Clowning Around Too

by Jackie Rabbit

Email Feedback | Forum Feedback

© Copyright 2021 - Jackie Rabbit - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f+; M/f+; fpov; ponygirl; outdoors; public; hum; strip; naked; straps; harness; cuffs; gag; whip; exhib; piercing; trick; sold; cons; reluct; nc; X

Continues from

…I woke to the sunshine coming into the bedroom window of the lake house sometime late the next morning, how exactly I got there, and inside, a mystery to me. I thought last night might have been a nightmare, but Sam sitting up in the chair next to my bed, and obviously having slept there to keep watch over me, gave lie to that notion. My legs were still loosely bound together too, but my wrists had been untied, although I don't know exactly when that happened either.

I looked at Sam, my very best friend since childhood, I about to ask her why she had done this to me, but her pained and guilty look back at me made the words unnecessary.

"I'm so sorry! None of that was supposed to happen. They were just going to have some fun with you and tell you to leave their guys alone. I'm not going to be living here forever you know." Sam gushed as she nearly cried, as if saying all this in a single breath made it any better.

"Do you have any idea at all what they did to me last night?" I croaked in my dry and raspy voice, my words not angry, but instead hurt.

"No, but you look awful, and the diapers look ridiculous too, you look like a big clown baby."

"Did they make you wear them all night long?" Sam then asked, she apparently thinking this was a 'worst thing in the world kind of terrible,' my reality obviously much, much worse than that. I felt nothing but a dull ache under those diapers, but my arms and legs were competing with those sensations, they sore like no other time I recall. Being stretched out on display like that for hours, and up on your toes, will apparently do that to you though.

"Not exactly," I answered cryptically, my lower body still numb from what had actually been done to me, I not really feeling anything from below my diapers. A big part of me was ashamed at what had been done to me; at the entertaining lewd Halloween display I had provided for those snotty arrogant people. But in there someplace as well was something else that was impossible to put to words just yet. This all seemed so surreal though, like it was one long Halloween night hallucination, or erotic fantasy even, except of course for the physical evidence to the contrary.

My arms still felt like rubber, so Sam had to help me untie my legs, and even help me walk on just as rubbery legs to the bathroom. I had to hobble bow legged towards my destination in a most undignified way, and not just because of the two bulky diapers that I wore; I then realized that something was still quite wrong down below. I was well beyond being embarrassed by any form of exposure and appreciated Sam's help, but both Sam and I were horrified when we dropped both diapers in the massive glass enclosed shower and discovered the overlarge intrusive vegetables still in place.

"I didn't know what the hell she was talking about last night," Sam confessed to me with slacked jaw horror in her voice. "We've got to call the cops!"

"Yes, I'm sure her cousin will be most sympathetic to our case" I snarked back, but at least Sam's shock told me that she wasn't a willing participant in the "worst" of what they had actually done to me. There was at the same time a tiny voice that I could barely hear competing with my thoughts on the whole matter, and "worst" wasn't the word that part of me was using. I thought maybe if I ignored that evil little voice that it would eventually give up and stop trying to corrupt me, but once my hormones and high sex drive came back on line anything was possible.

"Can you ever forgive me?"

"Yes, a thousand times over." I knew morally that if I wished to be forgiven, that I must also forgive.

"It's simply not your fault," I consoled her, "but I think I might be finally over that whole 'nude in public' thing I had going on, to be honest." These were of course my short term thoughts after a rather humiliating night of what could easily be called strung up nude public torture, my sexual desire about as close to zero as I ever remember, at least since puberty.

"About that…"

Sam stripped off and took a very long and hot shower with me - she looked terrible too - not only helping to tenderly get those two things out of me, but scrubbing off all the clown paint, head to almost toe. It was a massive and modern shower that half a dozen could fit in at the same time, and somewhat out of place in the humble rustic cabin. This had been the first phase of a remodel though, brought about out of necessity by a leaky pipe and it's resultant damage, but I digress, although somehow leaky bathroom plumbing and damage were on my mind…

Back in the shower, Sam couldn't help but to get on her knees to look up inside of me on both ends in curiosity - once it was safe to, without being too terribly graphic - almost like a doctor might. I was stretched out, gaping open, and raw, all from being intrusively plugged with large vegetables for a great many hours, those muscles on both ends simply not designed for this and stretched like never before. When Sam had tenderly worked those huge things from my body it actually felt like something was missing, like something that "should" be there, suddenly wasn't. This was apparently just as the teen witch had suggested to Sam the night before, but I didn't know if I was necessarily permanently damaged, other than the damage to my "I'm a fun, tight, and willing date" reputation.

If not for the lubricated condoms it surely would have been a trip to the ER, and the cops would have been involved then too, as would a great deal of embarrassment, not to mention potentially incriminating explanations. So, in other words, if the witch and her accomplices had wanted to really harm and injure me in a more permanent way, they easily could have, but they specifically took steps so that they didn't…

Or perhaps we were collectively all just very lucky that the largest condoms, for the largest and most well endowed men, always came pre-lubricated in bulk packaging at the local drug store. They were actually impregnated with this special slick lubricant, "impregnated with it" oh the irony!

Sam may not have clearly understood what the witch was talking about last night, but she did now, my around the house uniform for the rest of the weekend a sexy baby doll, and a very unsexy adult diaper, making me both look and walk like a huge, large breasted toddler. Sam waited on me hand and foot, her guilt was so massive, this a turnabout from our previous relationship where she was the dominant top-dog boss, despite her diminutive size. What she lacked in stature and body mass she ordinarily made up for with confidence and attitude, it's just who she was; and who I was drawn to.

She had told me all about the ponygirl thing next Halloween, while she helped me in the shower, likely as a distraction while she looked deep inside her best friend's intimate parts, stretched out obscenely and quite painful partially because of her cooperation with my abductors. I'll admit to being ignorant on the whole subject of human girls harnessed and used as ponies, but our deep education on such was only a few internet clicks away.

The internet and smartphones are good for such things though, there apparently a whole subculture built up around legitimate horse racing that included human women pulling the racing sulky carts for their just as human jockeys, some in actual competition. There were videos of for-real racetracks with hundreds of spectators, all cheering as the nude, or nearly nude ponygirls pulled their jockey's around the track as fast as they could. It was obvious that some of the girls were less fit and less serious competitors than the others, but the lead girls that were actually racing had their jockeys really laying on the whip, or at least it looked so in the video.

I showed Sam all this, she looked far more horrified than I did, even though her own ponygirl commitment likely sounded to her less firm than mine. At this point Sam likely still held the notion that the witch only wanted a single ponygirl for her next Halloween party, and if Sam just trained me ruthlessly enough, for long enough, she would be spared from actually participating in this ordeal herself. At the time I thought this was probably more of a good dose of wishful thinking rather than anything else, because Sam of all people should have realized that any bargain with the manipulative little witch was subject to change, depending on her whims and desires at any actual moment.

These were thoughts that would come back to both taunt, and haunt me…

Anyway, the concept of pulling a cart for the witches' guests on Halloween night, or more accurately, the concept of being FORCED to pull a cart for them, did something for me. And the thought of being raced in public like that - despite the witch never threatening to do so a single time - in broad daylight, in front of hundreds of cheering fans, really, REALLY did something for me; and here I thought I was over my public exposure and humiliation kick!

There was just something about being broken, trained hard, and then used hard like a common stock animal that felt like it might give my life purpose, almost like endless casual sex did for a time there. It was less than humane treatment for one perceived to be less than human, at least from a certain wealthy and privileged, and obviously vindictive point of view.

Just as I wasn't "solely" responsible for the clown torture display that I was forced to participate in, or for the attached and more than willing men that I had so easily enticed and hooked up with for spontaneous casual sex, I wouldn't be responsible for this either. I could just let go and live out something that few others ever would, all while being the "victim." And the witch and her friends were going to give me this kinky experience, for free, I perhaps even owing HER something special when it was all over. Perhaps I had judged her too harshly earlier, but she had for all intents and purposes raped me in semi-public with some vegetables while strung up on display. Could I ever admit to Sam, or even myself, that I got off on a certain part of that, specifically the struggling non-consensual, no choices part? I wondered in the back of my mind.

…As I looked at that video again with Sam my desires became even more focused and clear to me, I didn't see myself as one of the cheering fans, nor even one of the ruthless whip wielding jockeys, but as one of the racing pony girls, preferably one of the winning ones. And, if my cruel jockey had to beat my naked ass and back raw to make that happen, that was just the price I would have to pay to win! The witch was even small enough to be a good jockey herself, and she certainly was cruel enough too. I would have to do something else first though, to hedge my bets and ensure the proverbial "payday" I desired, and Sam couldn't know about this part either. The beginnings of a twisted plan then began to form in my kinky mind, one that might make my clown torture look positively short term and tame by comparison…

In the days that followed my bodily things had returned to almost normal, at least to the point that I didn't need diapers any longer, but I still walked tenderly, and coughing or sneezing was definitely out. I now had the curious ability to put my entire hand up inside of me in the bath if I pinched my fingers together tight enough, but who knows if I could have done this before as I had never even thought to try. I knew what would now fit, just like the witch's perverse party game had suggested, and unfortunately so did some of the people who saw me out and about. They likely knew who I was by both my body, and my well earned reputation, but I didn't necessarily know them, blurry vision and all from that last Halloween night.

When in town I would catch a longing stare now and again, both from men, and women, although I don't know if they were simply checking me out, or if they had actually been THERE that night, or knew somebody who was and therefore heard the tale. I could usually tell when a man was looking at me like THAT though, it just feels a certain way to me - and I've had lots of practice - but these particular looks didn't feel quite like that. It was more of a "don't touch" kind of look, something quite foreign to me as late as the previous month even.

I would have to go back to that farm, back to where all this started, many times over it now seemed, but this first time I would have to summon the courage to go solo, without Sam. The last time I had been there without her it had been quite the ordeal, but alcohol and teenage revenge had been on the menu that night, and one might expect that the little witch might be just a bit more reasonable now that we had that out of the way, now that she was presumably sober…

She was a tiny thing standing there with her back to me initially, she watching one of her magnificent horses intently on the hot walker as he ran himself round and round on the motorized tether. The large powerful beast seemed happy enough in his endless mindless task though, and he did provide a good distraction as I walked ever nearer to her. The place was massive, her family had "holdings" where mine had a small hobby farm, and busy full time jobs each as well. The circular corral path of the hot walker was massive as well; everything here was huge, supersized, except for the witch. In the daylight this was obviously a massive farm, the harvested rolling brown fields stretching as if over the horizon. They had both horses, and other "lesser" food animals here, and food crops as well. I assumed that the latter paid for the former, as horses at least are expensive things to own, and high maintenance racing ones likely even more so.

It was a simple thing for me to hop the tall electric outer perimeter fence to gain entry to the farm's property, technically trespassing one could argue, but the object of my desire was within sight, and I had tunnel vision for her. This was a one way trip for me though, because back over and out the way I had come in was another matter entirely, as there was no easy way to reach the outside insulated wood fence rail to use to my advantage as I made my hop back out of the proverbial lion's den, should I suddenly need to escape. This was the witch's "home turf" and I certainly was unexpected, and perhaps even unwelcome.

Something made her turn around when I was quite near her, maybe a sixth sense that potential trouble was approaching her unprotected flank, maybe even her busy running horse briefly glancing my way in warning? There were horse farm employees there too, I could hear them, but none close by and in sight presently as it was cold out, and they likely had found things to do inside where it was warmer. She had a momentary look of fear on her pretty haughty and otherwise confident face that looked so out of place, as if I had come to exact my own revenge physically. I was both bigger and older than she, and likely could have put a good thrashing on her before her employees noticed and came to her rescue - except maybe for that long handled training whip in her hand - but this wasn't my intention, although I don't blame her for thinking such under the circumstances.

If I had chosen the physical route, her cousin the sheriff would almost certainly get involved, and who knows how that might have played out all things considered, although I don't have those tedicies in my heart so as to desire to harm anybody. I'm far too passive for such thoughts. In my own quiet moments I realized that in my overzealous search for adult fun and purpose I had likely harmed several, and this bothered me deep down. I maybe even deserved to pay a stiff price for this behavior, pay a penance as it were, but to whom?

But, of a more immediate concern - if I had chosen that physical route that I was disinclined to take anyway - would be her loyal employees; would they stand by and simply watch while we had our girl fight, or would they intervene and make me pay for my perceived trespassing crimes, and attacking their young and small pretty teenage boss? Imagery then flooded my brain, not of my stomping this little snot of a near woman into the cold dirt in retribution, but of what her men would inflict on me for trespassing and attacking the pretty teen.

…The entire scene played out in the back of my kinky and submissive mind in several milliseconds, like a perverted mini-daydream fantasy, all as I closed the gap between her and I. Not that "I" intended violence, but should she, I was far safer inside the arc of that long whip, even with my heavy jacket on, rather than outside of it. In this provocative day dream of mine I never made it to the witch, her men rushing to see who was approaching their boss, they having been forewarned that some trouble might be coming by one day soon.

In this day dream of mine two of the witch's men grabbed me from behind while she smiled back at me in condescending fashion, a simple wordless glance at the sturdy tall steel fence she had been leaning against all the command her men needed. Others then came by with some rope to see what the commotion was, and to lend the proverbial hand and see the upcoming cold weather show, up close and personally.

