
"Bitch," Maya reiterated.
The harness had one remaining strap, a long, narrow leather
ribbon descending from the front of the harness. It was
the crotch-strap, of course. Leaning close and reaching
around Maya's body from behind, her breasts pressed against her
captive's praying hands, Lydia passed the strap between Maya's
legs... made very sure it bisected the squirming,
pouting prisoner's labia and her firm, brown, dimpled
butt-cheeks... then threaded the buckle and pulled it tight.
"Ayah!" Maya gasped, then pouted in earnest. "Just you
wait," she huffed. "Someday I'm going to put sleeping
pills in your food and you'll wake up in one of your own
stalls, naked and in a training harness."
Lydia was busy buckling the remaining two cuffs around Maya's
ankles, the smile still curling her lips. "And who would
care for the ponies?" she chuckled as she eased Maya down to the
floor and onto her thighs, stomach, and breasts. "Who
would water and feed them? Who would make sure they were
"If a lazy bitch like you can do it," Maya muttered, "how hard
can it be? Ow!"
Lydia was using two wide, belt-like straps to bind Maya's ankle
cuffs to their respective thighs in a tight frog-tie.
Maya's complaint had been in response to a stinging and entirely
gratuitous slap Lydia had delivered to her left
There was one last item, a spider-gag, a ring-gag with four
curved, blunt metal flanges that followed the contours of the
wearer's face. But rather than thrusting the ring between
Maya's teeth and tightening its strap to prop her mouth
permanently open, the grinning blonde buckled the strap on its
first hole and let it dangle around Maya's neck. She then
gracefully stood, strolled to the sofa, and sat.
Maya rolled on the carpet, squirming and testing her bonds.
Lydia watched the floor show, her right leg crossed and balanced
on her left knee and her arms to either side, resting on the top
of the sofa.
Maya stared at the Stable Mistress' infuriating (beautiful)
smile, her long, pale, tousled hair, full breasts, and the toes
of her right foot.
More than a minute passed.
"You're probably wondering why I've called this staff meeting at
such a late hour," Lydia finally purred.
"Shut up!" Maya snapped, continuing to squirm.
"Now, Maya," Lydia chuckled, "If you're going to be that way—"
"Mistress has ordered me to prepare nothing but finger-food,
porridge, and smoothies for the new pony," Maya interrupted,
"and she'll be feeding her herself. All meals."
Lydia's smile faded. "For how long?"
"Until she tells me otherwise."
Lydia mulled this over while Maya returned to her struggles...
her entirely futile struggles.
"I've also received new orders from Mistress," Lydia said
evenly. "I'm to prepare a detailed training regimen for
Freckles... on paper."
"On paper," Maya huffed.
Lydia nodded. "She promises to follow all of my
established protocols—three hours off her toes for every hour on
for the first month, no 24/7 gags—etc."
"But she wants to do all of it herself."
"Exactly," Lydia confirmed. "It would appear she wants
Freckles to be her solo project... for now."
Silence stretched as both naked beauties pondered the situation,
Maya squirming in her bonds and Lydia comfortably lounging on
"I don't like it," Lydia muttered after another minute.
"Fishy." Maya smiled, gazing at what she could see of
Lydia's pussy. "Interesting choice of words."
"Mistress likes an audience," Lydia continued, ignoring her
captive guest. "If this redhead really did come
here begging to become Mistress Eve's pony, she'd want
us to watch. She'd make Scheherazade and Prancine
watch. She'd mix her in with 'the herd,' even early in her
training. She'd include all of us in Freckle's
"Fishy," Maya repeated. The coy (insolent) smile still
curled her lips and her eyes were still on Lydia's pussy, what
she could see of it with the grinning blonde's legs crossed as
Lydia was well aware of the direction of her guest's gaze.
She slowly uncrossed her legs... then crossed them again,
changing legs and affording her captive a brief but complete
view of her labia and neatly trimmed, dark-blond bush. "I
think I should call you-know-who and discuss the
situation. No need to sound an actual alarm, not at this
point, but Mistress Eve's behavior is the sort of thing
we were told to monitor."
"Due diligence," Maya sighed.
"Exactly," Lydia nodded. "We'll probably be told to keep
an eye on the situation but not intervene... unless things get
out of control."
