Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition (8 page)

“And end up as a
dairy cow herself if the Director found out? Not likely.”

“True. True. But
maybe we’ll get a shot anyway. She has really nice, big, firm tits right now
and the ass and cunny are perfect for a party some night. And check out the
rings. Head did quite a job on those, setting them way back behind the nips,
like here,” she said as she reached out and pinched Karla’s, right breast where
nipple and rounded breast tissue met.

“Hey, what the
hell? Leave that alone,” screeched Karla, pulling away from the pinching
fingers of her girlfriend groom.

“Well, ask
Madeline if she would bring her over to the house…after cleaning her up of course.”
The groom giggled again, thinking about how gross the cows got in their stalls,
covered in feed, slop and excrement. She was also thinking about the night
before when she and Karla had had a fantastic session on the barn floor with
two of the newer cows. The cows had not initially responded well to the moves
made by both staffers and it had been necessary to “warm them up” as Karla had
put it. Warming up was a matter of connecting the cables from the barn
tractor’s 12-volt battery directly to the metal nipple tubes on a slim brunette
who had been in the dairy for nearly a month, cow #123. As the bound, gagged
and impaled cow jumped, farted, jerked and peed from the slowly administered
jolts of electricity, the two staff members seduced the second cow, a tiny
blond tagged as #145. They did this by removing the crotch strap and mounting
the cow from behind while driving a much larger, double-ended probe into the
cow’s gaping vagina and ass alternately.

Karla worked
#123 over while watching her buddy do #145 and then they switched. Number 123
snorted and whined as the plugs were cruelly pulled from her ass and cunt. She
tried to shy away as the naked groom, with the massive double dildo swinging in
a short arc from the belt and harness, threw a leg over the cow’s shuddering
form and jammed the probe into the reluctant asshole without any preparation.
Number 123 jerked forward in the stall and tried to pull away from the
thrusting probe, driven by the grinning, charging groom whom had reached
forward and seized the nipple tubes. She pulled on the tubes and breast cups as
she thrust forward into the struggling cow, jamming the backend of the dong
into her own seeping slit. Karla had fitted the battery cables to the nipple
tubes of #145 and reset the timer to administer jolts every five seconds. Then,
just for effect, she had taken one extra cable and run it from #145 to #123’s
nose. Touching so many body parts of the cow, the groom got the next jolt as
well as both cows. She sprung back, pulling out of the shuttering cow and
falling over on her own ass while Karla laughed and laughed.

“Very, very
funny, Karla,” Janice, the groom, sputtered, picking herself up off the barn’s
dirty floor. The massive dong, external end still wet with the juices of the
victim cow, swung about in front of her hips, half erect, half limp, ready for
another target.
      
Throughout the
barn, nearly passive cows gazed and stared and mewed at the spectacle,
wondering, hopefully, fearfully, if they would be next. Janice and Karla had
carried on for several hours, first with the cows and then with one another.
Then they had adjourned to Karla’s office for some vodka and to watch the
milking session at 3AM. When the power went on, starting the pumps, the cows
had in unison, bleated and moaned, partly in desire for the relief that the
milking would bring and partly in fear of yet another tireless yanking of their
sore and swollen udders. As the pumps whined and began to get up to speed,
valves opened and suction engaged and the hoses and nipple tubes on two hundred
cows quivered and shook. The cows stood still as the suction began, first
breaking the sticky milk seals that formed on their pierced nipples over the
three hours between sessions, and then pulling unpleasantly on the nipples.

In a few
minutes, milk started to flow through the entire system, moving to the chilled
holding tanks. The machines worked on a three-second cycle, sucking on the
first count and then waiting for two seconds and then sucking again, every
three seconds, again and again for the next fifteen minutes. The two girls
watched the monitor for a few minutes, enjoying the rhythmic humping of the two
hundred young women under the barn’s roof. Then they put on their coats, took
each other’s hand and left the barn, forgetting to clean up for the night.

So now,
considering the possibility of yet another indulgent evening with her friends
and another new cow, Janice considered that she should have cleaned up the barn
before leaving. Sanitation in the dairy left something to be desired and every
now and then The Head showed up, had a fit about the conditions there and then
left for another six months, leaving Madeline to enjoy her domain as long as
the right amounts of milk were flowing into farm tanks. The milk market wasn’t
all that good, but the farm’s output was marketed as medically safe goat’s milk
and sold in several regional health food stores under the name Vermont Mother’s
Milk. Those who tried it came back for more because it was a fine, sweet
substance. They thought it was from, as the carton said, “Carefully raised,
steroid-free, select dairy goats, fed only the finest of organically grown
grains.”

