The Fifty Per Cent Club Ch 04

The Fifty Percent Club 04

Thank you for reading my story. Readers of the previous instalments might like to know that a revised version of Section Two has now been submitted, removing the discontinuity between it and Section Three. I apologize for the error that had to be corrected. The missing material begins in the last half-dozen paragraphs of chapter seven.

For new readers: as this section begins, Analia, a part-time pleasure slave, has spent the first afternoon of her duty weekend in a "pleasure pit," being gangbanged by three men who were strangers to her. Now, with the club assembled for dinner, her role is to walk around on the tables, naked and chained, to be at the disposal of the nearest free person whenever a gong is sounded. Unused to being exposed to so many people at once she is nervous, but still willing and eager to give of her best.

I hope you enjoy the story, and I would be very grateful if you would take the time to give it a rating. I look forward to reading any comments that you make.

Chapter Twelve - In the Pleasure Bank

When I shuffled forward to begin to "walk the tables," I had no idea how long it would be before the first gong sounded. Perhaps they would want me to go right around the circle to give everyone a good look at me, or perhaps it would be very soon, to fit the maximum possible number of ravishments into the short evening. Most of the guests, after all, would be anxious to get their assigned pleasure slaves to their rooms. Some had already uncovered their breasts, and I was doing my best to let mine swing enticingly as I moved. I was nervous, but the worst of my shyness passed very quickly. I found that it was harder than I expected to assess the free persons as I passed them, as they bobbed about as they talked and fed their slaves, while I had to watch where I was stepping and bridge the little gaps between the tables.

When the gong sounded I had been distracted by a glimpse of Maddie- my mistress from the previous weekend- on the other side of the circle, so I had to turn quickly to meet the gaze of the young blonde man who was rising from his seat. He was handsome in a rather bland way, with a very athletic body, and he was obviously intending to accept his prize. His neighbour and his assigned slavegirl helped him to lift me off the table and onto the mattress, and the room seemed quieter as he stripped and stood over me. His erection was long and straight, if not particularly thick, and his body was clean shaven or depilated; probably the latter. There were no preliminaries; it was only seconds before he lay down, threading his feet through my hobble chain, and sank his length into my vagina.

Despite the onlookers craning their necks to get the best possible view, I felt intense pleasure and relief to be filled with his shaft. It was as if my previous experience- and particularly the gangbanging- had convinced my subconscious that I was somehow incomplete without a cock in at least one of my holes. Three days of chastity had been too long to be made good by just three men in a dark pit. I arched my body to display my pleasure, and as he was not a tall man he was able to suck my nipples before he straightened his body to let my lips join with his.

He was probably an average lover, but I wanted to make him look like a very good one indeed. I squirmed and wriggled in his grasp, snogged him as if he was the last man on earth, and scrabbled with my feet on the surface of the mattress. That achieved very little except, I hoped, to make him feel, and to make watchers believe, that I wanted every last millimetre of him pounding my pussy. It was not an act, because I did want him. I just wanted everyone to know that. I howled when I came and redoubled my scrabbling, and he followed almost immediately. He bent the rules a little by holding me for five minutes before helping me back onto the table.

I was used by three more men and two women before dinner was over. A couple of them were quicker, but I was not refused at all, and they all came on or in me. On this occasion the meal did not peter out gradually, as had been the case last time, but everyone waited until the last of the coffee and port had been drunk, and my last user- a man- had cum in my bottom. I was tired but tingling, and very happy in the knowledge that I had done my duty well. I was not needed overnight, so the matron decided that it was worth her while to get to know me better.

As I stood in the rapidly clearing dining hall, wondering what to do, she approached me with a lead that she clipped to my collar. "Tomorrow night might need extra pleasure girls," she told me. "Tonight you're with me." My legs were tired by then, and walking with the hobble chain seemed more difficult, but I shambled after her as she walked out through the French windows into the darkness; then across a dimly-lit courtyard to what had once been the carriage house.

"Welcome to my humble abode," she said as we entered a small but comfortable apartment. "This used to be the feed store. Now you can show me what you can do."

Chapter Thirteen - An Unexpected Assignment

It was difficult to guess Matron's age, especially as, at that time, I had little or no knowledge of the effectiveness of the anti-aging treatments available to slave owners. She seemed to be in her early forties, and she was a slave even though she wore no irons or chains. The only indication was a discreet tattoo on her right inner thigh, and another on the sole of her left foot. That one included a QR code which was probably etched, rather than inked.