"WHAT IS THE AGREED UPON PUNISHMENT FOR TRESPASSING?" The witch asked rhetorically in her loud carnival barkers voice; the one I easily recognized from the party and my strung up torture before her friends.

"STRIPPED AND WHIPPED, FIFTY LASHES!" I heard back in my dream, almost in unison from the gathered men, this clearly something they had worked out in advance, dream wise at least.

"MAKE IT SO!" the witch commanded in my kinky daydream…

"Hello there" I said to the witch back in the real world, my dream left to it's obvious conclusion, and another day. I knew her first name, but I didn't want to use it, and "witch" seemed much more appropriate in my mind anyway.

"You've got a lot of nerve coming back here like this," she tells me by way of a greeting, she clearly relaxing after reading my face and body language like a professional Vegas blackjack dealer, and realizing I meant her no harm, at least physically.

"I expect Sam and I to be here often, running together, naked and harnessed up on your hot walker over there, but maybe not when it's this cold out?" I asked hopefully.

"SERIOUSLY? I was drunk as snot and talking smack. We girls had found some videos that we watched right before Samantha had arranged for your delivery. Just remove the safe search filters and search 'trotters' or 'sulkies' on your phone and see what's out there, it's simply wild what some people will do for their kink. Anyway, I wasn't serious you nitwit… and in any event I think my little message has already been widely delivered, or so I've been led to believe.

"How gullible are you 'down farm' girls anyway?" the witch asked in exasperation a few seconds later.

"Sam thought you were dead serious, and I was pretty much out of it at the end there, so I have to rely on her."

"About that, things definitely went way, way too far that night." This is about as close to an apology as I was ever going to get from such a haughty, privileged, near-woman, but I accepted it as such.

"Who was that woman, the older one who seemed to REALLY have it out for me?" I asked.

"My cousin Kathy, her husband Tim filed right after you 'rocked his world' when you and he hooked up; she's very bitter."

"Terrific… I remember Tim, he gave me a ride home and was actually very sweet to me. So is your cousin over it now, or do I have to worry about her?" This was especially ironic to me, because I hadn't "rocked" Tim's world at all, and we hadn't even hooked up either. He really did just give me a ride home in the rain that night, but we had a nice long sweet talk in his truck on the way, and I did thank him for the ride with an innocent little peck on the cheek.

…Nobody would believe that though, especially from me, my well earned reputation preceding me it seems…

"She's not a very forgiving woman, just ask Tim… On second thought, maybe you shouldn't"


"And yours?" I asked, wanting to air this out and be done with it, almost as Sam had intended in the first place.

"Are you trying to piss me off?"

"What if I was? What would it take… if? …I have a little proposition for you, it's a little out there, but you have to hear me out first…"

"…You're serious, aren't you?" I heard after perhaps several minutes of explanation on my end, her horse running in endless laps on her hot walker the whole time. It's vapory exhaled breaths reminded me of a steam engine locomotive endlessly climbing a hill. The cool air and low sun backlit the great beast's efforts, the entire scene surreal, especially bearing in mind what I had just offered.

"YES, yes I am!"

"You're one kinky bitch, you know that don't you?" the teenage witch tells me, glancing up at her busy horse with a growing evil smile, and then back to me, the message rather clear. I was left thinking that self awareness must be something that we all grow into, at some point in our lives.

"You have absolutely no idea… But, look at it this way if you must, I couldn't possibly have the time, or energy to go around chasing boyfriends and husbands during all this, so you girls could consider this an extended win, 'the gift that keeps giving' and all of that. It's almost a full year for your guys to forget all about me too, and at your next Halloween party it's game on, and you and your friends can play it as rough as you like, just to make extra sure you all have it out of your systems by then, and of course that I've learned my lesson."

"And what of Samantha?"

"I'll leave that up to your own conscience…"

"When I'm drinking I really don't seem to have one."

"Then maybe you shouldn't, nobody's perfect you know." With those words telling my teen "adversary" that she's basically and unconditionally forgiven for stringing me up and torturing me before her friends in her drunken state, although she didn't specifically ask for such. A clear conscience is a wonderful thing though, and this thing that I had just given the witch for free I intended to eventually earn myself, from her and her friends over the course of the next rough year, culminating with her next party where they would use me like a harnessed animal for their entertainment and amusement, as roughly as they liked, and of course to raise more money for charity. I had in effect just gifted myself to her for her purposes, and my own darker and kinky ones too, truth be told. Sam would get to "buy" her own clear conscience this way too, it's the real reason that I had come to speak to the witch privately in the first place, before learning that her pony girl threat was a hollow one…

"…There has to be another way!" Sam argued, but I was adamant, telling her I didn't want to go to jail any more than she did. I had left out my meeting and my rather unorthodox offer to the witch, this to be Sam's own form of atonement for setting me up like this; to buy her own clear conscience, although at a potentially heavy price of her own.

"I simply can't believe you're going through with this, it's too cold to run outside, even with clothes on."

I told Sam reasonably that nobody expected us to run in the snow, naked or otherwise, and that the indoor trotter track was even available to us. I told her we could go there early before almost anybody else gets there, I had even suggested keeping this sudden need for exercise between us girls, at least for the time being. The fact that we would be running on the same kind of track that real ponies ran on was intentional, lap after lap on the hard packed clay and dirt in a giant circle, all as I easily talked with Sam, and she huffed and puffed trying to respond, as her level of conditioning wasn't anywhere near my own. She wasn't heavy or anything like that, she was actually petite and tiny herself, but she wasn't a runner either, tiny legs and all, and therefore wasn't conditioned as such.

The lighted indoor trotter track was a suggestion easily arranged by the witch with her horse farm connections, but I made it sound like an order, the witch, or even one of her friends, there every time to watch us run, although mostly out of sight in the darkened bleacher seats up high at first. As January led to February and the days got longer we girls could actually have a conversation while we ran, and several people had taken to get there early to also watch us run, Sam matching my own level of dress while running now, which was minimalist at best. I have large breasts, and while still firm with my age, they needed a serious sports bra to contain their gyrating mass when I ran, otherwise I would be in pain. Sam was blessedly less endowed than I, so her running top could almost be bikini-like and sexy, where mine was a full coverage kind of thing with an entirely different job, and much more like an overengineered boob crushing harness.

Tight running shorts that left nothing at all to the imagination eventually replaced our thick leggings, we generating heat and sweat like mad with the extended duration of our runs by this point. Perhaps the witch was even getting into this dark form of retribution herself by then, seeing some kind of opportunity in it, but she had suggested it herself initially, although as more of a threatening drunken joke rather than an actual serious intention. Was this a window into her dark soul though, perhaps accidentally opened by the alcohol, but what she "really" wanted, deep deep down, perhaps for stealing away the young man of her dreams, the one I didn't even remember the name of?

The witch's regular attendance suggested this was something she was now willing to invest her time in though, and her and the others watching us run three times a week got us used to having spectators in the stands watching us perform, also apparently not an accident. We were still dressed, but in almost nothing, sweating through our thin garments in strategic areas guaranteed to get a watching man's attention, suggestive of another kind of excitement.

Jogging was no longer an effort, hell running flat out was no longer a serious struggle either, but Sam and I had yet to actually race each other by that point. Spring was coming early in our part of the world that year too, and March first we found a heavy rubber wheeled training sulky waiting for us at the track, and the evil-grinning witch with her whip on a long stick as our first official driver, or jockey. I recognized that particular whip from when she and I had our little meeting outside her hot walker corral, and I assumed that she was quite familiar with its use, but on thick hided stubborn animals, and not on nearly naked soft fleshed women like Sam and I.

She was playing her part well for me though, I'll give her that, but she had done so before with the aid of some adult beverages; evil and sadistic apparently not all that much of a character stretch for the tiny teenager. There were just a few people there that first time, and we weren't obviously naked or harnessed up either, but with little resistance Sam's right hand found itself holding the cart's left shaft at the track's rail, and my own left hand holding the cart's right on the outside. The witch then mounted up, snapped her whip in the air and told us to get going. There was no harness, and no reins either, yet, so dropping the poles and running off was always an option, but one we didn't choose that day.

I could tell Sam was conflicted, but for myself I was feeling something very close to a sexual heat pretty much all over my mostly exposed and pale "winter" skin. Moving the tiny witch around the track at a jog was easy, doing so while Sam and I remained in step so as not to shake the cart to pieces was another thing entirely. I have longer legs than Sam, my strides are therefore longer, and it's unnatural to change my gait to remain in time with her, it makes my running inefficient too. We made several circuits that day in tandem anyway, but I was left yearning for the harness and just a bit more exposure, and the freedom to run solo, and of course the whip… purely for atonement purposes though.

This could be seen as a "successful failure" or even a proof of concept, because while we had all individually watched actual girls pulling jockey mounted sulks all on their own, this had been on the internet, where things looked real that just plain weren't.

Anyway, the snow had mostly melted by then, but there were still piles of it here and there, this early spring time for me just magnificent; a time of rebirth, of green new things trying to find sunlight and warmth, and trying to live. It was also a time of mud, and of cool outside temperatures, but at least above freezing ones. I knew what was to come next, there being a training schedule of sorts to adhere to if one wanted their pony - either human or otherwise - to be ready for Halloween wagon rides… and their boyfriends and husbands un-tempted. Here's where I expected Sam to balk, our shared humiliation and conditioning so far almost semi-private and vanilla, at least as compared to that video we had seen, which had paralleled the witch's drunken threats to Sam nicely, a good dose of karma at work here as well.

"…I simply won't do it!" Sam told me flatly, but I had expected this reaction from her, despite the witch's drunken threat to do exactly this to us back on that infamous Halloween night, the one Sam herself told me about in the shower.

"We'll do it, and we'll do it together, because neither of us would look good in baggy orange jumpsuits, although the handcuffs, leg irons, and belly chains are another matter entirely" I suggest playfully.

…I knew If Sam could only find the same kinky sexual heat that I did in this she could maybe even have a little fun with it, as I intended to for myself. She wasn't a naturally submissive soul though, like I was, so this proved to be especially difficult for her. I knew she looked at least as good in her skin as I did though, and in my mind's eye I could even see us as a tandem team of pony girls, harnessed and bitted, and used hard for the entertainment of others, and of course for charity, we then nothing more than two humbled pretty beasts of burden that way. We couldn't necessarily run and race each other while harnessed side by side like this, but we could pull a larger cart together; the imagery exciting to me like nothing else I could imagine.

…It had taken some time for me to figure some things out about myself, introspectively, but I liked being used, even by the teen witch and her friends, maybe even specifically by them; it just felt so "natural" to me. It was an odd dichotomy to me, she was so much less physically than I, yet so much more in a great many other ways; powerful and in control, almost like Sam had been…

My deception eventually won the day with Sam, and she and I reported as "ordered" to the witch early one morning, dressed to run for her on her hot walker, although I alone knowing that the "dressed" part wasn't strictly necessary this time.

"Strip bitches!" The witch commanded crudely as several of her vindictive friends in attendance laughed at the absurdity of it all, but while surrounding us at the same time and preventing an easy escape. They had all gotten up early for this though, for the show that I would again provide, but with Sam here too now. These girls were still in high school, and to get such privileged girls up early it had to be something special and good. These weren't ordinary "up before the sun" working farm girls, but wealthy eighteen year old little snots in a senior year clique with plenty of free time away from high school, due to being on a bogus farm work program.

I also got the distinct feeling that the special secret offer that I had shared with the witch, wasn't necessarily shared between her and her "good" friends. So much the better, I thought, knowing Sam would be far more motivated if she thought this was "really" real. Our shared exposure and torment surely would be at the night-time Halloween party, but so would our extensive training beforehand, so that moving this burden about the farm, or even theoretically on a racetrack as we had all seen on line, would be well within our capabilities. The racetrack simply wasn't going to happen though, nobody had even seriously suggested it, this was something that Sam would be horrified to actually do in the flesh; as in nearly naked and in broad daylight before a crowd of hundreds of cheering fans and betters, some potentially even known to us, or our families.

Neither Sam, nor I, were wearing all that much in preparation to run together anyway, so stripping out of what I was wearing and into my skin was easy, at least for me. Sam was having trouble doing so herself for the hostile teen girls though, even in the relative privacy of the barn we were in, so they became impatient and decided to "help" her. Sam struggled reflexively, but the numbers weren't in her favor, she pinned to the wall of the barn like a fly stuck to fly paper and roughly stripped naked by several of them, all as I passively watched. How does that feel? I wondered darkly, I not necessarily proud of feeling that way though, to be honest.

"Next time maybe we'll let some of the farmhands do this for us?" one of the girls threatened. The message was clear to Sam, that theoretical "next time" with the rough and muscular farmhands would involve quite a few other things, once her limited clothing had been dealt with. Sam, after all, was a good looking petite woman, and a potential man magnet herself for their boyfriend's as well if she became interested, or corrupted by her horny best friend. Sooooo… taking her out of the potential competition in this rather nasty way preemptively was logical, if not completely ethical. It was ironic too though, because once she was stripped naked, her height and petite slight build made her look far more like one of the teens, like she was part of that clique, and not ours.

"Or you could just cut them off of her and send her home naked?" the witch offered. "She's going to spend quite a bit of time in her skin anyway in the coming months, so she might as well get used to it!"

