Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition (4 page)

Boswick idly
tweaked Diane’s left nipple and she’d begun to cry, probably from the pain of
her stretched jaws but also from the thin triangle of wood that her crotch
rested upon. Nearly hidden by her overlapping lower lips and the flesh of her
thighs that the chains pushed aside as they dug into her legs, was the
insidious little wedge that she was forcibly required to sit on. Most of
Diane’s 113 pounds rested in her aching apex where her chained legs joined with
her sex and ass. The pressure on the thin, slightly rounded top edge of the
wedge was an additional agony which, when matched with what was happening to
her jaws and mouth, occupied the girl’s full attention.

“Diane’s snotty
little tongue,” Mistress Wright illuminated for her audience, “is unfortunately
not visible to you all. But it has been properly engaged for the evening, let
me assure you all. Somewhere inside that log she’s so avidly chewing, is a
spring clip that has a good hold on her tongue. She will need a few days after
she gets free before she will be using that wicked instrument again. Now, my
friends, let us enjoy dinner.”

The two leaders
of the riding school seated themselves and dinner began.

Diane’s poor
tongue, drawn into a cavity inside the wooden log, was indeed held in place by
a strong metal clip that was in turn attached to the log itself. The clip was
spring-equipped and seemed to be able to pull steadily on her abused oral
appendage, no matter how far out the girl extended it.

Thus, the trio
on the platform remained engaged in their own private enterprises. Each girl
had no less than three different torments going on at the same time and they
each took private stock of their conditions, even though no one else now seemed
interested.

Debbie had her
poor feet, her stretched little cunt lips and her internal organs to keep her
occupied for hours while she stood on the platform.

Ellen suffered
from the tight metal breast clamps, the weighted nipple rings and the constant
pressure of the vertical post jammed between her suspended body and spread
legs.

And Diane, of
course, the third course of the meal’s entertainment, endured the huge log
between her teeth, the merciless clamp on her tongue and the sharpened little
wedge seat. All in all, it was an impressive display that left a distinct
impression on the new girls as well as upon the senior students.

The meal began.
Grooms served and instructors and the Heads ate and drank. The girls knelt and
stared at the platform display, the crystal chandeliers and the ceiling until
it was nearly midnight. In their bondage, they tried to find some position that
wasn’t so constantly painful. They moaned, groaned and whined into their gags.
They struggled for several hours. Then they were put to bed.

To prepare for
sleep, Dori was allowed to remove everything she’d worn for the last several
hours except the Hermes boots. The bit and harness, the breeches and strange
shirt, all came off under close supervision. She was allowed to use the toilet
and to brush her hair and teeth. Then her hands were cuffed securely behind her
back and a heavy steel collar fitted around her neck. She was again gagged with
the fat rubber plug, the locking band going around behind her head and under
her hair.

Cuffed hand and
foot, booted, gagged and collared, the girl had given up on objections. She
stood in the middle of the cold room while the collar was attached and locked
in place, then the chain was fastened to a ring behind the headboard of the
twin bed. “In you go,” said Winnie, holding the sheets and covers up while a
tired and confused Dori climbed into bed. She lay silent while Winnie pulled
something metal from under the bed and bent over Dori’s black-booted feet. Over
the leather boots, a pair of brass locking cuffs was attached. They gripped the
boots snugly, but were leather-lined so as not to damage the boots’ carefully
tanned hides. A single padlock connected the boot cuffs and from this lock, a
chain led to the foot of the bed. Dori lay on her back with her bound wrists
uncomfortably under her. Winnie inspected the girl’s nighttime bondage and told
her to roll over onto her side. A new chain was pulled from under the bed and
attached to the girl’s wrist cuffs.

“I think that
will do it nicely for the first night,” said Winnie sweetly. “You look lovely,
lying there in your new boots, steel cuffs on your wrists, a shiny new collar
around your neck, the nice fat gag in your mouth and the brass cuffs on your
ankles. The boots add a special touch, don’t you think? We have a big day
planned for tomorrow, so get lots of sleep, darling. Nightie-night, Dori. See
you at five a.m.” Winnie turned out the light, opened the door and then turned
back. “By the way, don’t get too comfortable in this room. It’s just for the
first few nights. After that, you’ll be in a dorm with the rest of the gang.
Sleep well.”

