Twenty-two-year-old Noomi had lived a privileged life in her father's Londinium townhouse on Altruvia, but ever since capture by the humans of Canberra, she had been a sex slave.
Her job was to please her master. This meant showing off her body like a whore every time he drove her into town in front of his ponycart. Noomi's pussy was bare and depilated, but a thin leather strap ran lifted her legs and wiggled her ass for her master. The way the ponygear was designed put her ass on display. Each cheek was bare and exposed; the thin, tight leather strap if anything separated the cheeks just enough so that each bounced and wiggled on its own, making her feel much more naked in her ponygear than she did when she was actually naked. If the master's crop or whip came down on her from the side, one cheek slapped into the other and the two bounced together. But often the whip struck her on the inside of a cheek, making it bounce on its own, apart from the other.
She was bent forward, her ass out, with her arms tied behind her back at both the elbows and her wrists; her fingers could just barely feel the bottom of her short haircut at the nape of her neck. Noomi knew her master loved to see her on display like this; that, she thought, must be the whole purpose of her uncomfortable ponygirl apparatus. As she was thinking this, she straightened her back a little – and "crack!," the master's whip uncoiled and drew a stinging welt across her soft ass-cheek, reminding her that she was expected to stay bent forward prettily while she pulled her master in the ponycart.
Neither could she turn her head from side to side. As soon as she did, her master gave a sharp jerk to the opposite rein, and the bit slid back and pulled into the edge of her mouth. The master often kept the reins so firmly in hand that her head was bent back, her back arched. At this moment Noomi was standing in front of the master's little dogcart in his courtyard. She stood silently, awaiting his command; surely he would drive her down the narrow stone road to the little town, where she would be unceremoniously hitched outside the tavern while her master went inside to drink scotch and cider, discuss the issues of the day, and regale the locals with tales of the war.
Londinium had been the capital of Altruvia, and no one ever thought the Canberrans could capture it. How these taciturn, backwards sheep-farmers ever managed to construct (or otherwise get their hands on) an energy-destabilizer was anyone's guess, but once having put down Londinium's sophisticated defenses, the buxom wives and debutante's of Altruvia's elite, in their fashionable townhouses, were, like the soft meat beneath the tough carapace of some crab, totally unprotected, and needed only be collected. The gruff sheep farmers did so without delay, before torching all the government buildings, including the Altruvian War Department offices. These thoughts would soon be beyond Noomi. Her tits were sore from the tight bindings that squeezed each boob at its base as they bounced around. Her master's lash cracked violently in the air, then brushed her backside gently, and she knew it was time to be off. Chafed by the crotch-strap and balancing on her high-heeled, pointy- toed shoes, she half-trotted, have tottered out onto the stone path and, under the constant oversight of her master's whip, began the exhausting trot to the little town.
On the way, she suffered a further humiliation. A large black coach came up to them, resplendent with its lanterns at each side. It was drawn by a team of two muscular dark-skinned Altruvian women with enormous asses; they wore high hoof boots and incredibly tight, shiny latex harnesses. Real silver bells dangled from piercings in their enormous boobs; despite their expensive gear, they looked beaten-down and defeated, bent over and with a look of fear in their eyes. They looked exhausted, and their bodies glistened with sweat. There were whip marks all over the sides of their huge asses, and on their inner thighs, stomachs and the undersides of their huge breasts. The owner of the coach stepped down from inside, and came around to shake Noomi's master's hand. After some congratulations about the old man's deeds in the suprise conquest of Altruvia, during which Noomi was completed ignored, he complemented him on the "fine animal" pulling his dogcart.
"She's been right obedient for a bitch only captured two months ago, Simon," he said. "How did you break her in?"
"It's easy, it's easy, Mal, two months is so much more than you need."