Had they known
it was really human milk, forcibly sucked three times a day from a captive herd
of attractive, young women, the reception for the product might have been
somewhat different. But no one knew or cared about the girls who were being
kept in the farm’s dairy, exclusively for the purpose of producing this milk.
These outcasts from the school had long ago been forced to write and call home,
asking for more money and saying that they wanted to remain for more training.
The parents that objected eventually came to the school themselves or sent an
emissary. There followed a carefully prepared and solemn conference with the
Head Mistress and Boswick. They learned about their daughters’ wayward ways
with some local boy and the disease she contracted. They were told about the
terrible drug scene in Vermont and how the school intervened with the law to
keep the daughter out of trouble. They showed the astonished parents court
papers, the judge’s decrees, and photos of drugs confiscated. They pointed out
that the local judge was not pleased but had, with a bit of fiscal assistance
for his next reelection, agreed not to make the case public as long as the
daughter was kept under the school’s rigid supervision. They talked with
selected students who, in order to further their own causes at the school and
to ingratiate themselves with The Head, told a well-rehearsed tale of their daughter’s
downfall. Taking the girl home, The Head pointed out sadly, would result,
unfortunately, in further prosecution and an unpleasant scandal. The shocked
parents were shown into the infirmary ward where their daughter, heavily
drugged and swollen-faced from the fabricated disease, cried in her bed and
begged her parents to let her stay. Grief-stricken, the parents inevitably said
yes, especially after hearing, if necessary, the terrible medical prognosis
from the school’s physician, Dr. Joan Waters. With but a few weeks to live, the
daughter stayed at the farm and then died. Her body was eventually interned in
the small hillside cemetery on the property. The proper ceremonies and
certificates were completed and the family went off to grieve while the suddenly
recovered daughter went back to the dairy to make more Vermont Mother’s Milk.

A Cow’s
Life

Ellen’s dairy
duty got started with a cold water enema from the assistant a few hours later.
The hose was attached to an overhead water line and inserted into the girl’s
most unwilling rectum with an expansion plug that held the hose in place while
the cold water slowly made its way up the girl’s colon and into the lower
intestine. It was slow and agonizing, but eventually the water was shut off and
the plug left in place until the cowgirl thought she would explode, blasting
gallons of excrement and water throughout the milking aisles of the dairy. When
the time came, the plug was removed and the water expelled as the cow sucked
air noisily through distended nostrils and the feed tube in her mouth. Ellen
got two of these industrial strength enemas that first day. In the interim, the
little donut surrounding her clit was activated and she was made aware of some
new levels of sexual stimulation, which she had never before imagined. Later,
as she settled into the dairy routine, she began to gain weight in her breasts,
as the stimulation series was quickly adapted to her own personal responses.
Given the multiple sources of stimuli, it was common for the cows to be fully
productive within the first few days. Ellen was no exception. After the
requisite enemas, clit spiking, anal and vaginal electrical charges, tit
sucking and stretching, it was perfectly normal for the new cows to rapidly
become quite docile.

For those that
were recalcitrant, sterner measures were used and the cows found themselves in
a constant state of physical and electrical stimulation and manipulation.
Various substances could be shot into their anal and vaginal canals with different
volumes and temperatures. The clit spike device was insidious in its ability to
create unfulfilled sexual frustrations of a more painful and persistent nature.
Finally, the constant milking, no small thing, completed the series, leaving
the cows exhausted and willing to do almost anything to get some relief.
Attention from the grooms and milking crew varied as well, from an occasional
fond scratching behind the ears to a firm set of stripes on the raised and
helpless rump. Nearly all personnel carried crops or small whips and they were
free to use them as they pleased. Ellen found that she did not need to do
anything to deserve a whipping. Beatings came from any source and for any
reason. Her raised buttocks were constantly being beaten by the staff because
she was the FNC, the “Fuckin’ New Cow” on the line. In no time at all, the girl
found herself working hard both mentally and physically to adjust and fit into
the dairy routine. In her mind, she stumbled about, searching blindly for some
logical, rational reason why she should be here in a cold and fetid barn,
bound, gagged, harnessed, milked and abused. Only a few months before, she had
been a typical spoiled teenager in a small suburban community. Her parents,
like so many others, had lived with the multiple parental fears that their
lovely daughter would (1) run off with some local misfit, (2) get pregnant by
some scurvy knave from the gym, (3) fall into the clutches of some evil and
demented cult or (4) take up life on the streets. Ellen, well aware of these
daily parent fantasies and quite willing to exploit them for her own purposes,
had quietly engineered the “send me away to riding school” scenario over
several months before high school ended. By the time May rolled around in the
little burg of Morresville, Maryland, USA, Ellen had successfully laid out the
entire summer for herself. Her parents were delighted to see the school’s
top-notch ratings and endorsements from celebrity types they did not know, but
whom they felt MUST know what a good school this place in Vermont was. So off
she went, with the blessings of all the adult parties in her life. Here she now
knelt, up to her knees in crap and cow feed, doubly impaled, gagged with a plug
and feeding tube, her head tightly bound in a steel stocks and her breasts
aching along with the rest of her body, waiting for the next feeding and then
the next tit-sucking to begin. That was her new routine. That was her new life.
It was not exactly what she planned.