With that threat delivered the witch and several girls personally took control of Sam to buckle on her new harness and bit, and fit her horse shod boots, my helpful supply of not only my own boot sizes, but Sam's as well, aiding the witch in this. Two could play at this helpful betrayal game, after all, especially if it was for Sam's eventual own good. The witch had the boots and other tack custom made for us, her overall attention to detail and cash outlay for not only the boots, but the harnesses and other tack as well, should have signaled the seriousness of her commitment.

Two of the other girls dressed me out that first time, and even though I was fully cooperating, they were quite rough with me, manhandling my body as I was jerked and spun this way and that, all as the buckles of my harness were drawn over-tight about my body. Perhaps they were still even holding a boyfriend stealing grudge against me, even after all they had already subjected my body to at the last party. This told me that the witch hadn't shared my unique requests with her "close" friends, odd if one thought about it, but really perfect for what I had in mind. A big part of me liked these teens treating me so roughly, as if I deserved it, and I could easily see one, or even a bunch of them pinning me to the dirty floor and using me in girl on girl fashion, rubbing my face in it, so to speak. Sam and I had never been intimate with each other a single time, but that doesn't mean that I might not be curious as to what being dominated and sexually used by these girls might feel like, even if they didn't reciprocate.

My harness had a leather skeletonized open cup looking bra component to it, with my boobs squeezed and supported, but my nipples and a good portion of my breasts exposed to whomever was in attendance, this also in my cup size as I had supplied that as well to the witch. The bottom part's wide leather strap portion covered my actual sex, but it had a buckle arrangement that allowed for it's removal, suggestive of a straight jacket. Was this for modesty, or chastity? I wondered, at least for the times when I was "in harness."

Finally my wrists were buckled to the hip portion of my harness, the wide leather cuff comfortable enough, but leaving my hands and arms almost completely useless. This forced my elbows to stick out behind me, and thrust out my ample chest, and here I had instead expected to be cuffed behind my back in some way. This, I would learn, had more than one practical side to it, my arms not in the way of the whip should it need to be used on either side of my upper torso, while also allowing for some minor balance adjustments as we ran.

I hadn't given it all that much thought before we went down this pony girl road together, but one uses her arms when she runs, and pinning them tightly crossed behind your back and running would be awkwardly inefficient. And to do so while not attached to the sulky could have you struggling for balance and maybe even doing a painful face plant. There was an obvious secondary consideration to this position, but more on that later.

The bit on my human shaped head harness was at least rubber, and not metal, and while not a proper gag in any sense of the word, the raised ball portion in the center of it would make intelligent conversation difficult at best. Pony girls, after all, didn't really need to speak, only listen, and obey, it was a kind of mantra that I would hear often going forward. The rubber ball had a secondary purpose as well, while easy enough to breathe past, it was there to bear down with our teeth if needed, to keep either Sam, or myself from howling out too loudly if the whip were needed…

That first time on the hot walker it had been early in the morning, and just "us girls," but our almost naked and booted selves were led to the same circular corral where I had first approached the witch with my outlandish offer of inhuman servitude for both Sam, and I. I heard the clip clop of both Sam's, and my own metal shod boots, the sound most natural for a horse farm, and the thought made me smile behind my bit. I was really doing this, or more correctly, being made to do this I thought, by a bunch of wealthy privileged teens even.

Where did the teenage witch gain such knowledge and such specialized equipment? I should have asked myself, but I was too preoccupied with my realized kink to think that far down the proverbial road.

The witch's friends were unnecessarily rough with us, hooking us to the tether that would allow the hot walker mechanism to guide us around in endless circles for our first ever true ponygirl exercise session. Sam was directly across from me on the far side arm of the hot walker and out of my direct line of sight, and the witch was in control of the motorized remote control, with speed options likely from a dead slow walk to faster than almost any human could possibly be expected to run.

It's an interesting and primal thing that a human will pretty much go in the direction that their head is directed, just as a horse will. But, this hot walker was designed to encourage and guide eight to twelve hundred pound animals with incredible neck muscles to go and do as their trainer wished, where the human neck is just a bit more fragile. Not wanting to injure or cripple either one of her newest ponies, the witch had her friends attach the hot walker's tether to a hardpoint "D" ring on the chest area of our actual harnesses, likely sewn and riveted in for just this purpose. In this way if either one of us didn't keep up, or even tripped, we wouldn't have our neck broken by a machine designed for far larger and stronger beasts than us, but we could instead be embarrassingly dragged around until we caught our balance, or the hot walker was stopped.

Despite some rough treatment at the hands of these teen girls, with an obvious chip on their proverbial shoulders, and despite being nearly naked and on display before not only them, but Sam as well, and anybody else who might happen by; this was by no means an actual hardship for me. It was instead kinky and hot, despite the cool outside temperature. And the selfish attention-hungry portion of myself almost wished I was here on my own, WITHOUT Sam "suffering" along with me for my crimes, for her lesser crimes too.

Looking at the expression on her pretty face, or what I could see of it under her matching harness as she was led away, she likely felt the exact same way! Sam would do anything, anything at all, just to not be here with me at this moment… other than possibly watching me perform for her entertainment from the rail just like the witch, but I digress…

Anyway, this particular hot walker had four arms, and Sam and I were firmly attached to two of them one hundred and eighty degrees across from each other, inside a large animal-sized circular corral with high steel fencing. Even if we slipped our tether, somehow; without the use of our arms we would still be trapped inside the corral itself until the gate was opened and we were released. And then there was the little matter of the farm's perimeter electric fence, should we both break free and wish to run all the way back to our own town, and our own homes, nearly naked, bound, and harnessed like animals as we were. Simply stated, there were several layers of containment security designed to keep large and powerful thickly hided and valuable animals inside the farm's perimeter, and these would work equally as well for us unclothed and harnessed as we now were.

Neither one of us were a match for a machine designed to "encourage" up to four large and powerful animals to run in a big circle either, my assumption being that this thing could easily drag Sam's big car around with us, if it was tethered to it like we were. It was therefore illogical at this point in the game to resist, but when something drags you forward, in my case by my chest while squeezing and elongating my large boobs, you still fight for balance in the opposite direction. Neither Sam, nor I, could possibly win this battle at this stage of the game, but the spectacle of us trying seemed sadistic fun for the watching girls anyway. I would come to find out later that the hot walker had a lot of safety built into it, and it didn't simply drag a million dollars plus of race horses around in a circle with it's full power, but it rather softly encouraged them to follow the leads ordinarily attached to their head harnesses, at least initially.

Sam and I would do the same with our own chest anchored leads, but one necessary motivational element was yet missing…

I heard the crack first from Sam's general direction across the corral, and her muted yelp a heartbeat later, but I couldn't see what exactly had happened. I knew where she was, but with both the distance, and structure of the hot walker itself in the way, Sam might as well been in town for all I could see of her, she tethered across from me something like a hundred plus feet away with the huge arc of the hot walker. Still I felt the shutter of the arm I was attached to, Sam attached to the same machine as I, and a heartbeat later I knew why, as the witch's long whip struck my naked ass with a crack. It stung like mad, and I yelped myself and lurched forward in my haste to escape the sting of her second potential strike.

And just like that Sam and I were walking in an endless naked harnessed circle for the amusement of some vindictive teen girls, this only the very, very beginning of our coming ordeal. The slow pace did allow us to get used to our new boots though, it difficult to get used to walking on the balls of your feet without your heels ever touching the ground, nor really helping directly support your body. The long boots had the molded shape of a very high heeled stiletto, but with the spiked heel portion missing, the base of the boot spring-like and adding energy to my steps, and I could only assume Sam's as well.

This made me several inches taller, and my steps bouncy, like I was playing on a trampoline, and the reason for my big boobs being so tightly bound now made more sense. I'm not necessarily a "horse farm girl" but I do know that a tight saddle isn't there to punish or hurt a horse, but for his comfort, as a moving saddle likely would chaff on a horse's tough hide. My rather soft and tender flesh was another matter entirely, not only for my new harness, but that nasty buggy whip as well.

The hot walker's pace eventually picked up to a jog, and the pace of my motivational swats with one of several whips did as well, sometimes on my ass, and sometimes elsewhere. The girls had split up into little clicky groups about the perimeter fence, each group with a whip of some kind, Sam I'm sure receiving more than her own fair share of motivational "corrections" based on her many muted yelps a hundred or so feet away. The witch was precise, almost surgical with the use of her whip, where the others were more like clumsy brutes, inflicting pain and retribution randomly wherever they could reach, just because they could. The witch seemed to have a goal, for the other girls this WAS the goal, humiliating a potential rival, tormenting a fellow, but naked and bound, and therefore "lesser" woman, even though it was hard to think of these teens as women themselves.

The other girls had an underlying evil to their characters, and it manifested itself in their treatment of their two newest ponygirls. I've heard it said that the real way to judge a person's character isn't how they treat someone that they NEED to be nice to, but in how they treat someone that they don't, like waitresses', and store clerks, and apparently naked women harnessed as human ponies…

I had gifted myself to them though, all of them. And I had gifted Sam to them as well, so I couldn't exactly complain at this point without giving up my own duplicity. I would suffer alongside Sam though; where she had engineered my earlier suffering so she wouldn't be there to see it first hand, and therefore giving her plausible-deniability…

That first nearly hour long exercise session felt like ten minutes to me, but when the walker went to a slow walk speed again the sweat really started to flow, despite the cool early spring temperatures. Sam and I had both apparently survived our first ponygirl training experience on the hot walker, and I at least was hungry for more. Although it was motivational for me, I could perhaps live without the more clumsy whip work though, but nobody asked a horse, human or otherwise, how it felt about being trained, nor the methods used. This of course ran head first into a major fantasy of mine, one that had turned into a reoccurring erotic dream; in that one the men had stripped me naked, tied me in a standing spread eagle, and I struggled relentlessly against the immovable set in concrete tall corral fence as somebody whipped me hard from behind. I screamed my head off with every stinging strike of that dream whip, at least until I woke up out of breath in a sweaty sexual heat, but safely in my bed with fists full of sheets clenched in each outstretched hands. We never got to fifty in those dreams though, and I wasn't entirely sure who had wielded that dream whip either…

I could see quite a few welts from the several whips on Sam's sweaty exhausted body, just as there were likely some on my own that I couldn't see just yet, after we were unclipped from the hot walker and led on separate leads back to the barn. This is where it had all started an hour earlier, Sam lagging behind, dragging-boots exhausted, she almost being physically towed like a broken car, where I still had energy to burn. We were then stripped of our harnesses and boots and roughly shoved into a washdown stall to clean each other up, even though Sam's energy for resistance was at an all time low.

This stall was made for horses and not humans though, but there was a drain in the floor, bar soap for a horse, and thankfully somewhat warm water for Sam and I to wash up in, all while being watched closely by the girls though. Our new harnesses and boots left black stains on our skin that didn't completely wash off, even with the harsh soap, our copious salty sweat apparently removing some of the dye from our new leather tack like a solvent. If that and some minor "bite" marks from the training whip were the worst of it, I felt confident that we could do this over and over again, at least until Halloween.

…Washing Sam's whip bitten back for her was a near sensual experience for me, even though the girls were watching; this some new territory for me to be in personally to be sure. We were good friends, lifelong friends, but just not that kind of friendly. It wouldn't have taken much from her to make me into that kind of friend, but that simply never happened. I had managed to fight the urge to wrap my arms around her naked self, right there in the horse wash down stall, right in front of all those girls, and give her a comforting hug with my wet and soapy naked boobs pressed right up against her back, but it turns out that was for the best after all…

After that extended show was over we were allowed to dry and dress, and told when to report next and sent on our way, the witch specifically telling Sam loudly that she and I should get some "running in just our skin" time between this, and the next session on the hot walker. She also said several other things to her much more quietly that I didn't hear, Sam just exhaustedly nodding her head as she was spoken to, like a naughty child getting a private lecture from a teacher. Once in Sam's car and on our way back to the summer house - to shower again and scrub just a bit cleaner with real soap, shampoo, and a proper body wash sponge - I put what I thought was a cheerful positive spin on the early morning's activities.

"Well that didn't go so bad. I thought it was actually kind of fun and exhilarating" I told her cheerfully. She, for her own part, looked like she had when she had caught me skinny dipping with her one time former boyfriend, and if not for her total exhaustion, I half expected to get tossed from her car to find my own way home, or strangled to death with the seatbelt right there in her front seat.

"Seriously?" she asked, I then taking better notice of the utter exhaustion in her voice, and the loathing for me and my friendship that had put her into this situation in the first place.

"We so got this," I told her confidently, my sexual heat keeping me warm and excited in anticipation of our next rough training session with the vindictive teens. We had inadvertently also proven to them as well that Sam and I could actually do this, become actual human ponies for them like on those videos, and this apparently gave them confidence to up their own game and charge ahead at full speed, although without the total skill set to do so properly. Human ponies, as it turns out, are a specific breed, and need specialized training to reach their full potential.

There are people in that particular business though, they may keep a low profile for obvious reasons, but they're there if one knows where to look…

Cold as it was Sam and I ran the next day in just our skin, on the honor system though, there being a four mile hiking loop near enough to the summerhouse that was about as private as such a thing could be. Sam stripped down to just her running shoes once there, and I did the same, with the exception of some plastic wrap with which to wrap my boobs so they didn't cause me pain by being bounced around freely like that. Having a substantial chest is just wonderful when it comes to attracting the attention of a man, or properly filling out a shirt, but I was also envious of Sam's more champagne-glass like endowments, and her "shop anywhere" for matching undergarments ability. If nothing else, Sam was getting slightly more comfortable with her body during this ordeal, and being naked around others. Her loathing for me seemed to abate this next day as well, but I knew it was there now, and expected it to rear it's ugly head again at some point.

