CAUTION: This is the third tale in this series, and is nothing like the usual stories I write about fun, consensual sex among men and woman. This is a tale of abuse and enslavement of a beautiful young woman and, if you are discomfited by such things, you should probably not read any further.
Brenda, or Raven as she was known to those around her, woke up and noted that the soreness on her right buttock had decreased almost to the point of disappearing. When Cornelius McGillicuddy III, who had told her she was a ponygirl and he was her owner, had his minions brand her there with his monogram, the pain had been so excruciating, she had fainted. Maybe even worse were, the crackling sound made by her skin as it was turned to ashes and the odor of her own charred flesh, which were still such vivid memories, she expected to retain them for the rest of her life.
Since the branding, Raven had been allowed to rest and recuperate. She didn't know exactly how long ago the mark had been burned into her, because there was no way to keep track of time, but she guessed it had been a little more than two weeks.
She got to a sitting position on the edge of her mattress by pulling on the chain that connected the manacles on her wrists to the track on the ceiling, and from there she stood up. The first thing she needed to do was to go over to the drain and urinate. Maybe McGillicuddy or some of his men were watching as she took care of that very personal need, and maybe they weren't. She had no way of knowing, and had stopped caring on her second day of her enslavement. Far worse offenses had been committed against her, especially the branding, and the lack of privacy was well down the list of any complaints that she would have voiced, had she been able to do so.
Much higher on such a list would have been the leather collar, leash and bridle and the wooden bit she was forced to wear at all times, except when being washed and groomed or eating. Also high on the list would have been the shiny black tail that was attached to a butt plug that was wedged in her ass and held there by her anal sphincter. It was always in place except for the one time a day when it was removed and she was given a powerful enema to empty her bowels. After that very thorough internal cleansing, her body was carefully washed, contributing greatly to the erotic fun of the men who performed the task and got to stroke and fondle her pussy and breasts and other parts of her voluptuous body to their hearts' content. Those sexual liberties taken by them and others would have been the basis of another complaint she expected to never have a chance to make.
Except for the leather bridle and collar and her tail and the hoof-gloves, which were laced high on her forearms, she was completely naked, because that was the normal state of a pony. Her status was constantly impressed on her by her self-styled owner and his minions, and this had been done since her abduction. For the first part of her captivity, she had worn a small saddle, and the first phase of her training had been walking on her hands and knees with her owner or a small guest of his riding on her back. Raven had been told she was soon to start cart training, and that might have been why she no longer wore the saddle, but nobody had ever even mentioned it, and the bit in her mouth would have kept her from asking, even if she could have expected an answer.
She walked over to the metal basin that was filled with her drinking water and dipped her lips in to suck up water around the bit and into her mouth. The liquid was tepid, and not very refreshing, but it was the only thing she had to drink. Her water was clean, at least, because it was changed several times a day. After drinking, Brenda returned to her mattress and lay down to wait and see what that day might hold for her, and find out if it would partially relieve her boredom.
The mattress, placed there after her branding, was a small concession to her comfort; before it was provided, she had slept on the carpeted floor. Brenda lay on her left side and thought about what might happen that day. She expected McGillicuddy to come in and treat her sore buttock with the salve that had seemed to be working quite well at alleviating the pain, and she would be fed the bread and boiled vegetables that were her normal fare. Ponies didn't eat meat or drink anything but water, so neither did pony girls. Part of her hoped something would happen after that, because Brenda felt she was going crazy from her boring existence, but the other part feared the change might include whipping and other kinds of punishment.
Something did happen; the door to the training room opened and her owner, accompanied by two of his men, walked in with the small black bag he almost always carried. Raven knew it would contain more of the salve that he applied to her brand twice a day and a bandage pad that would cover it.
"Good morning, Raven, my dear," he greeted her. "I trust you slept well, and I hope the pain where I had to brand you has almost gone away.
The pony girl continued lying on her left side, but whinnied a response, knowing that cooperation would prevent or lessen the whipping and other physical abuse that she knew would result from any kind of sullenness or disobedience. Her owner set the black bag on the floor by the edge of the mattress and reached out to gently stroke the long, black mane that had been the inspiration for her pony girl name.
"You are truly beautiful, my dear," he told her. "I believe you will be the finest pony girl in my stable after your training is complete. Maybe even the finest anywhere."
