Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition (5 page)

As if reading
Dori’s confused mind, Mistress Wright slowly inserted the middle finger of her
left hand into Dori’s already crowded vagina, continuing to massage the girl’s
clitoris with thumb and forefinger while slowly thrusting with the extended
middle finger, stretching the passage even further than the sturdy ridged
prong. No boy or girl had ever done this to Dori before and she was unsure what
such overt and continuous stimulation would do to her. Past any real
resistance, Dori gave in to it all. She panted like a steam engine at idle. Her
muscles twitched and spasmed. She sweated and drooled profusely. Her eyes were
shut and she saw flashes of light while hearing a constant buzzing in her head.
She let the feelings take over and as the waves began to wash over her, just as
she was sure the first major eruption was about to take place in her bubbling
internal volcano, it all stopped.

Mistress Wright
stopped what she was doing and spoke in tutorial tones to the writhing,
sweating young woman who literally foamed at the bitted mouth like a horse that
had cantered or galloped for several miles.

“Samson is going
to give you a real ride,” said the Head Mistress. “I can’t stay for this one,
but maybe the next time. Have a wonderful time, Dori.” Removing her hands from
the twitching, struggling body, the Head wiped her fingers on a small towel
tied to Samson’s quarter, then turned and left the cold cellar room with a puff
of acrid cigar smoke hanging in the cold cellar air as she exited. After
setting Samson’s controls to give the girl the ride of her life, the
instructors too left. They filed out of the room, locked the door and went
upstairs where they’d watch the show on video from the six cameras mounted
throughout the basement room.

Dori had no idea
what she was going to do now. The room was brightly lit, but there was no sound
and nothing for her to see as she stared at the overhead beams in the old barn.
She tried to move but found that any movement sent waves of pain and other
feelings from the impaling shafts that filled her lower body. She couldn’t lean
back because of the steel strut and there was no way to lean forward because of
the straps holding her to the strut. The single sleeve pulled her hands back
toward Samson’s tail, and up until now, she had not even considered the
possibility that the horse could move. Furthermore, she could not have
anticipated the extent of movement that such as device could and would produce once
activated.

Dori focused on
her multiple discomforts one at a time. Over the last few days, she had
adjusted slowly to the constant strain on her arms as they were held behind,
her forearms together and elbows touching most of the time. The bridle was an
annoyance, and not being able to see beyond the binders and always looking
upwards was unpleasant and painful as time went on. The grooms and instructors
released her head and arm bondage periodically and allowed for some exercise,
but the positions were a terrible trial. Her legs went numb during the long
periods inside the breeches’ single leggings and the bridle, bit and gag plug
were little more than annoying inhibitors. Until she mounted the horse, she had
stoically endured the torments of the strange apparel and bondage, but this
“riding lesson,” like dinner the first night and her odd sleeping arrangements,
was yet another twist. The personal attention of the head mistress was an
unnerving assault and she was confounded when the training crew exited the
downstairs room and left her mounted on the horse and riding two throbbing
dildos.

Considering
this, Dori thought she felt a brief shudder through the heavy leather saddle
and the probes. For a second, the entire horse seemed to vibrate and another mild
ripple seemed to shake the mechanical breast. Samson was starting the ride.