The next time on the hot walker was just about like the first, except faster, and the time after that had some of the farm employees wandering by to see what all the girls were up to, perhaps a rumor started about teen girls up at the crack of dawn and being up to naked mischief. That was hugely embarrassing, but the men were professional enough, holding their cat-call comments, perhaps pretending that we were like any other ponies being trained, at least in the teens' presence, but for all I know snickering to themselves after they were out of earshot. Perhaps they even thought Sam and I were the two newest members of the witch's clique, and this was the price we had to pay to be part of the proverbial club, our initiation as it were.

Did any of them know that I was the infamous tortured, naked and body painted clown from the last Halloween party? Or for that matter, did any of these working men even know about that party, as in did any of them attend? I asked myself just a little late.

The very next time we reported to the girls to be run on the hot walker they weren't actually there, but an older farm hand that I didn't recognize was, he was expecting us though, telling us that he knew the routine, and that we should get each other harnessed up and ready to run. Getting Sam naked and into her harness, and me into my own was new, but doable, with the exception of bucking my own wrists into the wide cuffs as a last step in the process. Doing so for a single man, one on one, and not a group of hostile teen girls was quite new too, but we weren't exactly given another choice either. This man we had been handed off to handled this last step for me, casually, as if this happened all the time in his world. He then checked the tension of our tack last, slipping a finger in between our bare skin and the leather here and there, apparently satisfied with our work.

This man also radiated a certain confidence, and an air of "don't even think about NOT doing exactly what I say." He wasn't necessarily threatening, nor big and muscular like some of the farmhands, it's just an attitude that he projected. Anyway, he told us that the girls had some exams to take back in high school, but also that he was here to augment our training, help out, and going forward that we would both be working together quite a bit with him, "in some capacity or another."

This was different to be sure, and it did feel much more natural to be doing this for the teen girls, even though they could be rather ruthless in their motivations. My "breaking" at least had already occurred, rather gradually really, incrementally, so that once I was here with this odd man, stripped down and "in harness," all resistance for me melted away. Even take-charge Sam was docile under this man's direction, but for her it was an act, I could sense it, knowing her as I did. Not being horse farm people ourselves, I assumed that such things happened to real horses - breaking them - just as Hollywood portrayed them, roughly with a whip and in a closed corral in an afternoon, and not over the course of days and weeks.

We were again led to the hot walker, but this time there were already two real horses on it, and I assumed that we would have to wait our turn, although while being on almost full naked display out in the open for whoever wanted to wander by. Not so, I soon realized, we just led to the individual unoccupied arms that we would be tethered to, almost just like the two other "real" horses, although they led by their bridal harnesses, and ultimately their powerful necks.

With the whip used sparingly as a motivational tool on us alone, we soon established that both Sam and I could run at about the same pace that those real horses could trot, they both in front, and behind each of us as if we were part of their herd, or they ours. I held out no hope of matching their full flat out running speed though. Still it was a fast pace, the fastest for us yet on the hot walker, but it stopped long before I had reached the point of total exhaustion, pretty much like every other time I had been on it. The trainer man had two water bottles with straws, and he went to Sam's side of the coral first, eventually leading her out of it and tying her lead to the fence rail where both I and the trainer could see her. She looked awful, totally spent, so much so that the trainer had stopped the action early. I assumed I would be coming off of it too, but instead he came to me and gave me some water next, the straw able to get past my bit, but drinking past it actually required his help.

"You have some real potential, but your little pony friend is out of her element" the man told me, I beaming at the compliment. At that point in time I wanted nothing more in life but to show this odd little man what I could really do, give him every ounce of energy I had to give; it was almost as if his few complimentary words were like magic energy pills to me.

We three ran together for quite some time after that, although the real horses were themselves effortlessly trotting for the most part, but by the time I had been taken off of that contraption I had even been brought up to a full sprint, twice. It was exhilarating being made to physically perform like that, it was almost like a sexual high, but I was on top of this one for far longer than any big O ever. I had obviously heard the term "runner's high" and I wished to coin a new one, at least in my mind, "ponygirl high."

I was released as others came by and took control of the real horses, but Sam and I got the washdown stall first, the leather tack's bleeding finally over though, making our washdown just a bit faster. We were told when to report back, the pattern of every other day to be repeated several times, but eventually with a twist. I'm sure Sam was getting more fit, she couldn't help but to be, but I was most certainly getting stronger, my legs more powerful, and being longer than hers this gave me an advantage over her that no level of conditioning could overcome. My lungs as well had no trouble supplying all the oxygen my work-hardened body needed either, I was like a well tuned powerful machine by the time we both drifted into the warmer summer months, sweating toxins from my body that I didn't know I had. I ate like a horse back then as well, pardon the pun, but it took calories, good protein filled ones, to convert all that training into productive muscle mass. Others would eventually exploit all this hard work of mine, but more on that later.

Sam and I ran together every other day on the hot walker until exhaustion set in for her, and then I alone ran as she was tied to the rail and watched, and the others motivated me along solo, at times still with their whips. I was in effect performing for both Sam, and the others at this point, but I just had so much more energy than she, and I felt the need to show this off, and burn it up for them. This had turned into a perverse replacement for sex for me, and an amusing show of sorts for the girls, and even the farm staff as this "secret" of our training was fully out by that point. In this at least the witch had gotten what I had suggested she would back when I had made my unique offer to her in the cold winter months…

Explaining away a rather uniquely patterned tan, with harness-like tan lines would be a stretch as well, so as a result neither Sam, nor I did much bikini work at the pool, or even at one of the many ponds and streams that we used to love. We didn't have much free time with our training schedule either, but our folks were happy to see us doing something together, keeping each other out of trouble, if only they knew? We still ran nude as well, to augment our training, but this was early in the morning and in the thick woods and away from curious eyes, and therefore not good for over-tanning our unique tan lines. Sam and I didn't talk all that much when we ran either by this point, she in this with me out of obligation only, but in her heart I could tell she wanted to be anywhere but.

I almost felt guilty I thought to myself, ALMOST!

Something had obviously changed between us, Sam and I, and the teens had apparently picked up on it as well, because that next time Sam and I found our unique farmhand there waiting for us, but some of the girls were there too now. They called him simply "the trainer" and the way they spoke to him was deferential, respectful, this notably different from the way they spoke to us, and even to their employees. This relatively small man was either feared, or revered by them - collectively - the thought profound to me at the time, but it followed my own observations that this outwardly nice man wasn't one to cross.

Sam was not dressed down in her familiar tack this time, at least where I could see, but she was still led away by the girls en masse, in the general direction of the hot walker again. Gone was the roughness of the other times though, as if the girls were tired of this game with her; just going through the motions. They were teens with short attention spans though, just as I was when a teen myself, so who could blame them? I was held in the barn once I had stripped down though, something unique still again coming my way. Neither of us at that point in our ponygirl career had even pulled a wagon yet, other than that one time that Sam and I had pulled the witch in tandem at the indoor track. Were the girls waiting for Sam to come up to my level of conditioning, using me as the gold standard that she must reach in order to have two somewhat equal ponies for the party? Or, was there some other consideration that I didn't know about? I wondered in my mind.

I couldn't share these concerns with Sam, nor anybody else either, but I could tell that some of the girls were getting bored with this game that they had committed to with Sam and I. Some even brought their current boyfriends around to watch us train on the hotwalker for them; they flirting and kissing, and generally talking sweet and making eyes with each other, and amusingly giving me a swift unearned swat with a long tail buggy whip as I ran by them at speed, the guys openly laughing at my nearly naked plight. It seemed that I was the focus of their animosity back then, more so than Sam.

It was quite demeaning really, reminding me at least of my place, and the watching guys that I was far less than the nicely dressed girl the young man was talking to. I might still be sexy to them, hardly dressed, tan, and fit as I was, but I was a sexy loosened "animal" to them now, and who wants one of those when a nicely dressed and lightly used and willing pretty teen is there as an option, a wealthy one even? They were all very pretty girls that dressed in the current style, every one of them, it pains me to say so, but it was as obvious to the boys as it was to me. I hardly saw any of them wear the same thing twice, the budget that such a style must take is truly incredible.

Lust turned magically into disgust, with just a few fresh vegetables I thought in my mind, at least somewhere along the way for those at one time potentially interested boys, the thought a sudden epiphany to me. She WAS a witch, but I had foolishly helped her in search of my own kink, and a clear conscience for both Sam, and I. I had gone all the way from the object of desire for their hungry lust, to a bug on the sidewalk that one could either kick out of the way, or even squash, except that the latter would leave it's disgusting residue stuck to the bottom of one's shoe.

These were dark and unhealthy thoughts for me, and the way to combat them was to throw myself into the experience, the conditioning, deep thought and introspection not to my liking suddenly.

Back in the barn the odd man, the trainer, had me try on three different types of new ponygirl boots, all in my size but taller than the originals, the difference being the level of bounce built into their spring-like soles. I chose the ones that gave me the most bounce at his direction, these things being weight sensitive, but also related to how one uses her muscles specifically to run. These were expensive custom things, even more so than my first pair that seemed more "off the shelf" generic, but obviously off the shelf of a very particular kind of store.

…Money and time were both being spent here, copious amounts of both, and had I wanted to engage in deeper thoughts back then I would have realized that this was an "investment" both in time and money. Rich people don't "invest" in anything without an expected return, an ROI, this was the real lesson of that day, but it would take me months to realize it fully…

A new more sleek and functional harness followed, my wrists still buckled to my hips, but gone was the bra component, replaced simply by two wide leather straps that reminded me of a farmer's suspenders, but running outside my boobs and wider, framing them. The belt portion was wide as well, but there was no boob support, and no modest covering for my womanhood either.

I told the man that I couldn't possibly run like this, and he simply told me that I would learn how to, but that if I had trouble with this that he had some tricks up his sleeve to teach me. I couldn't go out there like this either, pretty much naked and cuffed now, but I could also tell that he was getting tired of talking to me. No, after a second's thought I realized that he had no problem talking to me at all, it's just that he didn't want me to talk back, respond, at least not verbally. As if to make my point he then fitted my head harness - in horse terms my bridle and bit - making any further conversation almost completely one sided. I had my chance with this man too, to learn something, to interact, and I blew it by talking too much, by telling him what I couldn't do…

"That's better" the man says with an exasperated exhale, after the bit was in place. "For a few moments there you sounded like one of my ex-wives, 'yack, yack, yack, I can't do this, and I can't do that.' From now on I'll tell you what you can and can't do, got that?"

I nodded my head in response, kowtowed, sure that this man had a whip nearby as well. His nagging and nasal tone while mimicking his ex-wife made me hope I didn't sound like that myself, but I wasn't entirely sure at the moment.

My trainer reaches up and guides me by my bridle with just a single finger to a convenient desk and chair, the chair for him, and obviously not for me. I'm even taller in these new boots, and I feel as if I could jump five feet straight up, maybe even dunk a basketball. I feel powerful, and I want to show off for this man. He's established his dominance, or perhaps re-established it, and without having to beat me raw either. I may tower over him physically, but he towers over me psychologically; he simply owns my naked ass, and he somehow knows this, his attitude all but screams it.

"Let me guess?" the man asks in exasperation, as if he's made this exact same speech a hundred times. "You can't run without a sports bra because your big boobs will flop all over the place?"

I nod my head emphatically.

"You're young, and these are firm, magnificent really, in case no other man has ever told you this before." And to make his point he slowly rolls the fleshy mass of them in his hands, savoring the skin on skin contact between us. This is the first near-sexual touch anybody has laid on me since the last Halloween party where I entertained the witch and her friends, with some obscenely large vegetables though. My body's different now because of that, not necessarily ruined though, but certainly different, more broken in, more accommodating, although I haven't accommodated anything other than my own fingers and whole hand since that night.

"The muscles that hold these beautiful things up so pertly have been getting toned just like the rest of your muscles, and I'll wager that your bras don't fit quite like they used to, like they should. I'm kind of a boob man myself, and trust me on this, if nothing else, I won't personally do a thing to diminish the net market value of these magnificent things in the slightest."

It was an odd phrase to be sure, but it's not like I could ask him what he had meant.

As if to make his point he shows me a wide leather strap with some built in half round wide leather cup shapes molded into it. He takes this and fits it to the suspender portions of my new harness, there being tiny holes in it that I didn't see earlier, and he temporarily pins this in place with some tiny nuts and bolts, fitting it precisely to my body so that the cups support and lift my slightly hanging boobs like a demi-shelf bra. They don't make demi-shelf bras in my size, but they make them in Sam's, and panties that match, so I obviously know what they are as she has some herself. I'm actually jealous of what she can find to wear, off the shelf, but I digress… This harness addition leaves my boobs standing upright, prominently offered up and on display, where the old harness mostly hid them in comparison.

With all this handling my nips are at like full attention, and my trainer notices with a chuckle. He rolls them between his thumbs and forefingers, and I groan in approval. I just love it when a man gets rough with them, and I've been without one for far too long. I haven't had any time to really dwell on this, but suddenly now I am!