God
, she thought.
How did this happen? How in the hell did I end up here? Who will come
here and get me out of this forsaken hole?

Ellen started to
cry once again as the conveyor started up and the thin stream of mush and seeds
moved along directly past her dirty nose. She shoved her gag tube forward a bit
and sucked up the mash mixture that held the somewhat sweet, obviously
addictive gruel. Bit by sticky sweet bit, the slimy goo slipped through the gag
tube and into her dry mouth. She could not chew because of the gag, so she had
to move her tongue and push the stuff back and into her throat. Ellen swallowed
her meal, dipped her gag tube into the cold water bowl on her right and let her
mind wander off again. It would be like this for many days to come. Ellen was a
cow. That’s how it was at the dairy.

The Five
P’s

“Absolutely
unacceptable. This is not going out the door,” said Miss Prudence Pennington as
she slammed the lid on the coffin-like steel box. Inside the box, Lucy Van
Holt, the recently rejected product of Prudence’s Properly Pierced Personal
Products, shuddered anew and whined ineffectually through the foam light
bulb-shaped gag filling her mouth. She twisted her hooded head a fraction of an
inch to the left and began again to beg in muffled pleas for release. She had been
in the box since early morning. That was when the production crew finished
their preparations and locked the last metal band around her body and limbs.
Attached the shipping labels to the outside, they sent her down the roller ramp
for final quality control.

Quality
Assurance, (QA), was the last stop before the truck was to pick her up. It was
no coincidence that Ms. Prudence herself, attired as usual in one of her
hundreds of stretch leather catsuits, boots, gloves and mask, walked into the
QA room and personally inspected the product that was about to be shipped.

Ms. Prudence was
not happy about what she found. On the clipboard handed to her by the terrified
shipping clone she checked off the errors with a broad red lipstick she quickly
removed from the tiny leather packet on her belt. Also on the belt was the
source of the clone’s fear – the dreaded and sometimes lethal Q-stick. But for
now the Q-stick rested comfortably in its black leather sheath, retracted and
inactive, while the Mistress, Prudence, ranted about the mess she found inside
the steel container. The clone groaned as each defect was checked off on the
clipboard, knowing that for every error, bodies would roll for the next few
days. Heads would be locked in branks and necks in stocks; limbs would be
chained and butts beaten soundly. When Ms. Prudence was unhappy, her entire
organization felt her wrath. And Ms. Prudence was about to come unglued.

“You stupid,
stupid, idiotic, worthless, simpering trash. How the hell can you ship
something that’s in this condition? Just look at this. Look at this, you
moron!” she screamed as she shoved the clone’s hooded face into the lipstick
smeared clipboard and rubbed the clone’s stubby little nose in the crimson
make-up. The clone saw the check marks faintly as her nose was rubbed around on
the board, the speed of the movement generating unpleasant heat to her little
ringed nose. Behind her leather-encased head
¹
, the mistress’ gloved
left hand pushed and shoved while the right hand jammed the board into the
small masked face. The clone worked under some disadvantages. Not only was she
hooded and gagged, but her feet were hobbled with a bar between her five-inch
high heeled boots and her left arm was strapped behind her with the wrist
tightly bound high up on the shoulder blade. Only her right hand was usable and
this was chained to her collar with a two-foot length of glittering silver
chain. The collar, in turn, was chained to a mobile overhead boom and allowed
her to move about the room, tethered nevertheless to the boom.