"Probably," Maya agreed. "Tomorrow?"
Lydia grinned. "Excuse me?"
Maya rolled her eyes. "You'll make the call tomorrow?"
Still smiling, Lydia slowly shook her head. "No... I'll
make the call right now... from the bedroom." She rose
from the sofa, reached down and pulled something from behind a
throw pillow, then sauntered towards Maya.
All Maya caught was a flash of chrome steel. "What are you
doing?" she demanded as Lydia knelt at her side.
"Mrrrpfh!" The spider-gag was in her mouth, propping her
jaws wide, as designed, and Lydia was buckling the strap under
her hair at the nape of her neck. Maya's response was what
would have been a highly creative and blistering tongue
lashing, in Spanish and English, but the gag reduced it to a
gurgling chorus of inarticulate noise, also as
designed. It was clear, however, that Mistress Eve's chef
was not happy.
"M'mrfh mrrr mfh rrmpf urr... mfffh?"
Lydia had snapped something around Maya's thumbs, something hard
and metallic. Then, she did the same to her big
toes. Next, a chain rattled, the new restraints vibrated
and—"Mrrrk!"—Lydia grabbed hold of Maya's hair, pulled her
spider-gagged head back, a snap sounded, and the
squirming, naked Latina found herself doubly hogtied!
"MRRRK!" Now, steel clamps or cuffs or something linked
her big toes to her thumbs to the back of the spider-gag by
means of a taut steel chain!
"I lied about changing my mind," Lydia explained as she combed
the wiggling, wincing, very angry Maya's tousled hair from her
furious face. "I did have something new to show
you." She gracefully sauntered towards the door to her
bedroom. "Although, truth be told, using two pairs of
thumb-cuffs and a connecting chain to reinforce an already
inescapable hogtie is probably just excessively cruel, rather
than something you could actually call new."
"MRRRRR!" Maya screamed through her gag as Lydia
disappeared through the open door. The connecting chain
was short and light, short enough to be the first line of
restraint of the double-hogtie. The leather harness and
cuffs were close behind, but the taut steel link to the gag was
insidious. Maya had no choice but to hold her already
saliva-dripping chin up and her head back. Otherwise, the
tug on her toes and thumbs would be excessive, and eventually
Lydia returned to the bedroom door and leaned her back against
the door frame. Her iPhone was in her hand. "Keep
the noise down while I make my call, okay?" she purred as she
tapped the phone's tiny screen. "And while Mistress
Meredith and I are chatting, squirm your way on in here.
I'll be on the bed. I'm sure we'll be finished talking by
the time you arrive." And with that, the Stable Mistress
turned and was gone, again.
Oh, just you wait! Maya fumed silently. She heaved
a gagged sigh and started squirming towards the bedroom as
ordered, inchworm fashion. Ow! Ow!
Ow! Ow! Ow! The cuffs tugging on her
toes and thumbs weren't that painful, and she was
making slow progress towards her goal, but the tiny steel stocks
were painful enough... and humiliating... which was the point of
the exercise, of course. Adding insult to injury, the
friction caused by dragging her boobs and thighs across Lydia's
carpet was adding to her ordeal. Just you wait!
How Maya was going to make it up and onto the bed in her current
bondage when she finally reached the bedroom, she had no
idea. No doubt Lydia would help. The cruel, evil,
beautiful gringa was certainly strong enough to lift her
hogtied form onto the mattress, easily strong enough.
|A Pony Named Freckles
wore an expensive nightie to bed and sometimes she slept in the
nude. Tonight, she was nude.
Scheherazade and Prancine, on the other hand were "dressed" in
sleeping harnesses. Granted, the ponies were nearly nude
and their black leather ensembles were restraints, rather than
clothing, but technically, they were dressed. Their hands
were encased in leather mittens and the tight web of the
harnesses pinned their arms to their sides and their legs
together. Narrow leather bands yoked their shoulders,
passed above and below their breasts, encircled their waists,
encircled their upper thighs, passed above and below their
knees, and bound their ankles, feet, and big toes.
Needless to say, they were helpless.