I had found her forbidding at first, but on closer acquaintance she was more personable in a very firm, matter-of-fact way. She always answered questions when asked, although she was slower to volunteer advice or information. She had a conventionally good figure, with medium-sized breasts and a narrow waist, and a neat, symmetrical face with good lips and attractive eyes, topped with very short, easily-maintained hair. She had no wrinkles or blemishes, but her skin was more textured than that of a much younger woman.

She might well have been old enough to be my mother, but some of the men who had used me were at least her age, and I had no qualms about warming her bed. As it was only ten o'clock she had plenty of time to test my kissing, my cunnilingus and analingus, and my reactions to the same from her. She seemed satisfied on all counts.

I gathered that she had never been a pleasure slave herself, having spent her early days as a chambermaid, a bathroom slave and a kitchen slut. With that varied experience she had slipped easily into a housekeeping role with the 50% Club. She was also sexually experienced enough to assess the potential of new slaves, with enough

presence

and charisma to manage them easily. Her tongue was the strongest I had ever encountered and to this day I have never felt one so far up my back passage.

After a three-day drought, I had been used by ten people since lunchtime, easily breaking all my records, so I was grateful for lenient bondage overnight. I spent it with my wrists in front, chained to the top frame of the simple metal bed, and my ankles were close together. Matron used my mouth once in the night and gave me a handjob in the morning, and then, after breakfast and very thorough ablutions, I was ready to face my duties. At that point I had no idea what they would be.

Before we did anything, Matron checked for messages, and was pleased to see that none of the guests were demanding replacement slaves or registering any complaints. It was unusual, but not unknown, for a member to take an instant dislike to his or her assigned pleasure slave. Just two had asked for the use of a pony trap, and that sealed my fate. The venue did not keep any human ponies, but relied on

ad hoc

arrangements to meet the occasional need. There was a black girl who was apparently very suitable, but I would be the other one.

I had read something about pony girls in the past, but it was a complete surprise to hear that I was about to become one, for however short a time. My legs were reasonably strong- I occasionally rode a bicycle- but not exceptional. On the venue's estate, however, there were no very steep inclines, distances were short and the tracks mostly well-maintained, so athleticism was not at a premium. I would not have to wear hooves but would be allowed sandals.

Matron wished me luck, which I hoped not to need, and left me in the tack room, where a young male slave, permanently attached to the venue, kitted me out and attached me to my cart. My cuffs were left in place but my arms were confined in a square binder that held them folded behind my back, and that was attached to a broad belt, just under it, to which the poles of the cart would be hooked. That was an important feature, for I could be hitched and unhitched in a few seconds. The cart itself was extremely light, but was four-wheeled; an arrangement which was considered easier for an untrained pony despite the weight penalty. It had room for two people huddled together and a picnic hamper behind their bench, and there was folding canopy for use in inclement weather.

Standing between the poles, I was then bitted and plumed, and finally fitted with a tail that was actually a butt plug. As I was generally cooperative, a locking one was considered unnecessary. The young man seemed to take longer than necessary to check my size and tightness with his fingers, and he also lingered over the task of clipping little bells to my nipples. They pinched a bit at first, but I soon got used to the gentle pressure, and the noise they made. Then he climbed onto the bench, lifted the reins and ordered me out into the courtyard.

In that very short distance I had no chance to get used to being steered by the bit, but I knew the way. A minute or two later I was being presented to my driver and his slavegirl. The former- named Frank- was, I suspected, one of the men who had gangbanged me the day before, but I could not be sure and he never said anything about it. He inspected me thoroughly and manually. His slavegirl was a very buxom wench; blonde, bouncy and topless, but wearing a short skirt. Her wrists were locked behind her back and her ankles were hobbled, so she had to be helped onto the bench. Her name, which I found out later in the day, was Labia.

I noticed, as they climbed aboard, that the other ponygirl had been brought out, and her load was much heavier; an imposingly built woman with a male slave who was over six feet tall and very well built and hung. As I was given the command to "walk on" I was feeling lucky, but I soon found that my new role was a taste that I would have to acquire over time. The thick rubber bit was uncomfortable and the driver was probably unaware that I had never worn one before. He generally preferred to steer with it instead of giving verbal orders.

I was most apprehensive about my capacity to pull the carriage, with its average load. It was certainly an effort to get it rolling, but once in motion it ran smoothly and with little effort as long as the track was level. The old house that was now our venue stood on a plateau, surrounded by its partly wooded park, and although the inclines were very gentle, the central part was at about the level of the roof. I plodded on at a brisk walk until the track began to rise, and then I had to pull much harder.