"Can't have you going out on public roads all worked up like this, can we?" he asks rhetorically. I'm a squishy mess down below now too, my body in preparation for what it wants… for what it needs.

PUBLIC, AS IN OUTSIDE THE HORSE FARM FENCE? I think to myself in a near panic. I've done this before obviously, but that was body painted up like a clown, on Halloween, at night. This is broad daylight…

My trainer laughs at my sudden shocked look. "No worries little pony, it's not technically indecent exposure if I cover up some strategic spots on your rather magnificent body first. Nips, areolas, and vaginal strip, with those covered I could run down main street and through the center of town at noon and the cops wouldn't say a word, especially to me, especially in this town. Those are clearly written public exposure laws, private is another thing entirely. I know the laws well, but in my line of work I have to. There are grey areas that we all exploit too, but that's more my problem than yours."

…I knew I had volunteered for this insanity for reasons of my own, but this meant that the witch actually had nothing legally on me, or Sam, as my nips and vg had been covered with paint on that fateful night. Did it matter that I was only covered with paint, was this an exploitable grey area too? I wondered.

Too late now, I concluded a second later…

A round flesh colored modesty patch was pressed over each nipple and areola, it's adhesive backing likely to be just a bit of a struggle to remove later, the entire thing reminding me of a large round band-aid. These were accessories that models and other fashionable ladies used when wearing sheer things and didn't want the shadow of their darker buds presenting through their garments, nor their erect nipples either. Something similar was used to cover my bald womanhood, a pre-cut triangle of sticky band-aid like material, the intimate skin on skin contact reminding again me of what I was living without, as he rubbed the adhesive tight.

My trainer couldn't help but to notice the condition of my girl parts being so intimately close to me down there. Both their moist hot condition, and their vegetable resized new gash-like look, a look that said to a knowing man, "I'll easily accommodate anything you shove in here now, perhaps too easily." I couldn't help either thrusting into his hand as he firmly applied the material to me down there, my hips doing this automatically on their own, it was after all a learned reflex action, copulation that is.

"It's always more fun to train up a happy and horny ponygirl" the man observes out loud. I didn't know myself if I actually was a happy ponygirl, but at that instant I certainly was a horny one!

I looked down at my body with these accessories in place to narcissistically "check myself out," I looking far more like a full sized barbie doll, or perhaps even an unclothed mannequin, rather than a bound nude woman wearing a harness and strange hoofed boots. It was all so surreal; but then suddenly much more real when I was led out the front door towards the waiting stock trailer, it already hooked to the trainer's old beat up pickup truck. I didn't resist his direction either, I just submissively went with it, wanting to get inside the trailer before somebody on the road saw me. I was led up the hollow sounding ramp with a familiar clip-clop sound into the back like any other animal, tethered in place, and once the ramp was slammed shut, on my way to a new beginning. These new boots had metal shoes too, like the other ones, but these were lighter, I could feel the difference the more I walked in them.

I could soon see out of the high small green tinted windows to watch the countryside go by at sixty miles per hour, and that meant that anybody could potentially see inside to this somewhat unique and naked horse inside. Would they believe their own eyes if they saw me in all my naked bound glory back here, would I if our positions were reversed? I asked myself.

It wasn't a long ride, the braking and acceleration even gentle enough so that I didn't get jostled about too badly while standing in the back of that trailer and tethered to a high bar. Soon the door was open again and I was out and being led to a fence rail, my reins tied off to it and trapping my naked self who-knows-where, out in broad daylight.

I wondered then how Sam was getting by with just her to entertain the vindictive teens all on her own, presumably on the hot walker, as that was the general direction that they had walked in. It didn't seem that they had the same level of antipathy for her that they did for me though, or maybe that was just my perception of what I had seen and heard with my own two eyes and ears. At some point it maybe isn't even fun any longer; tormenting a fellow woman who really didn't do anything to you first, other than having a friend that was buxom and horned up all the time. She hadn't stolen any boyfriends herself, she had in fact lost one being away and "busy" as much as she and I were now. He might have even thought she and I had a romantic thing of our own going on, but if that were the case, he couldn't have possibly been more wrong.

…I was the problem, it was obvious. I was the thing that needed to be made to go away, and with my help the teens were easily achieving that goal…

I watched my trainer wrestle the heavy sulky from the top of the stock trailer, I not even realizing that it was there when he had loaded me inside not one half hour earlier. We had all day before somebody would even begin to miss me back home, and a lot could happen in a day, especially a long summer one. I wasn't scared, just apprehensive, as in "what if I failed to live up to my trainer's expectations?" Would he beat my ass until I properly performed, or just be disappointed?

I actually feared one over the other, but not the one you'd expect.

While standing almost next to the road that my trainer had driven in on I was then affixed to what I would learn was a training sulky, this a heavier and more robust version of a racing one, for the obvious reasons. Still I wasn't going anywhere the sulky didn't follow, the poles, or staves, hardpoint attached to my new sleek ponygirl harness, my wrists still pinned to my hips though. This cart was wide enough for two humans to ride in, side by side, or even three if they were of the smaller variety and liked each other. My trainer was riding solo and in the center of the padded bench seat this time though, I feeling his weight on my hips as he mounted the two wheeled cart, but not uncomfortably so.

This was so different from the hot walker, and a much more practical use of my labors too, and I wondered why it took this long to be introduced to it. My trainer explained what the simple tugs and shakes of my reins meant, but I had ridden horses before, although I was no "horse farm girl" at heart. Even without those experiences I knew that if a horse could figure this out, I should be able to too, although it was unique being the "horse" and not the rider in this equation.

My first half a mile or so was terrible, the new boots, having the cart tethered to my hips, and my general desire to be away from the public road where I could be seen and recognized all contributing factors. My trainer was wrong about one thing though, my boobs were gyrating about like two kittens fighting in a pillowcase, despite the prominence of the cupped wide strap pushing up on them. My trainer stopped the sulky with a gentle tug on the reins and dismounted, telling me what I was doing wrong. Basically I bounce too much, I'm beating him up behind me, but beating myself up too. "Up and down wastes energy, forward motion is what we're after here" he reminds me, but in a less than threatening tone. He's not necessarily an evil taskmaster at this particular moment, but more of a coach, or at least his tone suggests this. The girls in comparison ARE evil, or at least they play at such quite convincingly.

And Tim's ex-wife, the one who really had it out for me at the party, that nasty bitch is on another plane entirely, and she's older, and should know better… but I digress!

Anyway, don't bounce, how hard can that be? But with these new boots giving me energy like mad it takes some getting used to, and by the time I start my first gentle downhill I'm getting better. Those feel like the cart wants to run over me, and I need a whole new group of muscles in my legs that my extended time on the hot walker didn't address. This is a perimeter path around some massive farm, but arriving as I did I don't know specifically which one, and the little nagging fear is that somebody will recognize me for who I am. I haven't even seen the trailer again yet either, so we'll need to complete the circuit at least once, or my trainer needs to turn me around at some point.

There is a battle going on in my mind, on one hand I want to know everything, and on the other I seek blissful ignorance, as in focus on not bouncing, and don't worry where we're going, nor who'll see. Runner's-high, or even ponygirl-high, I don't know which finally takes hold, but my legs and respiration are finally in perfect sync. I feel like I could do this all day long now, although with the level of exertion and temperature, dehydration will be a factor at some point. Again, not my problem, that one belongs to my trainer. I'm floating now, just like he promised, and I feel more alive running naked and harnessed like this than perhaps at any other time in my life. I was made to do this, to perform for others; my out of control casual slutty sex with strangers was only a slightly different version of this…

I eventually realize that we're running around the perimeter fence of the witch's grand holdings, the place many miles in circumference, the vegetable crops growing nicely, maturing and getting ever nearer harvest. I'm maturing too, it took this long, but I'm getting there, and offering myself and Sam up to the witch and her friends has helped.

We eventually come up on the hot walker, and nobody's there, and we jog at a brisk pace right on by, I wondering what happened to Sam, hoping it isn't something bad. I expected to see her there, getting her ass whipped as she ran to her more modest abilities, but the place is deserted. On we go though, the trainer not pausing for a second, as if he expected to see what we just did, or perhaps that what happened wasn't his problem. He was sweet to Sam earlier, giving her water first on the hot walker when she needed it, so this "I don't care" perception of mine is not based in reality.

I've easily been running for like two hours plus by the time I see my trainer's old pickup truck again, and the rather nice stock trailer that brought me here. He slows me to a fast walk as I see it on the horizon, and the sweat really starts to roll off of me, one of my contacts lost when the stinging sweat burns my eyes, I without a free hand to wipe it away. A headband next time would help, as would leaving my contacts out. I didn't really need to be able to recognize people at a distance anyway, only where to place my booted feet pretty much directly in front of me. I haven't specifically been told that there will be a "next time" yet, but I know instinctively that there will be one. After we stop moving I empty one whole water bottle when it's offered to me, and despite my utter exhaustion I feel like I have more to offer. It's a powerful feeling, to be used like this, but something you just have to experience to truly know.

I can't see a thing either, my eyes watering profusely with all the salt and sweat. My trainer sees this, and he carefully removes the one remaining contact lens I have, and then he flushes my face and eyes off with the cooling water of a second bottle. It's a leap of faith to have another put his fingers into your eyes with your hands bound at your hips, but so is getting stripped naked, harnessed up, and ran like an animal out where anybody could see.

Speaking of "anybody could see,'' I hear a small engine vehicle of some kind approaching from behind me, but only when it's almost upon us do I see the two nicely dressed girls in the front seat, making me the only one out here in the direct sun, in my skin. I feel especially naked and exposed like this, but my trainer acts like he expected these ladies, and I only hope this isn't somebody's parents. It's one thing to have this just between us girls, but in all reality our "audience" has been growing with every visit, to now include the boyfriends of some of the teen girls, and obviously my trainer. I therefore don't know why these girls' presence bothers me so much, perhaps it's their nice and bright in-style clothes that I can hardly see in my uncorrected vision, they of the kind that I simply can't afford. Or so this seems in my limited sight, their bright unfaded colors not seeing the washing machine all that much, maybe never. Nice clothes equal stature, and class, and even wealth in my mind, and I have none of those things presently. I'm a sweaty harnessed naked animal before these ladies in comparison.

"How'd she run?" I hear the driver ask, and judging from her size behind the wheel, and her rather direct question, and of course her voice too, I know this to be the witch. There's authority in her voice, but not demands, it's an odd nuanced balance to strike, word wise. It's little things like this that start to make me believe that I've underestimated this young woman, and that just because I am older and bigger than her, she still might have something on me, even intelligence wise. It's very humbling, I apparently having a lot more growing to do yet.

"Lots of stamina, very strong. I like working with natural runners, athletes, but this one also has some bad habits to unlearn too."

"Do you want her for the whole weekend?" I hear this passenger ask, but I can't believe the voice, I must be mistaken, She doesn't even own any clothes that look like that, I'd know if she did…

"I'll need her for like every weekend, right up through fall, if you girls are actually serious about rac…"

I see the witch's blurry index finger shoot to her lips, stopping my trainer's voice in mid-word.

"We are, I can assure you of that now; everybody's on board in my camp."

"Before we go any further, she needs a name, I believe I may have spoken to you on this very subject, on the likelihood?"

"You did. We're all torn between 'Big Tits' and 'Itchy Pussy,' for the rather obvious reasons."

"We'll go with Big Tits, Itchy Pussy sounds too much like a disease, and nobody bets on a disease," to which all three laughed. I might have even laughed too, except for my bit, and the fact that they were talking about me, as if I wasn't even there with them, or capable of understanding what they were saying. I wasn't entirely following them either, it was very demeaning, but there was more to come…

"Guess what Bit Tits, you and I are having a girls long weekend, at the summerhouse, or at least that's what I just texted them." Sam holding up my distinctive pink smartphone case, she obviously knowing my passcode. Something had changed between her and I along the way with this adventure, and I had a fear that I knew what it might be. I couldn't voice that fear for a host of reasons, the least of which was my rubber bit. She was sitting next to the witch now though, and dressed nicely in clothes that I knew for a fact that she didn't own herself, and that meant that they were borrowed clothes, and that Sam had some new wealthy friends. This and the fact that she wasn't naked and getting her little ass whipped raw, and run to exhaustion on the hot walker by the little opportunistic witch, should have been all the clues I needed!

"She's yours until Monday night, at least" I heard Sam then clarify for the other two, the text sent to my family telling them not to worry, the instant reply being "have fun."

"That will do for a start" I heard the man say, he unhitching me from my sulky and reloading me into the trailer for a destination unknown, all as the girls watched from the cool shade of the side-by-side utility vehicle; all as I cooked naked and harness bound before them in the hot sun for their amusement, sweating in a most undignified and unfeminine way.

"And your own training Samantha?" my trainer asked over his shoulder as he worked. I could tell those specific words were cryptically chosen, as understandable to those "in the know" and I suspected I wasn't one of those now.

"My new friends and I are going to work on that concurrently, while you train up Big Tits" here. She just loved saying that name out loud. I heard the animosity in her voice when she did it, I never realizing earlier the deep loathing she had for my natural endowments. She was flat chested in comparison to me, but on her small frame they looked perfect, like a model's, but how to say something like that without it sounding like you wanted to be just a bit better of a friend than you wanted to be… or perhaps thought she'd be receptive to?