The ponies were also very busy. Despite the
difficulty imposed by their tight, flesh-dimpling bonds, they
were each doing their absolute best to probe their fellow pony's
pussy with their tongues. It was a game, a game they had
played before, and the rules were quite simple. The first
pony to make the other cum would be declared the winner and
would be granted the privilege of doing the same for Mistress...
repeatedly... until Mistress decided she'd had enough, turned
out the light, and drifted off to sleep. The triumphant
pony's lips and tongue would be quite tired, no doubt, and she
never would have been allowed to cum, herself, but she would
be sleeping on the bed—assuming she'd done an adequate job
of servicing Mistress, of course.
The losing pony, on the other hand, would suffer for her
tongue's lack of skill and diligence. The punishments
varied, but tonight Mistress had decided the loser would be
encased in a leather sleep-sack and isolation helmet—in addition
to her sleeping harness—then be chained by the neck to the foot
of Mistress' bed and condemned to sleep on the floor. The
required items were laid out on the carpet next to the busily
licking and squirming ponies, ready for use.
As always, Mistress was the umpire. Truth be told,
sometimes it was not at all clear which pony had, in fact,
succeeded in making the other cum—or that either pony had cum at
all—but that was unimportant. Watching her ponies' tan,
healthy, tightly restrained bodies roll and squirm on the floor
was always entertaining. Their boobs and pointing nipples
squashed and sliding against each other, the contestants were
clenching their thighs tightly together in an attempt to shield
their pussy, while simultaneously straining to reach their
opponent's pussy. Very entertaining. And for
Eve, the dispensing of dubious rewards and possibly undeserved
punishments with arbitrary cruelty was icing on the proverbial
Yes, Eve liked this game... usually. Tonight, despite
Scheherazade and Prancine's best (desperate) efforts, Eve found
her thoughts wandering... to Freckles.
Eve could hardly wait for morning, when she would begin the
ginger beauty's training in earnest, and she wouldn't wait for
Lydia to produce the formal plan she'd ordered. Eve
already knew how to begin. She'd watched Lydia train the
first two members of her herd. Granted, Scheherazade and
Prancine were "willing" participants in their capture and
domestication, while Freckles was completely "wild," but Eve was
confident. Freckles would become a magnificent
pony, fully trained in dressage and reveling in her new
life. Eve would make it happen!
And it didn't matter that Freckles didn't want to be a
pony. The redhead simply hadn't yet been shown her true
self. It would be hard (pleasurable) work... but
Eve shook her head and decided enough was enough.
Scheherazade and Prancine had been at it long enough to work up
a sweat, but neither appeared to have made the other cum.
So, time to make the call. Both ponies were
gorgeous. Both were in peak condition, thanks to her
Stable Mistress' training regime, and either one was worthy of
licking their Mistress' pussy. The question was... which
pony would best convey her sense of disappointment and betrayal
when she was unjustly punished. It was a near thing,
"Scheherazade," Eve purred. "Are you even trying?
Are you finding Prancine's tongue to be that distracting?
She's already made you cum, and you tried to hide it, didn't
you, you wicked pony?" Eve left the bed and strolled to
the ponies, smiling her most evil smile. "No, don't say
anything. You'd only lie because you're a lazy, indolent
pony with a lazy, indolent tongue. Mistress would have to
punish you even worse."
Scheherazade's expression was priceless, just as Eve had
hoped. Her wide-eyed, dimpled pout was equal parts anger
and fear. 'It isn't fair!' She might be
thinking it, but she didn't dare say it.
Prancine's expression was equally priceless. Eve knew she
loved her fellow pony nearly as much as she loved her
Mistress. She was probably grateful she wouldn't
be the one who would be encased in tight leather all night and
that she would be the one giving Mistress
pleasure. But... Poor Scheherazade! Again,
Prancine could think it, but she wouldn't say it.
Eve made quick work of easing the sleep-sack around
Scheherazade's helpless, slightly sweaty, pouting form.
The sad pony actually helped, as best she could, squirming her
leather-bound body into the sheath and rolling to either side,
as required. All too soon, Eve was zipping the leather
cocoon up the front and securing its built-in collar.
Tightening and buckling the sleep-sack's many straps took time,
but Eve was well-practiced in the process. Soon,
Scheherazade was tightly encased with only her head, hair, and
still pouting face exposed... but not for long.