Chapter Six

Taking Samson for a Ride

The training
horse wasn’t a horse at all. It was a mechanical monster, bought in the late
1980’s from Don Bob’s Western Saloon and Booze Parlor in West Dewdrip, Texas,
after the western bar craze dried up. Don Bob’s charged five dollars to any
fool who wanted to mount the critter and get the ride of his or her life. But
some riders fell hard and broke bones, heads and even one back. Thus the
profitable, but dangerous entertainment device had been shut down and the bar
closed, to be reopened later as a wine bar and then even later as a cigar den.
The mechanical critter was sold at auction where the school was the successful
bidder. Installed in the main barn, the horse was cleaned up and equipped with
a wide range of new improvements. The entire mechanism weighed nearly 2000
pounds and Boswick mounted on a concrete slab in the downstairs of the barn,
beneath the horse stalls. He then set about the difficult task of duplicating
it nine more times so that in a few months, he had ten of the monsters
available for the school’s training sessions. This one model was in a large
room within the old stone foundation of the barn. Stone walls and the
reinforced ceiling supporting the entire first floor of the training barn enclosed
the subterranean room. It had a musty odor and a polished slate floor. One
could hear horses pawing the floor upstairs and hear the beams creak and groan
as wagons and carts moved around on the work floor. In summer, the room was
cool. In winter, it was cold, but seldom freezing. It was a perfect place for
the training horse and students came to fear it like nothing else on the farm.
This was the room that Dori was taken to the next day.

She wore the
same odd attire she was fitted with the day before. As promised, Winnie arrived
at five to see that Dori was up and ready for the day’s lessons. Her escort and
companion helped her bathe, shave her legs, under arms and crotch carefully.
Then Dori dressed in the same style of outfit she had first worn only 18 hours
before. Although the boots were the same, the rest of the clothes were fresh
and slightly different from the first day’s combination. The breeches were
fawn-colored and the tricky turtleneck short was an off-white. Her arms were
bound in the single sleeve and her lower legs again doubled up against her
thighs and ass. Dori was just as uncomfortable as before, having slept fitfully
on her left side all night. The chains at her collar, feet and wrists
prohibited any other sleeping position.

“How many sets
of this outfit are there?” Dori had asked Winnie when the gag was taken out for
oral hygiene and breakfast.

“Enough to make
you sick of wearing them,” Winnie answered, opening the closet in the bedroom
and displaying a wide assortment of garments, some of which Dori had not seen
before.

“Now I know
where my tuition went,” the girl muttered sullenly.

Breakfast
completed, the gag went back in and Winnie summoned the cart. They had headed
for a nearby barn with Winnie pushing the fat-tired cart and Dori hanging from
the overhead support bar.

She now looked
at the horse and wondered silently what this
thing
was as the three instructors lifted her from the cart and
placed her on the shiny slate floor. The slate was cold. The room was cold.
Mistress Wright sat in a leather chair in front of the horse, tight black
riding breeches blending into the dark leather of the chair. The Mistress
smoked Cuban cigars. In the close coldness of the barn’s basement, mixed with
the smell of horses, feed and straw, the cigar gave off a strangely fearsome
effect.

“Dori,” Mistress
Wright said slowly, as she might have spoken to a learning-disabled child.
“Dori, I want to make sure this is a very memorable summer for you. Your father
spent a great deal of money, fifteen thousand dollars, for you to come here and
I want to see that he gets his money’s worth. This is your first time with
Samson, but it will not be your last. Samson is a bit schizophrenic. Sometimes
he is easy, sometimes he is difficult. However, he seems to read the rider’s
thoughts. Think positive things, Dori, and you will learn to ride. Proceed,”
she said, turning her face to the instructors who were standing near Dori.

Two of the
instructors picked her up and carried her toward the English saddle that was
fitted to the mechanical beast. A third instructor followed. Dori’s head was in
the usual “attention” posture, her braid pulled tight and her head bent back.
She wore blinders on both sides of her bridle, and thus was unable to see the
twin posts sticking up from the center spine of the saddle. The posts were soft
ebony rubber around a hard, flexible rubber core. They were shaped like
exaggerated phalluses. The front phallus was massive, the rear one only a bit
smaller and shorter. They were mounted close together and it was clear to any
observer that anyone who sat on Samson was going to have to accommodate both of
these dongs before they got the proper seat.