Reducing the Double D

Unknown to
Dori
, her new pal Winnie was riding too. In the smaller of
the two indoor riding rings on the property, Winnie sat in a standard English
saddle, her polished black boots in shiny chrome stirrups and a pair of leather
reins resting lightly in her hands. Her small mount shuddered every few moments
and waited impatiently for a movement or command that would direct it to yet
another exercise in the dusty ring. Winnie tensed her upper legs just a bit,
compressing the flanks of her mount between her knees and the pony moved slowly
forward towards a low rail, preparing to jump. Winnie, her black safety cap
pulled tightly down almost to the point where the brim met her perfect nose,
squinted in the harsh artificial overhead lighting, trying to judge the
distance to the jump. The pony began to drift to the right and Winnie corrected
with a bit of leg and rein, tugging slightly on the double snaffle and pulling
the pony’s tossing head back towards center and the jump. The pony over
compensated and drifted left. Again Winnie corrected, this time using her crop
smartly on the rounded muscular rump behind her. The pony jogged slowly towards
the inevitable jump and then, at the last second, as if someone had slammed on
the brakes, stopped in its tracks, ducked its head and straightened its hind
legs. Winnie flew out of the saddle and landed a few inches short of the jump
rail, dust filling her open mouth and the ring’s pungent mixture of sawdust,
dirt and manure covering the front of her shirt. She had hit the ground hard
enough to knock the wind out of her. Dirt and dust filled the inside of her
shirt, the front of her tight white breeches and inside of her bra.

The pony looked
at her with grim satisfaction, turned, and trotted back to the entry gate at
the far end of the ring. Several grooms came running over to Winnie, helping
her stand. Another hustled over to the standing pony, seized the dropped reins
and led the reluctant creature back towards the center of the ring.

“Do you want to
remount?” a worried groom said to Winnie, helping her get her clothes back in
order and checking for any cuts or bruises.

“No!” was
Winnie’s emphatic answer as she shook her shirt front and pulled the tails out
of her breeches. Clumps of dirt and dust emptied out of her shirt and rained
down on her breeches and boots. “But that pony is going to get it.”

Winnie limped
over to the pony, took the reins from the groom and, holding the side of the
pony’s leather halter tightly in her left hand, began to flog the beast with
her long, thin riding crop. The pony reared back, steel front hooves flailing.
Winnie ducked the flying booted feet and swung her crop at the pony’s now fully
exposed belly and chest.

“I’ll teach you
to throw me!” Winnie hissed through clenched teeth. She swung the crop harder
and flailed the pony’s leather-clad breasts and bare belly. The pony fell,
rolling over onto its back and all four feet beat the air. Winnie’s crop sought
and found the exposed center crotch, raining blow after blow down onto the
pony’s hairless cunt. The pony whined and screamed through its massive gag bit,
rolling about on the dirt floor and sending up clouds of dust as it tried to
escape the blows.

A ring of
curious and frightened grooms assembled around the pair and watched as rider
and mount engaged in a one-sided beating. The pony, whose real name had been
Tina Martin, was a large, muscular girl with wide hips and a tight belly. She
was strong and hearty enough to carry more weight than Winnie. But in the 14
months she had been at the school, she had not adapted well to jumping in the
ring. Her breasts had been a problem and the Head, after studying the girl’s
training progress, her physical reports and general health, ordered that she be
fully jumper-trained and have her size 40 DD breasts reduced to a more
manageable dimension. Because initially the school had not known exactly what
Tina would be good at, she underwent a variety of training before the jumper
designation was selected for her. One consideration was always that her tits
were prohibitively large. To function as an effective jumper, a pony couldn’t
have these eight pounds of fat flopping about below while trying to clear a
jump. So, eventually, the decision was made, surgery was scheduled and, among
other things, several pounds of mammary tissue were removed, the nipples
repositioned and the overall body appearance rebalanced to give Tina a more
appealing look as a career jumper. Now she was being flogged dearly by this
bitch who rode, (as far as she was concerned), abominably and used too much
rein and not enough leg. Tina’s exposed crotch took most of the crop blows and
she rolled completely over onto her belly and lay there as Winnie switched to
beating her stout ass. Finally, the ring Mistress intervened, sent Winnie to
the showers and the pony to the wash stall. Notes were made in both records and
appropriate measures would follow concerning this gross violation of school
decorum.