Gingerly, he removed the thick bandage and touched the brand on Raven's shapely buttock. "Let me know if this hurts." When there was no response, he touched her with slightly more force, and was gratified when his pony girl expressed no discomfort. "It's healing well," he announced.
After carefully using a sterile pad to remove the leftover salve, McGillicuddy took a mirror from his bag. "Do you want to see what your brand looks like, my dear?" he asked, holding the mirror in place.
Out of curiosity, she did. Brenda looked at the reflection of the identifying mark on her creamy skin, and saw a dark pink block M, with a small c crossing its right leg. Because of the angle, she had never seen it before, but would always have starkly terrifying memories of the blazing head of the branding iron just before it was pressed against her helpless flesh. The mark it left, of course, was a mirror image of the metal head.
After a minute, the mirror was put back into the bag, and her owner applied the salve and replaced the bandage. "We will start your cart training today," he announced to his chattel. "Right after breakfast, the men will be outfitting you with the new tack you'll need."
Brenda didn't know whether to be happy about that or not. It would help to relieve her boredom, but she knew any training she underwent could be tiring and painful, depending on how much abuse was involved. She hoped it would be kept to a minimum, and resolved to try to do nothing that might result in having a whip or riding crop used on her tender body.
Minutes after their boss left, another of his minions brought in the trough with her nourishing but bland food and rinsed out her drinking basin before filling it with clean water. He removed her bridle and bit and washed off the latter before leaving. Picking up the lumps of food in her lips and pulling them into her mouth with her tongue, Brenda ate as a pony would have and sucked up fresh water as she had before. She could have moved the containers with her hoof-gloves but, since there were no individual digits, she would not have been able to pick up anything. When the meal was finished, she lay back down to wait for the handlers who would be putting on the new tack.
Two of them arrived, accompanied by McGillicuddy, and Raven quickly got to her feet, ready to cooperate in what needed to be done. As her owner watched, one of the goons bent over and tapped the ponygirl's calf. When she didn't respond, he hit her again, much harder the second time, and she realized what was wanted and raised her foot. He slipped on a leather boot that came almost to her knee and, when he tapped the other leg, Raven responded quickly and correctly.
With both boots in place, they were laced up tightly, and Brenda was shod for the first time since the night of her confinement. The black footwear matched the hoof-gloves she was wearing and was quite comfortable, well-padded inside and with thick soles and heels. She felt tall wearing them, but no more so than she had in the stiletto heels she favored before the old man claimed and took over ownership of her.
"Walk around a bit, my dear," McGillicuddy instructed her.
She did as he told her, and found the boots to be quite heavy and realized the soles included metal horse shoes. "What else would a pony have on her feet," Raven asked herself.
The bridle was slipped over her head next, and she opened her mouth to accept the bit, which was securely fastened to the metal rings. She knew what was expected of her after that, and bent over to let her owner pull her long, black hair out between the leather straps that made up the bridle, producing the flowing mane he admired so much. This was the only thing he ever did in her preparation, since her training had started. After he stepped away, Raven straightened up and saw a man waiting with a collection of straps and belts, and realized it was the harness she would wear and that would be connected to the cart she would have to pull.
Her wrists inside the hoof-gloves were still handcuffed and connected to the ceiling as they always were when she wasn't being trained or used as a steed and, when directed, Brenda raised her arms. The harness was placed over her head and on her shoulders, with the upper strap resting on the slope of her succulent breasts. Taking his time and taking advantage of the opportunity to fondle her, one of McGillicuddy's men buckled the second strap in place just below her breasts. The third and forth were fastened more quickly, as was the last and heaviest of the straps. It was actually a wide belt which rested right at the flare of her hips and ass, and Brenda wondered about the way it jingled while it was being placed there and securely buckled just above her mons.
Looking down, she saw there were several rings attached to the thick black leather and a single open manacle on either side. It was obvious that her wrists were to be held in place, and this was proven when the silent man released one hand at a time from the cuffs fastened to the ceiling and locked her wrists in place beside her hips. Raven made no attempt to prevent this from happening, because she knew that any such attempt would not keep her arms from being immobilized, might result in injury to them, and would almost certainly earn her a whipping as punishment. With the harness in place and her arms unable to move, the goon tweaked a soft, pink nipple, unwrapped her leash from around her neck and handed the end to his master, who took it and smiled at the beautiful creature he controlled.