First came the isolation hood's built-in mouth-plug. The
smooth, rounded rubber cylinder had a central breathing hole,
for safety's sake, as well as a pair of grooves waiting to
accept Scheherazade's teeth, but it was big.
Her eyes locked with her pony, Eve eased the plug into
Scheherazade's open mouth, then buckled its attached strap at
the nape of her neck, under her tousled hair. The rest of
the flaccid hood was now partially obscuring Scheherazade's
grimacing face, but it wasn't an impediment to fitting rounded
foam plugs into the sad pony's ears. Next, Eve gathered
Scheherazade's hair into a ponytail (which was entirely
appropriate, of course), pulled the hood in place, positioned
the base of the ponytail in a generous hole in the back of the
hood, and began the process of threading and tightening the
laces running up the back.
Scheherazade heaved a gagged sigh as the hood hugged her head
with ever-increasing enthusiasm. She knew Mistress would
be entertained by her display of tragic resignation to her
unjust, undeserved fate. She wasn't worried about earning
Eve finished tightening the laces, tied a final knot, then
tightened and secured the hood's many built-in head-harness
straps. Leather bands tightened across the pony's gagged
mouth, under her chin and across the crown of her head, and
around her neck. The neck-strap was nearly a posture
collar, and included secondary straps that secured it to the top
of the sleep-sack.
Eve left the blindfold-strap for last, so she could savor the
sight of Scheherazade's sad brown eyes. Finally, enough
was enough. The pathetic pony's eyes disappeared behind
the soft, thick pads of the blindfold. The strap included
padded cups, sound suppressors that reinforced the foam plugs
already in Scheherazade's ears. Eve threaded and tightened
the buckle... then heaved a satisfied sigh. The cruel,
arbitrary deed was nearly done.
Finally, Eve pulled a long, gleaming steel chain from under her
bed, then snapped a padlock through the terminal link of the
chain and the ring in the front of the hood's collar. She
then stood and gazed down at her leather-encased, squirming,
wiggling pony. She noted Prancine's downcast, disapproving
expression, but decided to let it slide... for now. She
could always revisit her soon to be bed-mate's "improper
attitude" if her tongue failed to perform.
There was a special feature of the sleep-sack. An
eight-inch zipper gave access to a small, internal cavity
designed to contain a wand-style vibrator and press its
business-end firmly against the wearer's leather-encased crotch,
and Eve had a newly purchased, computer-controlled wand that
could be set to randomly entertain (meaning torment)
Scheherazade's pussy all night. Eve continued gazing at
the wiggling, cocooned captive chained to the foot of her bed...
then decided to stick to her original plan: total
frustration. The new vibrator was untested. She
needed to see if it performed as advertised. She needed
to... experiment. Not tonight, Eve decided, then
padded to the bed and climbed between the sheets.
She smiled her best "welcoming" smile at Prancine, and her
remaining pony gazed back. The imperfectly disguised
disapproval on Prancine's gleaming, beautiful face had been
joined by something else: fear. "Well," Eve purred, "what
are you waiting for? Perhaps you'd like to spend the night
in the closet."
Prancine suppressed a shudder and started squirming towards the
bed. "In the closet" meant trapped in the cubbyhole with
the thick, solid door and deadbolt lock in the back of Mistress'
walk-in closet. The cubbyhole in question was the size and
shape of a gym locker, and Prancine knew from bitter experience
that it made a stifling, claustrophobic, very
uncomfortable prison. The journey to Mistress' bed would
be a difficult and painful process, especially for her breasts
and knees as they repeatedly slid across the plush carpet, and especially
for her bound toes. The most challenging part would be
getting up and onto the bed. Prancine knew that from
bitter experience, as well.
|A Pony Named Freckles
finally arrived for Bridget, at least it felt like morning...
somehow. She came instantly awake when the lights over her
gynecological examining table "bed" suddenly blazed in actinic
brightness. There was a moment of panic when she realized
she was naked, gagged, and tightly restrained—then the memory of
her capture the previous day returned.
"Good morning, Freckles!" Eve said brightly as she breezed into
Bridget's prison. Smiling what Bridget could only
characterize as a demented, evil smile, the blonde
"Mistress" stepped forward, cupped Bridget's breasts with her
gloved hands... and gave them a gentle squeeze.