Sam had me helplessly bound many, many times, and if she had wanted something like that from me - a little girl on girl oral for instance - as a playful condition of release even, I would have so done so. I had imagined the teen girls doing something similar to me in the barn, or even with me as a conditional perk due to their dominance over me. Sam at one time had even more control over me than that, one on one, and I would have done anything for her, anything at all, but did she even know this at the time?

Anyway, I soon find myself traveling like an animal in the stock trailer again, but away from my scant running clothes, and what I thought was my best friend, and even my phone and purse. Simply put, the linkage to my human self was in one direction, and I was going in the other, both metaphorically, and physically. I have a pretty good forced alibi for where I'll be - after all, back home Sam is trusted - so nobody's going to come looking for me, no matter where I end up. You don't, after all, search for what's not yet missing. I was also at the age - a legal adult by several years at that point - that I didn need parental permission to do anything, but a courtesy text that I wouldn't be home for a few days was always nice…

…In the blink of an eye it's late fall already, the leaves are off the trees, and the temperatures are cooling. I'm impervious to the temperature swings for the most part, but that's part of this "total immersion" training program I've been enrolled in since being given my new name, since my apparent betrayal by Sam. I could tell all the specific details of the last few months of training, and I will if asked, but this tale has a deadline, Halloween's approaching, so I'll pick it up here… Sufficient to say though that I've spent far more time in harness than in human clothes over the last few months, so much so that the times I'm actually humanly dressed I have to pretend at being a human woman for those around me, and not the ponygirl that I've obviously become. My skin almost everywhere is a deep golden brown now from my extended naked time in the sun, I've never had a tan like this before, never looked like this either, my physical conditioning just magnificent…

When I'm on my trainer's remote ranch I even have my own stall, it's quite nice, and he even treats me well there, if I behave and give everything I have to give while training. He can also be an evil taskmaster when he thinks I, or one of the other ponygirls, is holding something back from him. Yes, I'm not the only one at this special ranch, but those other ponygirls are being trained up specifically for an I.P.R.L. or International Ponygirl Racing League, sanctioned event, where I'm just being trained alongside them for pulling the witch and her friends in a wagon on Halloween night, for her party, for charity.

I set both myself and Sam up for this, to pay a proverbial penance for my slutty ways with the girl's boyfriends and older ladies' husbands. Somewhere in the back of my mind - my human mind that had to be chased around in my brain so that I could think humanly, and not my conditioned submissive ponygirl one - I found it most unreasonable that boys and men who did exactly what I had done were called "studs" and I a "slut" in comparison. Such deep thoughts were a bother to hold onto though, for more than a few seconds in a row anyway. Despite all I had been through, and all I would endure at the upcoming party, I was a rather happy ponygirl, so perhaps this was my true calling in life after all.

I wasn't entirely certain that those other unfortunate pony girls even knew that they were being trained up to have the snot run out of them at a sanctioned event, their level of awareness not entirely clear to me; and almost constantly either bitted or eating it would be hard to ask verbally. They to a pony had been here longer than I, but despite this I could easily pace them on the practice track when my trainer, or one of the hands, ran me with them, side by side, as if we were having a mock race.

The witch even came by to run me herself when she had the time, she sitting in the lightweight version racing sulky and really laying into me with her whip, and I running away from her like a frightened animal when she did; irrational really, as the cart and I were firmly attached to each other. Those were more logical human thoughts though, and I had to struggle to form them these days.

The witchs' teen body looked magnificent too, when I was close enough to see her clearly without my glasses, she in her jodhpurs and fitted colored silky racing top and cap. With her ever present whip in hand she was even the subject of several very wild dreams of mine, back in my stall all alone at night. I caught myself lusting for her, but really lusting for any attention of that kind, apparently racing stock being trained off limits until after the races. I wasn't to be raced obviously, but apparently the same rules applied. Locked on chastity belt devices were also used regularly, at least on me, but that's a story all on it's own; except to say that I personally discovered several new levels of sexual frustration that I thought impossible to endure in the flesh. I did endure them though, but what choice did I really have?

I had other jockeys too - or at least my mind kept drifting back to naming them that in my head - although I wasn't a true racing ponygirl like the others, so maybe "divers" as in cart-drivers was a better and more accurate word to use. I only ever really formed words in my mind now though, at least while I was in harness, and that seemed almost constantly these days, as "race day" approached.

One special "jockey" was a mystery woman, she was not as tiny as the other real jockeys, but she practiced running some of the other faster "real" racing pony girls, and even I as well. Her face and body were mostly covered though, and she never said a word, and this in addition to my missing glasses and contacts made knowing who this was a challenge; other than by her overall body shape and way of walking I was certain it was a woman. She was at least as rough with the reins and the whip as the witch was, maybe even more so, but I responded well to rough, it was hardly a secret on the ranch. Some pony girls apparently do, something to do with adrenaline release in the body - that fight or flight thing - but these were again human thoughts, and I struggled for those these days. Just as a smartphone isn't good for one's intellect and IQ, I realized belatedly that this place wasn't either, but it's not like I had a choice now.

Halloween morning finally comes, and I know that my ordeal, my self inflicted penance, is almost fully paid. Sam hasn't apparently paid her own, at least where I can see it, but perhaps she has somewhere else, and I just don't know exactly how? That's not my problem, but hers, I had offered her a clear conscience in serving alongside me - in my own twisted kinky way - but she apparently had taken another path.

This is prep day, and I half expect to be painted up again, not as a clown, but as a magnificent, well trained, and very muscular ponygirl this time. I'm stripped of my harness and washed with special foul smelling soap, and my hair is done with much nicer things and french braided by some ladies brought in for the task. I can't actually see any of this yet, without a mirror, and I can't exactly ask how it's going either. I've almost completely forgotten how to speak to a human, and I'm not encouraged to try either. Good pony girls, after all, don't need to talk at all, only listen and obey.

So far this feels pretty nice and pampering, despite the unique smell of the special soap, certainly nicer than when the grooms wash me down roughly after a run. But next I'm booted and walked into a booth I've never been in before, with lights everywhere, and my French braid is attached to an overhead pulley and rope contraption, and all the slack is then taken out of it. I'm up on my toes with the shape of the special springy boots anyway, and I'm just not going anywhere without pulling on my hair painfully. A mask that looks like something that a fireman would wear is then put over my face, it buckles behind my head and I am now breathing through two filters on the front of the thing.

They're not hurting me, but protecting me, but from what is still a mystery. I have been conditioned to follow my guides and trainers, and even my jockey's and grooms direction too, conditioned this way specifically, endlessly, for months now, and as a result I expect that they mean me no harm, and they don't. I am left standing there for just a few minutes, the door to the well lit booth closed and latched, trapping me inside. I'm not going anywhere though, I'm still naked, but I am unbound and unattended now, and had I a mind to escape and run away I could have theoretically untied my hair from the rope and made my escape, but to where exactly dressed as I was? And of course there was still a locked from the outside door to contend with.

My ears popped when the fans came on, there being a draft from left to right that I clearly felt on my cool naked and tan skin. Then the door opened again, and two people of unknown sex came in wearing white environmental suits, and identical masks as I, and I began to feel the first stages of panic. They wore thick rubber gloves and boots, but each was carrying tools that looked automotive, like body shop automotive. I relaxed then, just thinking that they were going to spray paint me with body paints, instead of painting me with brushes as Sam had done once in tormenting fashion, when she had turned me into her naked clown. This would be both better, and faster, so all was once again good in my mind. There was a casual and practiced way that these androgynous humanoid shapes moved, as if saying "relax, we do this all the time." Or perhaps more cynical, "is it lunchtime yet?"

The entirety of both of my now quite firm and deeply tanned breasts are taped off, as is the triangle of my bare sex area, this curious to me, but what choice do I have? One of the men - I assume it's a man based on his height and strength, although without my glasses this is a best guess - holds my right arm out from my body, forcibly pulling my fingers open and my hand flat. He could have perhaps "told" me to do this instead of making me do it physically, but who knows if I would have understood him through his mask, in combination with the noise of the moving air in the booth. There is also the possibility that the real racing pony girls, with their longer time at the ranch, and their subsequent conditioning, don't respond well to complex verbal human directions, they more used to very simple commands like "stop" and "get along now!" I feel this myself more times than not, and a part of me is glad this adventure is almost over for me, but I also feel for the other pony girls, empathy wise, and their lot in life. I wonder what landed them here, on this ranch, to be used as nothing but pretty human racing stock.

…I would just love to know the answers, but then again I really don't want to know at the same time, ignorance is bliss after all…

As the first man holds my hand the second person plugs an air line into a spray gun, and I think I know what is going to happen, but when my hand and fingers are sprayed the atomized liquid that comes out is clear, my hand covered, shiny, and sticky. A second device that looks like an unholy cross breeding between an industrial shop vacuum, and a second spray gun, is then used, this contraption having a storage tank, and I see something brown coming up the clear hose when the second smaller person pulls the trigger with a whoosh sound. I still expect paint of some kind, but I had that in my mind from way back at the last party, this my own personal paradigm for what I expect.

Not so! I both see and feel the groomed horsehair hit and stick to the back of my hand at near enough the same instant; in a second my hand is covered in thick hair standing slightly on end but directionally like a real horse's. The man lets go of my hand just a few seconds later, and my reflex reaction is to try to fling this foreign substance off of me.

It doesn't work, the clear substance is clearly some kind of fast set industrial glue - perhaps something formulated to work especially well with cut horsehair - and my hand is left looking very animal-like and furry as a result. I always wondered what they did when they groomed the horses, with the long clippings I mean, and now I know. The brown color is even a close match for my very tan skin, the attention to detail here just astounding.

The procedure is repeated on my left as I'm still trying to come to terms with what just happened. My ponygirl conditioned brain can't process this fast enough though, and this team of painters, or whatever they are, are far too efficient. Why horsehair? Why my hands first? Why all this bother for a single darkened night of pulling a wagon full of the witches' friends for a charity event when paint would do just fine, or even just my skin like in the video? And lastly, how does one get this stuff back off again?

At least one question gets answered rather directly, thick leather cuffs with a handhold bar are then buckled on my newly hair covered wrists, they then attached to a lifting bar and my arms hoisted high. I'm still standing in my unique fitted boots, but just, I'm up on my toes in them and supported by my very strong calf muscles, but really quite helpless. One of the two, the more man sized one, takes something out of a very clean looking Tupperware type container, and I recognize this teardrop shaped thing as a plug for one's rump, when I can finally see it up close. I know what they are, but I don't ordinarily like things inside of me back there. The witch and her cousin did their evil best to break me of that aversion at her last party though, exactly one year ago to the day. I can not only tell where that thing is going, but with what was once done to me, and the duration of that "experience" that it's not nearly big enough to stay put on it's own.

This will at least keep glue and hair from closing me off back there, this again just another clue - if I had been able, back then, to think more clearly for more than a few seconds in a row - that this was no "short term" investment in both time, and money. What did boarding and training me at this very special ranch, with all these salaries to be paid out, for the entire summer and into the fall, actually cost?

Anyway, with my arms pulled up and out and up on my toes I'm "presenting" and I can offer limited resistance to the plug, and the order of things starts to make more sense. The plug slips in easily, anticlimactically and without any real resistance, but it was small, and well lubed. I wish I could have seen the man's face when he realized this, but to toy with him in the limited way that I could the second he turned away I pushed it out carefully, it hitting the floor with a thud loud enough to hear over the ambient noise in the booth.

His head snaps around almost comically, but not to be deterred he simply goes into the Tupperware and pulls out a much larger plug. This one fits with just a bit more effort, his suited coworker grabbing my left boot and hoisting it high in the air first to aid his efforts. I grunt just a little as this one slides home, it not coming out all that easily on it's own with the exaggerated spade-like shape of the thing either.

I am then sprayed from my neck to the toes of my boots with blinding speed, both with the special glue, and the cut horsehair right after, it laying on my skin mostly on end, at least in the places that I can see. There is no mirror to see myself in, but I imagine that I look like a furry large primate, rather than a ponygirl, maybe even a malnourished female sasquatch, the thought strangely amusing to me. This stuff is warm too, just in time for the cooler fall night time temperatures. I am quite literally hung up to dry like a just-washed sundress on a clothes line, the painting duo leaving me hanging in the booth as they likely cleaned up their rather unique tools someplace else.

A groom comes in to get me maybe fifteen minutes later, but before he releases me from my bonds he first blows any loose horsehair from my entire body with an air hose. Not too much comes off though. He then removes the mask I'm still wearing and breathing through, puts my bridle and bit on and in, and releases me. As I'm walked out of the booth I see the other pony girls lined up to go next, this curious to me as the videos that we girls had seen had nude pony girls running in competition, not ones looking like I now do; or they presumably will next.

I was brushed out with a for-real horse brush, removing any loose hair that the air hose had missed, but also paying special attention to the direction of my coat, making my boots seamlessly disappear into my very muscular legs. It was hard to tell where the one started, and the other ended. It was my fur now, my personal animal-like coat, there was simply no other way to look at this. Anyway, the tape is then removed from my boobs, but as bare flesh they stand out prominently on my now furry body. They and my actual face the only visible parts of me not covered in my new horsehair coat, or my own natural sun lightened, French braided blonde mop.

