Pony Girl, Volume 2 Read online

  Once at the track, we were housed first in the same stalls under the stands where the equine horses were displayed prior to saddling or harnessing. Only a few of the owners’ particular friends could get in there to see us but these were still quite a number and once more we were subjected to the same so indecent stares and comments as they contemplated us and conjectured on our ability in the coming races.

  But then, when our particular race drew near, we were led out by our groom (holding a short leading rein clipped to our bridles), under the subway beneath the track and into the saddling/harnessing paddock adjacent to the inner rail of the track where we were fitted to our gigs and met our jockey. Of course we still had to walk with our hands up in the position that revealed our whole bodies to them: up behind our heads, elbows pulled right back and biceps constantly flexing and relaxing.

  As I emerged from under the subway, I stared up and around at the huge track and marvelled at the thousands of men seated or standing in the various stands or paddocks around its outer perimeter. Remember this was first an equine racetrack and so its size and the length of the track reflected the distances required. Because of this, we had been trained for these much longer distances than those usual in human athletics - at least the short distance ones.

  Muscles had already competed and he had come third. I was pleased for him for these races were much more competitive than those we had been entered in back in England. Here, there were thousands of human ponies owned by the wealthier citizens and their training, as I have already described ours, was carried out without the slightest thought for us - only that we would put on a good show - and that we would win!

  Once we had competed, we were unharnessed and then taken to a paddock next the saddling paddock on the inside of the track where we could watch the remaining races. As I was belted and my gig clipped to the belt, Muscles was already in the yard and stood near me at the fence watching as I was prepared. What a beautiful young man he was. Small and slender but exquisitely muscled (as his name implies) and as strong as an ox and fast as a deer, he was also elegantly graceful.

  My jockey shook my reins and then steered me by using pressure on one or the other of them, out to the starting gate. The gun went off and the barriers opened and we were off. My jockey (or is it rider?) was one of the best and he knew exactly when to urge me on, using his whip on my back and rear, or to allow me to slow a little, using gentle pressure on both reins to pull me back a mite. By this means, although we had been in the centre of the ten entries, he manoeuvred me over near the rail and we gradually passed one and then another of the leaders.

  It was a long race but all of us human ponies were strong and trained to an incredible endurance. Far better than the finest Olympic athletes for even the most dedicated athlete is not forced into the training regime we were and although I had only been there a matter of a month or so, I had had the benefit of the viscount’s stable training under Arthur Scott who was one of the best.

  My race was a prance for Ridha had determined I was best at this gait, difficult and all that it was and, subject to my rider’s instructions, I gave it everything I had. As we raced the full circuit around the long track I heard the crowd shouting my name. My Arabic had also improved enough that I could recognise other words too. And so the Arabic words for ‘Go Tingle Tits’ were easily discernible and I realised that many of them had wagered on me. For some weird reason, I thrilled at this and pushed even harder, my legs fairly flying - but remembering to raise my knees as high as they would go with each step for it only took a protest and video-tape evidence and I would be disqualified - to the prince’s eternal shame and my subsequent punishment.

  I didn’t once forget myself - the consequences were just too dire for that and I am pleased to report I came second. I don’t think Prince Azeem thought I would so well that first meeting and he gave me a little pat of approbation as he accepted his purse and trophy.

  I was unharnessed while the next race started and then I saw them bringing out Black Beauty to be harnessed for his race. He was a galloper, as you might imagine. His tall, so magnificently muscled body was as if designed solely with this one purpose in mind. He stood tall with broad shoulders, wide, slab-like pectoral muscles, a stunning array of abdominals and beautifully muscled thighs as well as those pert, cheekily rounded, narrow and indented buttocks (from which poked the ubiquitous tail, of course). As he was led towards the saddling paddock I sighed as I watched his body.

  Of all the slaves, he was the only one who had ever been ‘joined’ to me and that was back in England where Sebastian had decided I would delight in the shame of being ‘mated’ while he and his friends watched. Of course it hadn’t been for real. I was still on the pill and in any case they made damned sure I wasn’t ‘at that time’, but still it had been a ceremony that had had been horrible - and wonderful at the time.

  I had been locked down into a sort of pillory that was set right down near the floor, my neck and wrists, that is, and then my ankles had been locked into another, wide-spaced set that were so close to the neck/wrist set that my knees were pulled right up under my breasts, pushing my butt straight up into the air and thus exposing my anus and vagina for Black Beauty’s attentions. He had been reluctant but at the behest of the whip, had dutifully fulfilled his role and even though I knew my fiancé was watching, had gloried in the shame and humiliation of the event.

  Now that we were here, none of the three of us had been put to stud - yet, although we were well aware that it happened for some of the fillies and mares among us were obviously in foal ...

  I stood next to Muscles at the fence for Black Beauty’s race. We were a hundred yards or so down the track from the starting gate and quite near the finishing post. We would thus see him at close quarters near the beginning of the race and would also have a perfect view of its end.

  I wanted to hold Muscles’ hand as I stood next to him but of course, as always, we were required to keep our hands clasped up behind our necks at all times, even when not racing and to remember to keep our elbows right back and our biceps muscles at least partially tense all the time. There was always a groom nearby and they were constantly armed with quirts - and were very ready to use them on our naked cheeks when or if we erred.

