by Van © 2016
		Chapter 6

Bridget 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.

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 chuckled.

"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 paradox.

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 torso.

"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 properly exercised?"

"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 butt-cheek.

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 the sofa.

"I don't like it," Lydia muttered after another minute.  "It's... fishy."

"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 training."

"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 they were.

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 painful.

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.

Sometimes Eve 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 cake.

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 eventually...

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, but...

"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 additional punishment.

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.

Morning 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.

"Mrrrrf!"

"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 leather collar!

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 electric shocks.

"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 tongue.

"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 in horror.

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!