"Shhhhh," Eve admonished her captive. "Ponies don't speak,
Freckles, even when they're gagged. Ponies don't even
try to speak." She continued kneading Bridget's
breasts and the captive squirmed and tugged on her bonds.
"I can help you with that," Eve continued, "with training... and
with technology." She released Bridget's breasts
and strolled into the relative darkness beyond the bright light
directly over Bridget and the table.
Like yesterday, Eve was dressed in a riding costume: brown
knee-boots, dark tan jodhpurs with suede patches protecting the
seat and inner-thighs, a white cotton blouse with long,
rolled-up sleeves, half unbuttoned to display not-so-subtle
cleavage, brown leather riding gloves, and a designer scarf
knotted around her throat. The marginally sane (in
Bridget's opinion) blonde's above-the-shoulder hair was loose,
framing her smiling, maniacal face (in Bridget's opinion) in
carefully coiffed waves. The helpless redhead watched as
Eve returned, carrying an object in her gloved hands—and
Bridget's eyes widened in distress. The object was a black
Eve turned the collar for Bridget's inspection. The
leather had a bulge in the middle with two blunt copper studs on
its inside surface. The buckle had a lockable
tongue. Bridget knew it was a training collar, a
device designed to discourage dogs from barking by delivering
"Nrrr!" Bridget complained, tugging on her bonds.
"I said hush, Freckles," Eve purred, continuing to turn the
collar in her hands before Bridget's horrified eyes. "I
had quite a bit of difficulty finding a model that had all the
security and control features I required," she explained, "while
still meeting my aesthetic standards. I finally had to
commission a custom collar... and I've placed an additional
order for a pair of collars that will match your custom
training harness." Her smile brightened. "Just wait
'til you see it, Freckles! All the hardware will be gold-tone,
and the leather a very pretty shade of cinnamon-brown."
Finally, she leaned close, fit the collar around Bridget's neck
and secured the buckle, then snapped a tiny padlock through the
"NRRR!" Bridget tossed her head and tugged on her
bonds. The collar was tight—not too tight, but
tight—and she could definitely feel the copper studs pressing
against her throat on either side of her larynx. As for
Crazy-Eve's pronouncement that "ponies don't speak." there was
no way in hell that Bridget was going to—"urk!"
A very painful electric shock had just stung and paralyzed
Bridget's throat! Her vocal response had started as a
full-throated scream, but what emerged was a strangled
grunt. Bridget blinked back tears and stared at her captor
Eve had pulled a small remote control from the pocket of her
jodhpurs and was holding it for Bridget's inspection, as she had
with the collar. She was smiling the same twisted smile
and her blue eyes sparkled with what Bridget was very much
afraid might be sadistic madness. Eve returned the remote
to her pocket, then reached out and began combing her fingers
through Bridget's ginger hair, straightening her bangs. "I
know, I know, sweetness," she cooed. "It really hurts,
doesn't it?" She continued combing and stroking Freckle's
tousled hair. "You'll find your new collar to be a very
effective teacher... with infinite patience.
Ponies don't speak, and you're a pony, Freckles."
Bridget wanted desperately to voice objections, to protest that
she was a human being, not a pony, and that her name
was Bridget, not Freckles! The problem was, of
course, that not only was she tape-gagged, but the collar would
punish any attempt she made to speak. Maybe once her gag
was removed she'd be able to whisper. Maybe not, but in
any case... Bridget was gagged and collared.
"I'll going to prepare your breakfast, Freckles," Eve said
quietly. "Afterwards, I'll change you into your harness
and boots for your morning exercise." She left from the
table and strolled to the door... then turned. "By the
way, Freckles," she purred. "The remote control for your
new collar not only turns its automatic features on and off, but
allows me to punish disobedience at any time, like if you were
to continue to struggle after Mistress explicitly ordered you to
cooperate, or if you should attempt to escape." With that,
she made her exit, pulling the door closed behind her.
Bridget tugged on her bonds for what felt like the millionth
time. They remained as inescapable as ever. She was
sore, hungry, thirsty, and afraid. Bridget might not be a
"pony," but was very much afraid she was the prisoner
of a madwoman!