Boswick’s
Satisfaction

To say that she
was experiencing multiple orgasms would have been, to use the cliché, a gross
understatement. Dori’s riding clothes were soaked. Sweat ran from every pore,
dripping down her body, pooling in the leather riding boots and spattering onto
the concrete cellar floor. Samson shook, rattled, jumped, bucked and rolled
endlessly. His pace was varied. At times he was like a wild, unbroken steed,
fleeing from the possibility of confinement in a corral. At other times he was
simply and methodically trying to shake the mounted and impaled girl off his
mechanical back. His bucks were slow enough to cause Dori to slide up the
impaling phalluses, hang there in momentary suspension and plunge back down
their roughened slippery surface to slam her bisected ass and naked crotch into
the sweat-soaked leather saddle. This in and out action in itself was enough to
awaken and boil the girl’s sexual feelings, but the constant side-swings, jerks
and starts from the beast multiplied by ten the stimuli. Her breasts swung
heavily with the horse’s movement, following in slow motion the movements of
the rest of her body. Some of the motions were violent enough to bring the
massive globes up into contact with Dori’s chin and neck. It was somewhat
ridiculous, she thought somewhere along the line, to have her own tits
thrashing her neck and lower face as she careened about on a mechanical horse.

Dori had no
choice but to ride it out, sweat it out and come over and over again. She was
constantly panting and shuddering, trying catch her breath before the next
inevitable wave of stimulation took over. Nostrils dilated, eyes wide and
blinking back the continuous tears and sweat, she fought to follow somehow the
irregular movements of the beast. With nothing to hold on to, she would not
have stayed in the saddle more than a few seconds had she not been bound there
by the various restraints, but her young body, bound and impaled as it was,
took every possible escape avenue without any success. She remained in the
saddle, sliding up and down and rotating on the dual joysticks, her cunt and
asshole wider and more open than ever before, her juices running beyond any
normal capacity.

She came in her
head, in her cunt, in her ass, in her wildly gyrating breasts and in her toes
and fingertips. Every part of her responded over and over again to the
incredible action of the electronically controlled monster she rode. It seemed
like hours. It seemed like it would never, ever end. In one part of her head,
she begged for it to stop. In another part of her head and body, she wanted it
to go on and on. Through the bit and gag, she shouted over and over again:
“stop, please stop, oh, please stop it, I can’t stand it anymore. Please
stop…please, please…oh, oh…ohhhhh…”

Eventually, it
stopped. Without preamble, without warning, it stopped. Dori sweated, shivered,
shuddered and finally, unable to do more than relax in the saddle, she slept.
Sitting quietly in the leather arm chair next to the now silent, motionless
bucking horse, Head Master Boswick fumbled with his pants, put his limp penis
back inside his shorts, closed the zipper and stood up, never taking his eyes
off the exhausted, dozing girl in the saddle.

“Very nice,” he
said. “Very nice. I think we’re going to see a lot more of each other, Dori.
Since it is apparent that you like this kind of ride so much, I am going to
arrange for you to have a special belt.”

Dori blinked
away the salt mixture from her eyes and tried to look at Boswick as much as her
restraints allowed.

Mistress Ella
will see to it first thing tomorrow,” Boswick added as he headed for the stairs
and the exit door. Dori remained pinioned in the soaking saddle and wondered
what he had in mind.

Whipped
into Shape

“Learning to
ride properly requires that you understand fully what the horse is thinking and
why,” lectured the instructor. “That is why you are each now being outfitted in
your pony attire. Your coach will help you today and in the early stages, but you
must learn to fare for yourselves. Now, we’ll review the equipment and have you
each check to make sure you are properly attired for the lesson. Norma, please
take the stand and walk us all through the day’s lesson.”

Norma, one of
the instructors on staff, stepped quickly to the lectern, thanked the preceding
speaker and got right down to the crux of the matter.

“You students
are now ponies. Not riders, not equestrians, but ponies. That is why you have
been put into the training costume you each are wearing. We have gone to the
expense of having these outfits made just for you. Ingrid, please come forward
and demonstrate your pony for us all.”