  But I stood next to him and our bodies touched at times, which gave me a distinct thrill for I loved Muscles as much as Black Beauty, as I’ve already said.

  The gun went off, the gates flew open and out they came. Our friend was a superb athlete but then so were the other entrants in this final race. The gallop was always the last race. They didn’t have many of them, for trotting and prancing showed off our bodies better - unless we were built like Black Beauty who looked utterly superb as he pounded along the track in his hooves, his tail wagging madly behind his buttocks, his great thigh muscles cording magnificently while his belly muscles writhed and his chest shook up and down with every step. He too had to keep his elbows back although this was doubly hard at the gallop and his beautiful biceps muscles hardened and relaxed on alternate sides with each step.

  But there was another thing. He was erect! His huge cock was standing up and out from his naked groin like a flagpole on the side of a building and as he approached I could see it waving in time with his tail behind him ...

  Oh yes, he certainly presented a glorious sight as his rider, like mine, manoeuvred him in and out of the other gigs and ponies.

  As he passed us, he was fourth and then we all rushed to the other end of the paddock and then its rear fence to watch as the clutch of leaders raced at full speed around the track. How fast were they going? I have no idea. It looked fast to me - equally as fast as they could have run without the hooves on their feet for remember, they had been trained for months to move only with those dreadful things on them. Normal walking or running was but a dim memory for us all. We were ponies - not human beings!

  It was difficult to
see clearly what was happening in the distance but Black Beauty’s beautiful dark-brown skin stood out and I could see he was still slowly forging ahead. As they rounded the last bend I knew he was in second place and now I leaned over the rail, staring up the track as the three leading gigs raced down towards us.

  Ah! He had done it! He had emerged from behind the leader and was now putting on a huge spurt, his hooves were flying (as was his tail behind him - and his still erect cock in front of him) and his great thighs were pumping as if his very life depended on it.

  He passed the leader, a giant Japanese athlete and still he forged ahead, gaining on the Jap boy with every step. He passed us at the finishing post a gig’s length in the lead and then his rider slowed him down and circled him back. My heart went out to him as I stared at his heaving chest, writhing belly and still straining biceps muscles - and at the enormous erection that still had his cock poking up so provocatively from his groin. How he had kept it hard all that time while still remembering to keep his elbows back and his biceps muscles flexing, I will never know - but he must have remembered it now for it began to wilt, assuming its more normal size and softness

  The prince was ecstatic although he hid his glee very well. He came down to receive his trophy and purse and he couldn’t help but congratulate my friend almost fulsomely. “A very creditable performance, boy. I won’t forget it ...”

  We returned home soon after that. We were again secured as on the outward journey and had to put up with the same stares and ribald comments as we stopped at corners but then, when we arrived home, the prince was there to meet us and he ordered that the three of us be permitted to sleep together in a special stall reserved for such favours. The other two competitors, a girl and boy, had not been placed in their races and were afforded no such reward.

  We were ecstatic, even though we were still not going to be allowed to speak. Indeed, they weren’t even going to remove our bridles, let alone our hooves or tails. But at least we were going to be allowed to play with one another. We were fed and bathed and then led along to the larger stall where our noses were clipped to three of the very light chains they sometimes used to tether us.

  And then the three of us made wonderful love together - yes, even Muscles. He could still derive sexual pleasure from tactile contact with our bodies. Indeed, that pleasure had been enhanced in him since his so total castration and so while Black Beauty made love to me, Muscles allowed his so sensitive finger tips to glide over both our bodies and I could see from his face that he was in a dream world all of his own. But that wasn’t all he had.

  After Black Beauty had brought me to the first of a series of wondrous orgasms, he rolled off me and concentrated on rousing the handsome Thai boy with his own fingers. I got the message and lay on his other side so that both Black Beauty and I were rousing his libido.

  We found that parts of his groin area, no doubt in the places where remnants of his penile nerves were still active, were particularly sensitive and as I kissed the boy tenderly, Black Beauty allowed his long fingers to tease him to heights of sexual pleasure which, if not actually orgasmic, were still wonderful for him.

  We didn’t sleep much that night. We had raced hard, all three of us but that had been our only physical effort that day, unlike the rest when our muscles had been worked hard, all day long, and we were thus well able to enjoy each others’ bodies for long hours.

  The bits prevented our talking properly - so did the injunction against speaking and none wanted to lose his tongue or have his vocal cords cut and so while we whinnied and neighed (which was permitted) at each other, we made no attempt to actually speak.

  It was a little while after that wonderful night that the next terrible thing in our lives occurred. You will remember that from the very beginning of our slavery to the prince, I had harboured hopes that Sebastian would put two and two together and realise what had happened - and come after us, rescue us and take us home.

  As the days and weeks and then the months passed, that hope began to dwindle but it was extinguished altogether when, one morning, we were summoned out of the gym where we were exercising with our noses attached to the lunging machine (you remember the one like the giant overhead fan) and were practising prancing around the track with our hands naturally clasped up behind our heads.