The covering over my womanhood was as furry as the rest of me now is; gone from sight are my tan and waxed bald pubes, leaving that part of me at least looking androgynous and sexless. My groom bumps my legs apart and then partially removes this and makes a small slit down it lengthwise in the atomically correct spot, he then placing it back on me once again, rubbing it hard to reset the special adhesive on it. I thrust my furry sex onto his firm hand in reflex, I just can't help myself, and he chuckles knowingly when I do. I assume this slit is so I can relieve myself while wearing it; squatting and doing so just about anywhere I had the need something I've had to get used to being a ponygirl, so this is a logical modification. I didn't like doing this if front of humans at first, but with little choice I grew accustomed to doing so these days.

My headgear is attached to an overhead line and hoisted up on slightly, not painfully, as this is a familiar wash down position that the grooms use all the time to keep us pony girls where they want us, and cooperative. My sulky pulling harness is then buckled on, and with my wrists tethered to it I'm fairly helpless once again, but again this is familiar, and dare I say comforting.

With my genitalia hidden like this I suspect this new coat of mine and the harness will be the only "garments" I am to wear for the party, the words of my head trainer - what felt like a lifetime ago - telling me that with certain strategic areas of my body covered, that he could "run me down main street," or some such thing like that. As if my groom can hear my very thoughts he alcohol wipes and then ices down my right nipple, making it both erect, and numb. He then produces a shiny silver cap-looking thing with a protrusion in it's center from a tray, the outside edge diameter of it large enough to cover the entirety of my areola, it no mystery where this is going. He pushes it onto my erect nipple and it's like freezer-cold, keeping my nipple hard and erect under it's slight delicate mass. It hangs there on my nipple all on it's own, but it won't stay there without something else to hold it for more than a few seconds, and certainly not when I ran.

My groom then notices that I can still see what he is doing with my straining right eye, watching his actions intently as it's my nipple that he's messing with, and this is as well not the ordinary every other day at the ranch procedure.

"Naughty Big Tits, you were peeking on me, weren't you?" my groom asks rhetorically. He doesn't expect a verbal answer though, and if I had given one I could then expect to be punished for doing so. It's an odd thing for a ponygirl to get used to, being talked at, or to, but not answering in kind… humanly. The rubber bit reminds me not to do this, but several times I forgot, with disastrous and sometimes stinging results…

Anyway, my groom has caught me watching, basically being curious, and as a result he simply folds my blinders mostly over my eyes, and I just plain can't see what's happening now. I hear a second groom walk up then, maybe just to see what's going on, as this is not standard business as usual stuff here on the ranch, at least for me so far. Or, perhaps this isn't a groom at all, but just somebody small and wearing riding boots, somebody who is allowed and encouraged to be curious. I can't actually see who it is though, so this is again a best guess.

I then feel my groom's calloused left hand holding my right boob firmly, and the sliver nipple cover on at the same time with two of his meaty fingers. His right hand is doing something as well, the "snip" sound of something mechanical a few seconds later "tugging" on my very cold right nipple still surprising me though.

It took maybe a full second for the actual pain to reach my distracted brain, but I bore down on my bit and squealed as loud as I could when it did. I lost my balance and "danced" in my boots for a few seconds trying to gain a foothold once again, and when I eventually did, with his help, my groom said sarcastically "see, that wasn't so bad." I heard the second person there suck in through her teeth when my groom did his thing, I knowing from that sound alone that this was a woman standing in front and watching, and also that whatever just happened to my poor ponygirl boob, she was especially glad it hadn't just happened to her human one.

The left was far worse as I knew what was coming, but with that done I was lowered slightly to reduce the strain on my neck, apparently the worst of what was to happen already over; or so I had hoped. With my blinders folded back I saw this mystery woman now, she the vindictive and non-forgiving thirty fiveish year old former wife of sweet Tim. How could such a nice man marry such a monster? I caught myself wondering a few seconds later, perhaps he coming to the same conclusion eventually himself though.

In my boots I tower over her, and she has to look up at me to gloat and smile, but then she does something curious that takes me aback, she shakes her head slightly, and her silky long hair dances on her shoulders provocatively, just the way men like it. I've done this myself more times than I can count, reflexively, so the move is a known one to me. I also hear a delicate ringing sound reminding me of Christmas bells associated with this movement of hers though.

She pulls her long hair from her right ear almost as if she's straining to hear something, but she is really showing me a beautiful silver bell shaped earing, the obvious source of the unique noise. It looks expensive, and maybe even hand made by a serious craftsman. I look at her perplexed, and she sees this, her smile suddenly even more evil, although her next words are well out of sync with that look.

"A first Christmas gift from my Timothy" she explains sweetly, as if this makes any sense, as if she's talking to a friend and showing off this fine expensive gift of hers, given to her by her husband, now ex-husband.

"I wanted you to have them, but I was concerned that you might lose them one day, but I think we have that all worked out now. I also wanted you to be able to look at them every day, to remind you of him, and I… No, that's not right at all, I wanted you to HAVE to look at them EVERY day, to FEEL them, to HEAR them every time you moved, and now you will!" Her words and facial expression finally in sync with each other, in other words; fanatical and slightly nuts.

I'm mesmerized by her words and actions, the angry irrational passion, so much so that I haven't even looked at my poor boobs yet. I watch her remove the delicate bell from her right earlobe, presenting it to my groom. He takes it and I follow the motion now to my right boob, and there I see a stud going crosswise through the tip of the silver cap overtop my areola, the stud obviously going straight through my poor nipple and locking the thing in place. That explains why it hurt so bad a minute before, but girls get those pierced all the time, so there is a precedent for this, although I never wanted mine done…

The groom struggles to remove the delicate hanger that is intended to hold the earing into one's lobe, and being just a bit slow on the uptake I wonder why. His thick fingers are ill suited to the task, and the evil one has to eventually help, but I don't see this as a hardship for her, although she is obviously anxious to see these earrings on me, and off of her.

A special pair of pliers, a small sterilized titanium self locking ring, and one warning form my groom not to move or flinch, and that shiny bell somewhat permanently found itself hanging from my right nipple. My left was next with her other bell, and I could only look down in horror at what had been done to me. As if this wasn't enough, the evil one even swatted my firm boobs back and forth a few times, not only to hear the bells ring, but likely to see if they were as firmly affixed to my boobs as she had wanted.

Apparently satisfied, she pulled a large wad of cash out of her back pocket, handing it to my groom. "Thank you for indulging me in this; let's keep this between us for the time being though" she admonishes.

How could I ever wear a bra again like this, or even a shirt? Maybe a nursing bra, with the openable type nipple area? I then thought, searching for normal in this sea of anything but…

I had bigger issues than what kind of clothes I might one day wear again though…

It's noon by then maybe, or even just a bit earlier, but I only know this from the angle of the Autumn sun where it comes into the windows. I really don't have a firm grasp of time at the ranch, most especially the passing days of the week, other than that I know it's Halloween day, and my ordeal is almost over. My new jewelry makes me question this though, why now? I ask myself.

The evil one roughly loads me into a stock trailer herself, and I'm just a bit frightened of her, of her Jekyll and Hyde psychotic mood swings. I think she might be half crazy, but the thought makes me laugh inside, the real crazy one has bells permanently attached to her boobs and is head to toe wearing fur, and looking very much like a trained animal. I can't see exactly where we're going, but I don't think it's toward the witch's party, although I'm not certain without clear corrected vision.

When we get where we're going it's obvious that it's busy, and all kinds of things are happening, it sounds like a party though, so maybe this is the right place after all? Stop and start traffic has me bumping about in the trailer, but I also hear several people directing traffic with whistles, like a traffic cop might. The evil one is driving quite well through all this though, and I wonder if she is driving the pickup truck herself, or of she has enlisted the services of one of the grooms, or even my trainer… who I haven't seen all that much of lately. I only heard one truck door slam after I had been loaded, but the driver could have been inside and waiting. There are for-real racing ponygirls to occupy the trainer's time too though, and I suspected race day is any day now, the place abuzz with tension.

The trailer is eventually backed in and parked, and I see several taller men peeking inside it to see the "animal" within. I hear somebody helping the evil one with what I presume is the racing sulky, but the thing is very light and easy to move, it designed this way intentionally. Anyway, I am about to be led out of the trailer by my harness, but first the evil one holds up something that can only be a tail, and she shows this to me, it's fur matching my own. She holds this near my rump plug, and I both feel, and hear the snap sound as the two powerful magnets come together, the second purpose of the plug in my rump now more obvious, as is the powerful magnet imbedded inside it. The compliment to that one is obviously on my new tail, the two attached now, but still allowed to pivot and move from side to side.

Every step I take now not only making the little bells ring, but my tail swish through the air behind me now, as she's not being exactly gentle with me. The second I step into the sun I freeze though, overwhelmed with the scene before me…

There are trailers, trucks, and even cars everywhere, a marching band getting ready and testing their instruments, and all sorts of other people milling about, both in outlandish professional costumes, and out. I'm in the expansive parking lot of Piedmont high school, the ornate marble floor school complete with indoor Olympic sized swimming pool, the same one that the witch and her clique attend. I've come here once or twice before, for away school functions of my own, back when I was in high school. The place was intimidating as a student of a smaller and more humble high school though, very ritzy, with a massive chandelier in the entryway the size of the trailer I just stepped out of. They always led us under that, took us in that way specifically to show both it and the marble floors off, when a shorter route to the athletic areas would have been more logical.

…In other words, these were easy people to loathe at some level, with their superior "horse farm" attitude, but they had little - and even not so little - reminders of their superiority everywhere in this town, it was a town wide arrogance to me, but in a way, who could blame them? Perhaps that's why I snagged some of the boys and men from this particular town, to show them what they were missing.

This is the start of a parade, and not just any parade, but the insanely opulent Premont Halloween parade, by ticketed invitation only. I've heard of it, but never seen it. It's a snooty affair, and I'm about to see it from a vantage point that I never expected.

People are looking at my furry self, staring, trying to decide if I'm a woman in an elaborate costume myself, semi-nakedly displayed, or some kind of new species of animal suitable for pulling a wagon. The practicing marching band notice me themselves once the evil one has me hitched to the sulky, this is easy to tell even with my poor uncorrected eyesight, because all the instruments stopped making their horrible practice notes at near the same time, and I saw the glint of their more shiny surfaces turn in my general direction.

Mortified doesn't even come close to what I'm feeling, and this is only the very early stages of the parade, the part before we all march down mainstreet together, with thousands of cheering, and likely "leering" men and women, all watching the spectacle of my passage. My best hope is that I'm mistaken for a real animal, a bipedal ponygirl from some forign land maybe, or perhaps even an anonymous costume wearing human with my head harness in place. If not, this will be an especially delicious helping of retribution for several ladies…

Whoever is directing the band waves the evil one over, his band is distracted, and he likely wishes for that to stop so he can do his thing. I would expect that he or she would want me someplace else to end the distraction, but not so! Instead of walking over herself though, on her own two feet, she mounts up and snaps the reins, and with no choice due to my extensive training, I trot in the direction she steers. The bells make their unique ringing sound, drawing even more attention to me, not that this was specifically necessary though.

"I want to hear those bells with every single step Big Tits, or I'll have a really good excuse to beat the fuck out of you! Remember that." she calls forward to me threateningly.

Bearing in mind my training, and the fact that this monster riding in my sulky is looking for any excuse to beat me raw, I exaggerate my steps as I approach the slack jawed staring band, my firm breasts responding, as do the attached bells. They still move and gyrate unrestrained as they constantly now are, but not nearly as much as they once did. The trainer was right in this too apparently.

"What is it?" the bandleader asks, when I'm standing but a few feet before him.

"We call it Big Tits, we use them to pull wagons, and we even race the faster ones. The season opening races are tomorrow, November first, at the Downs, there is even betting, and odds, and a well dressed gentry sipping mint juleps. It's really something you just have to see for yourself, or so I'm told as this will be my first year myself."

"Are you racing this one?" his tone hopeful, as in he'd go to see that himself; if I was there, which I won't be.

"I can't say" the evil one answers cryptically.

Why not just tell him the truth, tell him that other pony girls will be there to race for him? I wonder.

"Can you do me a favor? Could you walk it around the band once, so they can all have a look at it, and then I can get them back on task?"

The band members had pretty much crowded around to see what was going on anyway, but who could blame them, back in school I didn't know something like me even existed, and here they were seeing one in the fur, close enough to touch even.

"Why don't you tell them to get back to it, back in line, and you and I will drive it around the entire band, together?"

"Can I drive?"


I had pulled three small jockys in a sulky more than once back at the ranch, ferrying them here or there, but this man was big and fat, and I felt his weight on my hips when he got into the two wheeled cart. I pulled both him, and the evil one around the band easily enough though, through the thick grass, he rather more gentle with the reins than my other drivers though.

"Thank you. I must say that is a good looking animal" the man says as he examines me closely after dismounting, but his band has done much the same. I was displayed and shown to all of them, some of the bolder ones stroking my fur, and my bare and tan boobs, but gently.

"I probably shouldn't inquire as to where one gets a good looking animal like that, should I?"

"No, probably not" the evil one answers with a smile from behind me. I couldn't see this smile hitched as I was, but I could definately hear it in her voice. She's been waiting a whole year for this, or at least as long as it took the witch to tell her of the crazy offer I had made to her at her hot walker. In a way I had asked for this, so suck it up and stop complaining I thought in my mind.