Ingrid, another
instructor, instantly brought her crop down on the rear of her pony-student.
The crack of the leather making contact with the pony’s hide was resonant. The
pony jumped forward, tripped on its hobbled legs and fell over on its side,
legs thrashing in the air and gurgles and whines coming from its bitted mouth.
Inside the soft, cowhide and carbon fiber head and body suit, the young woman
tried gallantly to stand back up on her four feet. This was not possible. Her
legs were encased in the soft leather hind legs of the pony, heels against her
ass, calves doubled up against her thighs. Her little feet were molded to the
contours of her rump and on her kneecaps were small rubber boots with steel
horseshoes. Her arms were similarly enclosed in a leather sheath with the
forefeet and hooves mounted in a cushioned boot of sorts on the elbow. Her
helpless hands were strapped to her shoulders and useless to her. She wore a
complete body suit of leather and it fit precisely over her entire
well-developed body. The horsehair tail, its base embedded in her ass, and the
horse head itself were quite realistic. The ears were shaped well and the mane
was of fine blond hair to match her palomino coloring. Only the body shape gave
away the fact that this was not a real pony, because this creature had swelling
breasts that pushed the leather hide of the costume outward and down between
the forelegs. It also had a fine, narrow waist, (tightly corseted as it was),
and a well-proportioned, firm and rounded rear end supporting the hind legs.
The tail jutted up and out from between the perfectly shaped buttocks that were
plainly cleaved in two by the leather suit. The hanging breasts were confined
by the suit, but the nipples had been pulled through holes in the leather
garment and clipped with small spring steel rings. The rings were not piercing
the nipples, but had split springs that held them firmly and painfully in the
stitched leather holes. The instructor reached down and yanked emphatically on
the nipple rings and the pony flailed with all four hobbled legs. The
instructors laughed. The other ponies watched helplessly, knowing their
individual times would soon come.

With help, the
pony was righted and the class went on. Dori was the third in the first row and
she stood with her hobbled feet about a foot apart, trying to watch the
instructor but also distracted by the suit, corset, the hobbles, her new belt
that held its plugs in her ass and cunt and the weight of the pony head helmet
she wore. She looked out through the eyeholes and realized that none of the
ponies could be identified, although they were different colors and sizes. She
saw her own outfit before it had been put on, and she knew that she was a small
chestnut pony with white socks on each leg. She had a dark brown tail and mane.
The leather suit fit like a glove. Getting into it was a trial much more
difficult that getting into the first day’s riding apparel and the pony suit
slowly molded to her figure as it was zipped up and sealed. Once inside, the
girl ceased to be girl and was simply a captive animal. She had been fitted for
this new attire several times and each time a different, tighter corset had
been wrapped around her waist. This time, since Mistress Ella introduced her to
the new belt with larger plugs than she had worn before, she struggled to ease
the new discomfort between her legs. In the past, the double dildo treatment
meant a thin chain around her waist and a second similar one that connected
front and back and passed tightly between her legs, securing the twin impalers.
The belt she now wore was a thin and uncomfortable band of stainless steel. At
the back, where it crossed her spine, the band had another thinner band hinged
to it and this band went down the cleft between her buttocks, secured a monster
butt plug in her ass and then went neatly through her vaginal lips, driving a
second, even longer and fatter dildo deep into her cunt, finally to be secured
with a small cylinder lock at the front center of the belt, a few inches below
her navel. This new addition to her wardrobe, apparently instigated by Boswick,
meant that she now needed to request and receive permission to visit the
toilet. It also meant that a groom or instructor had to accompany her there and
provide the key to the belt lock, supervise the removal of the rubber dongs,
(rubber had been selected as the best and safest material for these pony girl
penetrators because it posed less of an injury threat while the wearer was
engaged in various school activities), replace them and relock the device. Most
staff members were not enthusiastic about this duty and Dori soon learned to
control her eating and drinking during the day to avoid as many of these visits
to the bathroom as possible. Still, the fat, well lubed probes were now jammed
deeply into her body openings and held there by the new belt. Each time the
suit and belt combination was put on, it seemed to fit more snugly than before
and become a more intimate part of the girl’s body.