  The groom had a word with the trainer in charge who stopped the machine and unhitched Muscles, Black Beauty and me from the chains and then led us to one of the small rooms. And there, kneeling on the floor, his head also down on the floor inside his encircling arms, and dressed in what looked like army fatigues, was Sebastian.

  Oh how I wanted to rush over and drop down beside him. Here was my fiancée, my lover and my master, all rolled into one, but he was now an abject figure, clearly in pain ...

  “Ah, the master’s slaves have arrived. Look at them, Sebastian!”

  He removed his arms from his head and turned to look at the three of us then cried out in shame. “Oh God! I tried.”

  “Yes, you tried,” sneered the prince, “but you were not successful. You have committed crimes against my country and me and for these you will be punished,” he paused a moment, his smile becoming even more cruel as well as triumphant, but then he went on. “This country is closed, English scum,” he said cruelly and I saw Sebastian look up in surprise for he had thought Prince Azeem was a friend. “You have dared to try to enter it and for that alone the courts would sentence you to death. But you also attempted to rescue my lovely filly here and her two companions - offences which also carry the death penalty.”

  Again he paused and the cruel smile became a leering grin. “In this last case, death is by impalement. You would be stripped naked and placed up on a sharpened stake of tapering wood so that the point entered your anus. Your feet would then be drawn up behind you and cuffed to your wrists while you struggled on the stake. They tell me it is a very painful death ...

  “But I have decided to be lenient with you, slave ... You are going to become another of my pony-boys, to be initiated just as these ponies were and then trained, perhaps as a show pony. Yes, to exhibit you as an English aristocrat from an ancient noble family will be wonderfully ironic, especially as members of your family once ruled parts of Arabia ...”

  Now it all came clear. The penny had dropped. I understood at last why we had been kidnapped and why the prince had cultivated Sebastian. He had used us as bait to lure my fiancé to his country and now that he had him, he was going to humiliate him beyond reason, possibly using us, his former pony (and those of his cousin) to make it all so much worse.

  “Strip him!” the prince ordered of the two very muscular grooms who stood over my man. They grinned, stooped down and very easily hefted him to his feet. He stared at me in sorrow, his shame that he had tried - and failed - to rescue me very evident on his handsome face.

  The grooms then tore the fatigues from his body - his beautiful body, ripping them and pulling him this way and that as they inexorably tore the various garments off his tall frame. Of course he resisted. He wasn’t a conditioned and trained pony slave yet and I knew he was mystified why none of us came to his assistance. We knew better of course but even if we had tried to help him, it wouldn’t have made any difference to the final outcome. They wanted him naked and naked he would soon be ...

  He was of course, also horrified at our appearance. As he became aware of our hooves and tails, the horror evident on his face grew worse. I don’t think he really took it all in at first ... that we were really human ponies - far more so than the play-acting at it we had all indulged in back in England.

  He stared at the rings in our noses, tongues and nipples; the fact that we kept our hands clasped up behind our heads - and that Black Beauty’s cock had now erected - just at a mere gesture towards it from the prince.

  As for our brands, I don’t think he really knew what they were for he no more tha
n glanced at them.

  All this of course was designed to make him understand how truly subservient we really were. That we were, in truth, human ponies first and last and that was the totality of our existence. There was no other. We were fed, cleaned, evacuated of our wastes, and trained as ponies - and that was it. We had nothing else. We slept as ponies in straw in our stalls. We wore the hooves and tails of ponies. We had been branded as animals. And we were perfectly docile. I think he thought - then - that we should be resisting, opposing Prince Azeem’s will, trying, somehow, to get free. How little he knew!

  But my heart went out to him as I saw the desolation overcome the horror on his face as it all began to sink in. That Azeem hated him with an intensity that he found difficult to understand, all because of a distant relative who had been less than kind to Prince Azeem’s forebears.

  Once naked, he was dragged along to the gym and there strung up just as we had been for his ‘welcome’, the ritual flogging of his naked buttocks with the leather paddle. And we had to watch!

  My heart was in my mouth as I watched the man I loved hauled aloft, upside down, and then paddled so hard, both cheeks of his so boyish buttocks were quickly bruised and oozing blood in various parts. But unlike us, he was not allowed to rest. The prince wanted him to suffer hard and so they depilated him (and shaved his head), ringed him and extracted his back teeth before bridling him, all on the same day.

  He was pretty much all in when they finally dumped him in a stall opposite mine - more torture for us both as we could now see each other in our joint misery. At least they didn’t force him to stand to learn how to sleep in that position but I knew it was only because he couldn’t have.

  My mind was in turmoil as I stared across the passageway at him, now sleeping in exhaustion and agony. I knew he still had to be hoofed and tailed and branded and I was now sure Prince Azeem would heap these extra tortures on him without delay. What I mourned most was that I had had no opportunity to speak to him, to sympathise with his failed attempt to rescue us, no matter how misguided that attempt may have been. And now I never would. He didn’t know it yet but the bit in his mouth was now permanent and while the tiny chains that held his tongue pulled out of his mouth and fastened to his nipples would soon be relaxed the bit would never be.