Why? by Sogo

Why did you kidnap me and turn me into your sex fantasy? What was it that made you target me? Was it my long blonde hair and blue eyes? My wholesome good looks? My perky breasts? My lean dancer's legs? Why me and not one of the thousands of other similar girls out on their own trying to make it in Hollywood? Was I somehow special, or was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

How much planning did you do before you abducted me without a trace and brought me to your isolated farm? Did you own the farm for years, or did you buy it knowing that it would fit perfectly into your devious plan? How long had you owned the pony tack before you used it on me? And had you already bought the pony boots and sports bras knowing you would kidnap someone of my size, or did you just get lucky?

I obviously must be your fantasy come to life, as you take loving care in feeding me, washing me, and tending to my personal needs. Evidently you are retired, as you can spend all day training me, and doting on me, and making me work. I can see by your face that, even after several months, you still have not tired of doing these things.

I appreciate the fact that you feed me well, and treat me with kindness, and that you haven't sexually assaulted or abused me in any way; even the fact that you have me wear sports bras so my breasts don't suffer damage, and put sunscreen on me so my skin stays young and smooth. It's just that I'm a grown woman, an intelligent woman, and I resent being trained and used like an animal. I don't like to be whipped every time I make some little mistake, and I get frustrated when my freedom is defined by wooden fences, a tiny stall, and short leather reins.

As a woman, I also like my privacy. Privacy to take care of my own personal hygiene, privacy to masturbate, privacy to be ME. I would like to own more than just several bras, all the same brand and color, and shoes, not these painful iron-shod things that contort my feet unnaturally. In fact, I want all my things back, if possible-- my clothes, my computer, my ID, my cell phone, my stuffed animals. I would like to experience more of the world than just the few small acres and the wooded trail where I am trained and tested. I would like to achieve my potential as a dancer and an actress, beyond the various prancing gaits and the limited sounds and body language of horses that I've been forced to adopt as second nature. I would like to talk and sing freely, without fear of a canine shock collar zapping me into stunned and frustrated silence every time I so much as clear my throat. I would like to wear clothes, actual CLOTHES, rather than being naked in my leather prison of harness and bridle. Perhaps some nylons and panties, for starters.

If not, could you at least find other activities for me to do? I am bored stiff of the training carousel and the obstacle course, and the endless drilling of dressage maneuvers that leaves my feet throbbing with pain. I like going out on the trail, but pulling you for several miles over the rough path leaves me with unbearable back and leg pain.

Even though I am only nineteen, I cannot endure this much longer. I will agree to any conditions you ask if you will just let me go. My feet and body will recover, the hair on the shaven parts of my head will grow back, and the emotional scars will heal. The scar on my ass from branding can be covered up with a tattoo. I just want to get on with my life, my career. I want to feel what it's like to have friends and a job and a boyfriend again. I want to be able to dress and feed myself the way I want to.

And what if something should suddenly happen to you? Who would take care of me if you are dead or laid up in the hospital? Would anyone even know I was here? Or would you just let me starve to death instead of revealing my presence to outsiders? I would be unable to even fend for myself. If you really cared for me, you wouldn't let something like that happen to me.

Please, if you would just let me talk, maybe we could work things out. Why won't you turn around and listen to me? Why are you just treating me like another dumb animal and ignoring me? Why do you just calmly go about cleaning out the other--

Ohmygod. Please don't tell me you're preparing to abduct more young women. Please don't tell me that I was the first, and that you now feel confident to treat more girls as your farmyard pony slaves.

Please . . .

THE END

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04.07.17