The clone was
one Arlene Archer and she had been in the service of Mistress Prudence for
nearly a year, having first been processed, pierced, prepared and prodded in
the proven Prudence fashion. The Mistress had taken a liking to Arlene and
decided not to sell her as a product, but to keep her as a processor clone,
slowly modifying her body and mind as it suited Prudence, while using her for
whatever Prudence wanted to use her for.

Arlene had not
taken well at first to this treatment, since she was in the middle of her final
year at Baker University when The Mistress came calling and took her away one
cold night, never to see the hallowed halls of Baker U. again.

Arlene, better
known as clone 23B, was most distressed to see Ms. Prudence so angry. Yes, she
had to admit that the recently processed product 1276-34C-23-35-1199 was not as
it should be. After all, the nipple rings did seem slightly misaligned and the
nose ring was a bit tarnished, not to mention the rings in the lower areas. These
latter pieces of stainless steel hardware had looked to the clone as though
they were badly mis-sized. She would have thought they should be much bigger.
Indeed the rings in the product’s lower lips seemed too small for the chains
that had been locked to them, pulling the girl’s lower forward orifice open
wide and allowing for the total exposure of the deeply sunken Prudence
Perpetual Probe’s power provider and its 12 Volt DC adapter. The clone noticed,
even before Prudence checked off the “rejected” box on the clipboard, that the
product seemed a bit frenzied in her struggles. She did not know that this
particular product had, only three days ago, been in another country, riding
peacefully west on an ICE, a German Intercity Express train, intent on the
forthcoming visit with Fabian, her rich, new male friend that her parents knew
nothing about. Now she was about to be shipped out, a mere three days after her
capture and initial induction.

Lucy Van Holt
was the rejected product and in fact a product that was in no shape at all to
be shipped. She had been placed in the wrong holding cell the night before. The
early morning clones had removed her, packaged her and placed her in the
shipping container in the dark hours before dawn, intending to make the first
shipment truck with this priority product bound for, of all places, Northern
Africa.

“There will be
hell to pay for this,” the clone thought as she rubbed her bruised nose from
side to side with her free hand while the Mistress strode madly out of the shipping
room and headed to the packaging department where, the clone was very sure,
more terror was about to be unleashed.

Meanwhile, Lucy,
who was not P Product 1276-34C-23-35-1199, but rather was P Product
1289-36D-22-34-1299, squirmed inside the steel coffin, trying once again to
free herself from the bondage that kept her motionless and attached to the
floor and sides of the container. Padded metal bands held her arms, legs,
wrists and ankles. The bands tightly encircled the limbs and prohibited any movement.
Her ample chest, ringed nipples and all, was secured to the floor of the box
with a broad leather strap that was split in the middle and passed over and
under her breasts, squeezing them up and out from her chest. The ringed
nipples, hardly yet adjusted to their new piercings, and immensely sensitive
because the steel rings had only been in place for 48 hours, were attached
upward to her nose ring and downward to her single clitoral ring. Any movement
sent waves of pain and nausea through the girl’s body because these chains were
tight and constantly pulling on one ring or another. In addition to the light
bulb gag, Lucy’s ripe little mouth had been violated with a Deep Prudence
Palate Probe. This very effective gagging device filled the cavity completely
and had a single rubber rod that held it in place. It pulled the girl’s cheeks
back and exposed a fine white set of teeth with their own small, imbedded
rings.

The tooth rings
were a Prudence specialty. They were tiny steel rings mounted in four teeth in
front, usually the incisors. Steel posts were cemented into holes drilled in
the teeth and the rings were attached to the posts. The tooth rings were
excellent mounts for bits and other control hardware and every Prudence Product
left with these rings in place, sparkling in the daylight and glowing in the
dark.

Naked and
impaled by a monster dildos below and their fat cousin above; locked in the
steel box, bound and gagged beyond anything she had ever imagined, Lucy lay in
the dark, waiting for someone to come and save her. It was all she could think
about. She breathed through her ringed nose, trying to expel air through her
packed mouth. She wiggled her fingers and toes, reviewing endlessly in her mind
the series of recent events that had brought her to this place. Stunned by the
magnitude of this sudden reversal of her life, she moaned and shivered and
waited for the next episode of this unbelievable nightmare to unfold.