This was, in
fact, quite true, because the tailors and fitters of the school had clear
instructions to make the suit fit like a second skin. At each fitting, Dori
found that some new place in the suit was snugger and more a part of her than
before. In the thighs, in the shoulders, above and below her breasts, the suit
had to be smoothed out and pulled, then smoothed again by the fitters in order
to get it correctly onto and around Dori’s trim torso. Her diet at the school,
plus the rigors of extreme exercise like the Samson sessions had removed every
bit of baby fat. She was as lean and trim as ever and the pony suit assured
that her body would be properly displayed, even though it was totally encased
in the thin hide.

At day’s end,
they were placed in stalls, their necks locked in a metal stocks arrangement
and their feet closely hobbled. They were watered and fed a grain mixture and
left for the night. If they slept, it was in the standing up position. If they
fell, alarms went off and the grooms would wander in sleepily and prop them up
again, then beat them with crops for the annoyance.

This was the
attire the ponies wore about a third of the time at school. While in this
outfit, they were trained in all aspects of pony behavior. Outside in the
paddocks, they were allowed to “graze,” an activity that required serious
concentration. In each paddock, the ground was implanted with fake brush and
bushes that held small circular rings in the limbs much as a real bush would
have buds or blossoms. It was the pony’s work when turned out, to acquire as
many of these circular plastic rings as possible. On each bridle bit gag
combination were two small steel hooks, one on each side of the mouth. With
proper manipulation and careful, slow moves, a pony could slip a hook into a
ring and remove it from the bush. At the end of the day’s turnout, these rings
were removed from the pony’s bridle and counted. The daily quota was set
depending on the pony’s behavior. A poor showing in ring-grazing meant other
punishments would follow.

Dori was
learning about punishments. One night, asleep and chained in her bed, she
thought she heard a sound and was astonished to look up and see another girl
bound to the wagon wheel chandelier directly overhead. She recognized the girl
as one who had earlier that same day, and on other occasions, made some obvious
“come-on” moves towards Dori. Not at all interested in such a possible
partnership, Dori ignored the apparent offer. Now here she was again, tied
spread eagle over Dori’s bed, her mouth packed with a leather gag and her head
nearly obscured with a heavy bridle and bit combination. The girl was cruelly
bound with leather strips around her wrists, above the elbows, at shoulder,
waist, knees and ankles. A gag harness secured her head to the outer wheel rim
and more leather strips bisected her crotch. She wore the same thin metal
“chastity belt” that Dori now endured, although hers looked even more
uncomfortable, as it seemed to literally trisect the girl into three pieces:
upper torso and two widely spread legs. More leather bands encircled her chest
and wound around her hanging breasts with their ringed nipples. From each
nipple ring a weight hung and swung, enhancing the erotic aspect and increasing
what must have been, Dori thought, considerable discomfort. The girl flapped
her hands feebly and whined behind the leather packing in her mouth. Her
pendulous tits wobbled and the nipple weights juggled up and down. Salty tears
dripped from her eyes and fell onto the bed, but neither girl was able to do
anything more.

Dori lay in her
now standard sleeping position. She was on her left side, neck chain tight from
headboard to collar, feet closely bound with the brass cuffs and hands behind
her back, pulled to the edge of the bed by the chain that led to a ring on the
floor under the bed. Her gag was tight and she was exhausted. She glanced at
the suspended girl above her bed and wondered how in the hell the girl had
gotten up there. She considered several possibilities, wondering as well how
the girl’s nipples would hold up under the continuous, all-night tension. She
finally dozed off into a troubled sleep, dreaming that her own tits were being similarly
abused. The night passed slowly and uneventfully for them both.