The two
instructors slowly carried Dori up the three steps on one side of the horse.
When they reached the top step, the third instructor climbed similar steps from
the other side of the horse. The three then lifted Dori higher up so that her
breeches-enclosed knees straddled the saddle and her bound arms embraced the
strut behind the saddle. She had not yet seen the dildos and was unaware of
what awaited her. The instructors held her poised in the air, above the saddle,
while the third instructor plunged one of her rubber-gloved hands into a small
bucket at the side of the mechanical beast. She brought out her hand dripping
with a shiny gelatinous substance. Her hand quickly gripped the dildos,
lathering them with the slippery goo. Next, without any warning, she reached up
and carefully smeared the cold, slimy substance onto and into Dori’s entire
lower groin. Dori started and shook in the grasp of the holding instructors.
They, just as suddenly, started slowly lowering the girl onto the saddle with
the third instructor holding and aiming the two greasy prongs while she parted
Dori’s lower lips and positioned her rectum. The front post entered first,
followed almost immediately by the rear one.

Dori was not a
virgin, but this sudden and unannounced dual penetration of her most private
orifices came as a great surprise. It was unwelcome and painful. Ever so slowly,
evenly, the two dongs slid into the girl’s clenching holes. The tensed muscles
pushed and contracted in a vain attempt to prohibit or prevent the double
penetration, but it was, of course, inevitable. She had only one way she could
go and that was down. Down onto the twin impaling statues that were destined to
spend the next several hours exploring her internal construction. She jumped
about in the grip of the three instructors, lifting her hips up and tilting her
pelvis forward and back so as to try and disengage the greasy poles. She
sputtered and hissed behind the gag bit, her head jerking up and down, bound
arms swinging sideways.

Inside the tight
shirt and the tighter inner bra, Dori’s full breasts jiggled and swung as well,
the nipples already hard and thrusting through the two layers of stretch
fabric. She tried everything she could think of, most of it involuntary, to get
off and stay off the inevitable impalements. The instructors hung on, lowering
her still and making sure the prongs didn’t somehow disengage. They allowed
Dori’s own weight to take her slowly down the slippery poles while the girl
struggled and jerked, trying to get off of the sudden impalement. Even when her
ass cheeks finally bottomed out on the leather saddle, Dori surged upward in
the grasp of the instructors, the slimy dongs sliding in and out of both lower
caves, coming a few millimeters out, sampling the cold air of the cellar and
then quickly retreating back up into the twin warm, moist, caverns as the girl
settled back down onto the saddle. Up and down she went, seeking freedom from
the impalement and release from the terrible bondage. Her bound hands gripped
the strut behind her and she used this as additional leverage to lift her
trembling body. The massive double dongs with their rough, serrated surfaces,
far bigger than she had even imagined, slithered in and out, up and down,
stretching her flesh and making Dori’s juices flow involuntarily as she jerked
and slipped in the high saddle, double fucking herself over and over again as
she tried to get free.

Drool flew from
the bitted mouth and her bridled head shook and nodded. From behind the rubber
plug and steel bit, shocked, outraged and terrified gurgles and screams bubbled
endlessly, but eventually Dori was in the saddle and her two new intruders were
fitted uncomfortably into her widely stretched orifices. Her muffled cries
continued while the brawny instructors held onto the single sleeve and both
doubled up legs.

“Looks like
you’ve had something in there before,” Mistress Wright commented from her
chair, puffing on her cigar and blowing a smoke ring towards the suffering
girl.

At the back of
the saddle, between Dori’s back and her arms, was the padded steel strut,
bolted to the horse’s frame. This was made from heavy wrought iron that was
shaped into a slight C curve. It rose out of the back of the saddle and curved
away towards the back wall. The instructors, satisfied that Dori was properly
in place in the saddle, pushed her gently back against the strut so that it passed
between her bound elbows and her back. They strapped her to the strut, bending
the girl’s back and pulling her single gloved arms up and over the strut, then
back to the beast’s rear where her trembling, searching hands were bound with a
stout leather thong to the base of Samson’s thick tail. Her knees, still
encased in the breeches, were strapped to the beast’s sides and under the
saddle.