We eventually queue up and march, and there is simply no feeling on earth like being harnessed and pulling a sulky just as naked as you can get away with in public for thousands of cheering spectators. Some were slack-jawed, surprised, horrified even, but many more weren't. And not just the men either, many of the women watched and cheered too.

At about the halfway point of the parade route one of the parade directors stopped the evil one and let the costume wearing others in front of us get ahead, they proceeded by the firetrucks and police cars, lights flashing on all. I heard the man confer with the evil one, and I suspected that they were pulling us from the route, but I couldn't hear what was whispered between them. I was perplexed, if we weren't supposed to be here, or had offended somebody important, why wait until now?

With a huge gap opened up between us and the rest of the parade, my question was answered in a single heartbeat, the evil one snapping my reins hard, cracking the leather straps on my fur covered shoulders and jerking my head violently, her sharp comand to "GET ALONG!" an urgent one, echoing off of the buildings. The sharp crack of her buggy whip followed, my new fur muting the sting slightly, but the sound was just extraordinary. The watching crowd cheered; either for my rough treatment, or the lightning fast speed that I came up to a full sprint with the sulky and evil one in tow, she cracking her whip all over me for further motivation. She was showing off, showing off my abilities too, my conditioning… and the parade people were part and parcel to all of it.

We were on the other marchers in front of us in seconds, she slowing me to a cooling walk down and issuing a rare compliment, "Well Done!" my ponygirl heart soaring, my new bells moving so fast that they couldn't be heard. I was made for this, I knew it, and I suspect that the evil one behind me did now too, I heard it in her tone, but what to do with this knowledge?

At the end of the parade route we just simply kept going, out of town on the side of the extra wide road at a comfortable trot, a speed I could keep for hours if I had to. We were passed by at least a hundred cars and pickup trucks, all slowing as they drove by, either out of respect, or perhaps to get an extra good look at this strange female beast I had been transformed into; if they somehow missed me in the parade.

I had ironically ridden my bicycle on these very same roads when I was looking for a man to borrow, Tim had even picked me up from around here someplace, but I wasn't exactly going to point that out either. Gone was the hostility from my driver, at least for now, but I didn't think we were friends just yet either. I was more of an animal to her, a useful one bearing in mind how far from town and the distance to the witch's holdings though, and only a fool would beat their camel to death in the middle of the dessert anyway.

She was noticeably more gentle with my controls, letting me get into my ponygirl "zone" with the miles ticking by, and the whip even stayed in it's holder, always a good sign for a ponygirl. Sometimes just the sound of that thing coming out of it's holder is all it took to reinvigorate me during a training run, although I did respond well to it's actual stinging use too.

I was to find out later that the parade wasn't something approved by the witch, nor were my bells, but what was done was done, and it couldn't be easily undone. I was driven all the way to the party like any other vehicle on the road, down the long driveway, my entrance rather grand by the time we eventually got there. There had to be a hundred people there, caters, a band, and Sam was even there as well. This was no costume party this time though, Sam looking like a carbon copy of the other girls style, like a runway model to be honest, she obviously having some new friends to go along with her new clothes. I saw them interacting like the friends they now were as I was walked very close by, she not even coming over to me to say hello though.

I was allowed to rest, drink, and was even feed, all done by a groom that I recognized, the same one who had done my boobs a few hours prior. He looked at them, apparently satisfied with their condition, but was I? Then the charity rides started, Sam, my very best friend since childhood apparently my first driver. She looked stunning in her pretty dress and heels, makeup, hair, and nails also picture perfect, most certainly in contrast to my now furry, naked, and harnessed self. The contrast between us was almost painful as a result. She greeted me not with kind words though, she instead grabbing my face roughly by way of my bit and harness, with both of her tiny and well manicured hands, and she looked up into my eyes coldly while searching for something, making me look down at her as I was at least a foot taller than she in my special running boots, despite her heels. Was I nothing but an animal to her now, and not even a cherished pet either; her look all but screamed this.

Her rough face grab made my boobs shake just a bit, but it was enough to make my new bells ring, and the sound redirected her attention from my eyes to my new gifted and somewhat permanently locked-on jewelry. She swatted one bell straight up, and then the other, smacking them and letting them drop several times, and wrenching on my still sore nipples in the process as the others in line for their own ride watched and laughed. She made a little half chuckle herself after her torment, after the ringing had stopped, the sound she made almost like clearing your throat maybe. This is the only noise I had heard her make so far, no soft and friendly private words of greeting at all for her very best friend, after so much time apart.

Sam didn't say a single word of command either, no "get along now" like I had come to expect, but in my mind she wasn't a trained jockey like the others, so the actual verbal commands might be unknown to her. She just mounted up and gently shook my reins and walked me about the holdings, her skill at handling a ponygirl soon evident, and well in excess of her apparent experience, at least the experience that I knew her to have. She didn't say a word once we were away from everybody either, not "how are you?" not "haven't seen you pretty much all summer," nothing at all. This reminded me of another driver I had at the ranch, that one didn't say a word either, and Sam's and this other mystery jockey's general build were even the same with how well toned Sam had become, presumably from our workouts together.

That woman was a for-real ponygirl trained racing jockey though, and those specific skills were only in demand for a single purpose; racing ponygirls at an IPRL sanctioned event!

I crunched that over in my mind, but focusing on logical human thoughts has gotten almost impossible these days, although in Sam's presence little bits of my suppressed humanity start coming back to me. Anyway, it's dark out here on the back side of the witch's grand holdings, and as a result we're very alone, Sam and I. I still can't see all that well without my glasses either; the band is just distant noise by that point, and I'm not surprised when Sam finally speaks…

"Figure it out yet Einstein?" she asks sarcastically from over my shoulder, the venom in her voice obvious. I'm bitted… and forming actual words with my mouth is something I've been discouraged from doing anyway, so this ends up being a very "one sided" conversation, and her snarky question rhetorical as a result.

"You had me fooled for a while there, I'll admit that, but when Jessica and our other friends saw that I wasn't having any fun with all this ponygirl nonsense, with the torture on her hotwalker, she came clean with me. Our trainer saw this too by the way, pretty much everybody did. So, to say I was furious when I discovered your treachery would be an understatement! YOU SAID YOU FORGAVE ME! YOU LIED TO ME!"

"…Well anyway" Sam tells me, after getting control of herself for a few seconds, "Jessica and her friends felt really bad about what they had subjected me to, as I hadn't done anything to any of them to deserve this, and I most certainly didn't ask for this either. You on the other hand did, and you do actually deserve this, and in a strange and kinky way, I think you even may like it. And, while we're on the subject of the kinky shit in your head, I don't believe for a second that you didn't want a piece of my former boyfriend while you and he were skinny-dipping together. It's simply the pattern you've established for the last few years."

"Not anymore though, that pattern is broken; husbands and boyfriends are all safe once again, and have been ever since we stuck you on that ranch, so don't expect that to end any time soon. Remind me sometime to tell you all about the awesome year you've had so far, I text your family all the time with your phone, and they always think it's you, pictures of the beach, and Mexico. And everywhere I've gone; you've come along too, in spirit anyway. They even send us spending money, how awesome is that?"

I just start to hear the band again, and the laughter of partying people, so I know this "discussion" of ours will eventually have to end…

"You look good with a tail by the way, and the horsehair too. But, let me guess, 'Boo Hoo, Kathy had my boobs pierced and hung bells from them, and then entered me in a parade.' Well I have news for you Big Tits, get used to doing things you might not want to, like having a tail, or fur, or running like your life depended on it. Life is also full of choices too, as in you have a choice to make right now, and the only reason I drove you first was to see what we needed to do next with you, as in after tonight; and of course if you actually had any human comprehension left inside there."

"The first part of tonight will be easy for you either way though, you're going to give some rides, slow ones, for charity. Tomorrow is a different matter, it's November first, and the opening day for the IPRL, the season's schedule is already set, and you're the fastest ponygirl currently at the ranch by a fair margin, whether you actually know this or not. Jessica is a few pounds lighter than I am despite my best efforts, but I can actually make you run faster, at least according to my phone's GPS. I guess that's because I have a bigger ax to grind with you than she does, so I can be more ruthless with the whip when I have to be. Yes, I've run you several times myself, in disguise of course, in case you don't realize yet that that was actually me."

"Both Jessica and I have gotten our full racing jockey's licenses using some of the other slower pony girls; we had to actually run them on a track together in front of the IPRL officials to make sure we knew how to handle them, make sure we weren't too timid with them. Can you imagine that? Too timid, really? Anyway, I want to bet on you to win, by proxy, as jockey's aren't allowed to wager on their own mounts. Jessica can place the bets though, or I for her even, but before we work out who's actually running you in the races, we have to get you there. I have all your spending money saved up from the last few months, and I'll wager that as well, and between us we'll be rich, or potentially rich, depending on the competition, and the odds of course. And on how ruthless either one of us can be in motivating you around the track, but I think we can easily do our part. You're fresh meat after all, a newbie, so the odds will be very good at first, at least according to the trainer."

"Helllllooooooo! Do you understand any of what I'm saying at all? Just nod your head if you do. If I actually hear you say a single word out loud I'll make you wish you hadn't by the way. That part of your training isn't negatable, harnessed pony girls never say a word, PERIOD!"

I nodded my head emphatically, almost surprised myself that I was keeping up with this lengthy, but one sided "conversation."

"So one direction you can go after tonight is into racing in a big way, hopefully winning big for all of us. The other is just a bit darker, but with those gaping holes of yours something right up your alley, as I'm sure you'd like to get back in the sack with somebody, anybody, just to scratch that itch. Scratch that 'itchy pussy' of yours you could even say. See, I have a sense of humor too."

"No human man will even feel the insides of you now though, he'll just flop around inside of there, front or back, like a little boy trying to wear a man's winter boot. Maybe in a year or three, if you remain celibate, it'll be different, but you're not doing that on your own, I guarantee it, I know you! So this second dark choice is quite entertaining for some of the partygoers specifically, as a final event, and you're even dressed for it, but it's rather rough and nasty for the ponygirl, for you, and I won't be staying to watch that myself, if it actually comes to that."

"So do you want to hear the specific details of that other choice, my little potential 'broodmare?'"

I shook my head no in animated fashion so violently that my bells started to ring. I'd had dreams that went like this during my long and celibate nights in my stall - Sam's little hints not so subtle at all - and they weren't good ones either, despite my extreme levels of sexual frustration.

Sam stopped me right there on the path, the party clearly heard and much closer now, as were the lights, she dismounting and waking to where we could see each other. She was actually backlit by the bright party lights, and she looked slightly evil like this. The message was clear though, her new friends were behind her, both literally, and metaphorically, and I was all on my own here.

"I took the liberty of downloading a racing-stock standard contract of ownership onto your smartphone" Sam showing me my phone, and the large place where I was to electronically sign it with my finger, to presumably make it all legal. I had started this day thinking my ordeal would finally be over by midnight on this Halloween, and this new reality hit me like a slap to the face.

I just looked down at her, I didn't know the terms, duration, racing schedule, none of it. I couldn't exactly read it first either, the lengthy small print electronic document, but what choice did I have? Sam held the glowing screen close to my cuffed right hand, within reach of my furry index finger, but I hesitated, and she noticed.

"Did you, or did you not ask me to take charge of you? Did you or did you not ask me to dump you off naked someplace, so you could explore your kink? How many times had you asked to be dominated, stripped, tied up, and left someplace while we were growing up? And even after your betrayal, after lying to me, I've, that is we've, still managed to give this 'experience' to you, and you don't have even one ounce of gratitude?"

"Simply incredible! You're going to make real money for like the first time in your pathetic life, lots of it potentially, with Jessica's and Kathy's generous investment in your training. They deserve an ROI on this too, don't they, other than keeping you away from the local male population for the last several months? It's not like those gaping holes of yours have much to offer them anyway, think about it for a few seconds, if you still can think?"

All of it was true, and I felt my finger signing the illuminated screen of my smartphone before I realized it, the same phone that I hadn't held in my own hands in months. Sam's smile was evil though, believing her words promising that she had done all this "for" me, and not "to" me. I had a piece of the first part to be sure, but not any more, I was now contractually owned, and I didn't even know for how long either.

Sam then scrolled my phone's screen up from the signature page, showing me an ornate scripted "JK&S" inside of a circle, she telling me that all owned racing stock must be branded, or tattooed with their owners registered mark, and I would be so marked with my new brand before midnight. I was walked the rest of the way to the noisy party, the other two women in this little conspiracy, the ones who had apparently financed it, waiting for the third, Sam.

"Well?" the witch, Jessica, asks, the evil one, Kathy, standing right next to her, both with expectant looks on their pretty faces. The three pretty well dressed women, one still a teen even, had just successfully enslaved a fellow woman for less than human servitude, and to look at them you wouldn't think it possible. I had been foolish with Sam's loyalty though, and doubly so in trusting the witch at all after our first experience together, so some of this was on me too.

And someplace in the very back of my mind a little voice was whispering "You are so going to love this, you kinky little ponygirl!"

"Well partners, happy Halloween, we're officially in the racing business," Sam announces joyfully with a genuine smile, "but we better let whoever's next in line take this thing for a ride, tomorrow's going to come real fast…"


You can also leave your thoughts, comments about this story or your blood & bones on the Plaza Forum