Satisfied with
the work thus far, Mistress Wright rose from her chair and glided over to
Dori’s side. She looked at the new student with a curiosity that perhaps a
mountain lion would have for a small naked animal impaled on a spit. Dori tried
to turn her head away, knowing that yet another horror was to come, but she
could not move her head at all and her entire body was being bent to a degree
that most gymnasts might even question. Mistress Wright’s right hand reached
out towards Dori’s nearly horizontal, abundant chest and slowly traced the
outline of the twin hardened nipples under the shirt and bra. Mistress Wright
reached over and easily pulled open the white nylon zippers that ran vertically
across each painfully confined breast. Like sea lions bobbing to the surface,
the Lycra-clad breasts rose upward from the tightness of the shirt. The open
zippers revealed the bound globes with their rock-hard, pink caps struggling to
emerge from the spandex bondage of the bra.

“A blade,” said
Mistress Wright quietly.

Dori struggled
again, pulling on her bound arms and trying to see what was coming. Her
confined breasts jiggled in terror as Mistress Wright took the Exacto knife
from one of the instructors and squeezed the encapsulated left breast with her
other hand.

“Be still,” she
hissed. “If you twitch and I miss, you will bleed and make a mess. Stay
absolutely still and I promise, my sweet little rabbit, that I WILL NOT hurt
you.”

Dori froze. The
Mistress cut. She sliced open the left bra cup and the girl’s ripe red breast
literally sprung out of the confinement of the tight elastic bra cup. The
jiggling breast flesh flowed outward and stood erect in the cold cellar air,
its tiny, erect, pink-brown nipple seemingly sampling the cigar smoke and horse
smells in the air.

“Fine,” the Head
Mistress soothed. “Now the right one.” And with that she made another incision
in the bra and once again was rewarded with a full globular mammary popping out
of the bondage shirt and bra. Dori gurgled into her bit and gag, but did not
move. With a few more slow, but definite strokes of the knife, the Mistress cut
around the twin breasts, freeing them from the bra and the shirt. Dori’s breath
came slowly in and out of her distended nostrils and the heavy metal bit
chinked between her teeth. The saddle leather and bridle creaked and groaned.
The young woman in the saddle realized that for the last few moments, she had
forgotten entirely about the two rubber dicks that violated her privates. As if
to remind her, Mistress Wright’s hands moved down to the girls’ belly and lower
back, her fingers reaching between the splayed thighs to make sure that the two
monster dongs were well up inside the sweating, shuddering figure. Mistress
Wright’s index fingers began to simultaneously massage the girl’s clit and the
area around her stretched anal opening. Dori jumped and started at this new and
unexpected attack. Sweat streamed out anew from over her entire body while she
swayed within the limits of the bonds that held her to the strut.

“Ahh, ahh, ahh,
oohh, oohh, ahh,” she moaned behind the bit and snaffle.

“Ah yes, you
little darling,” murmured the Mistress. “You are such a lover, Dori.” The
Mistress sighed, fingering the girl’s clit a bit harder with her left hand and
jamming her right index finger into the girl’s rear along with the probe that
was already inside the orifice.

“Aahhh, aaaha!”
Dori sputtered, lurching upward, trying to free her split ass from the
insistent, probing finger. She rose a few millimeters, remained frozen there
and finally, giving in to the strain and the still twitching finger on her
clit, she slid back down the fat, greasy, double dildos with her well muscled
buttocks making a slight slapping sound as they came back into contact with the
leather saddle. Her breathing was irregular and her chest heaved, breasts
shaking from side to side, still partly encircled in their Lycra confinement.
Dori moaned and cried as she felt the orgasms coming up slowly from below. Her
entire lower torso was being endlessly stimulated and the Mistress made sure it
was going to happen. Dori had never felt anything like this before. Her limited
sexual experiences with boys had been interesting, but not very fulfilling and
the occasional encounter with another girl had been usually awkward and
short-lived. No sexual expert, Dori struggled with the psychological aspects of
what was happening to her as well as with the obvious physical stimuli. She was
tightly confined in a strange riding outfit, immovably bound, gagged and
bridled. She had little hearing and sight and her breasts had been manipulated
and thrust out into the open air like two massive ripe pears, their bases
constricted by the remains of the bra and Lycra shirt. Her nearly virginal cunt
and asshole had been jointly and simultaneously violated by dongs bigger than
she had ever imagined possible and now the Head Mistress of the riding academy
was tweaking her clit and jamming at least one sharp-nailed forefinger up her
ass.