Until then, Frank and Labia had taken very little notice of my efforts, snogging almost continuously with him kneading her breasts. The whip remained in its holder by Frank's right hand, and the reins were loose in his lap. Then he realized that the carriage had slowed considerably. A few seconds later the whip cracked in the air above my head, and when the improvement was marginal, he flicked it against my thigh. It stung, but the pain was momentary. It was also effective, flooding my system with adrenaline and boosting my pace. I could not have kept it up for long, but we were soon at the highest point of the perimeter track, where he deemed it worth stopping to admire the view.

Labia was dutifully impressed by the panoramic view of the countryside, so he swung her to the ground, followed her, and on the soft turf he used her body for his pleasure while I stood watching. While they were at it the other carriage passed, having used a slightly different route, and although they had reached to top of the incline the driver was still whipping the ponygirl, trying to maintain a brisk pace despite the heavy load.

Watching the other driver, I began to appreciate the skills that they had developed. The armbinder protected our backs from the whip, and the poles were another obstruction. Strokes aimed at our exposed hips and thighs had to be very accurate and carefully calibrated. A few faint marks were acceptable, but our many other users would not be happy to find us badly damaged. The carriage whip was more a goad- a stimulant- than a punishment.

The other carriage had disappeared by the time my driver and his slave were ready to start again. Away from the escarpment the track that he chose zig-zagged towards the summit, the gradient being almost imperceptible. I was able to keep up a brisk walk, breaking into a trot on level straights. It could be hard work dragging the carriage round the hairpin bends. It seemed to me that the designers of the park had been determined to fit the maximum possible length of track into the modest area available.

It seemed a long way to the picnic area on the summit, even though we climbed no more than another fifty feet from the observation point. There was no more whipping, because my two passengers were totally absorbed in one another. I had to deduce that, when we reached a clearing with tables and benches, we had reached our destination. Eventually they parted company, and Labia showed remarkable agility in jumping down from the bench with no hands to steady her. She was having the time of her life, with a virile, handsome master who appreciated her charms, and me to do all the hard work.

Master Frank unhitched me and took the bit from my mouth, but left me tethered to a stake that was already anchored in the ground. I knelt by one of the picnic benches while he put the food out, and then he fed Labia and himself on crab sandwiches and little pork pies, while I was given pellets of compressed cereal matter. They had champagne and I got water, administered in large quantities because, apparently, the pony food was dried and might cause dehydration.

It was the first time that I had ever been given "non-person" food, and it brought home to me how different must be the lives of full-time human ponies, hucows and hudogs. I knew of the existence of such beings from reading and from videos on the internet, but it took the taste and feel of the pellets to bring it home to me that they existed in real life. Frank was grumbling to Labia about the absence at the venue of properly trained ponies.

"This one's just play-acting," he told her. "No proper hooves, and her gait was all over the place. She can just about manage easy tracks like these, but can you imagine her racing, or pulling a coach as part of a four-in-hand? I wouldn't mind betting that this is her first time. She's probably hoping it's her last."

I thought the last barb was unkind, as I had done my best, imperfect as it was. Soon his attention was turned back to Labia, and I was left to try to pick up the last few from the handful of pellets that he had put on the ground. By the time they had finished eating and drinking he had recovered from his ejaculation at the viewpoint, and I had to watch as he sodomized his pleasure slave with her bent over the picnic table, with a towel to protect her from splinters.

Then the other carriage appeared, and the driver unhitched her pony and tethered her to the same ring as me, and for the next half hour we were allowed to pleasure one another as best we could. With our arms in the binders we were obviously confined to kissing and oral sex, but she was pretty, full-figured, agile and very willing. It was obviously not the first time she had served as a pony, or been with another ponygirl, so we managed very well even if we both ended up very dusty and dishevelled. We were still panting from our last orgasms when the members, who had been exchanging slaves, turned their attention to us, and decided to do some training.

A few minutes later, our breathing just about normal, we had been hitched as a pair to an old log, about six inches thick and five feet long, It was well chosen: with the drag on the ground it took about as much effort as a small coach on level ground. The master and mistress watched careful as we walked, and then trotted together. Two ponies with different amounts of experience, totally unknown to one another, gave them plenty of opportunities to use their crops. They were made specially to train ponies, so it was the first time I'd encountered them. They stung mildly but did not leave marks, except for some local reddening.

After trotting back and forth across the picnic area a dozen times we were much better coordinated, and they tried us then with no load at all, the mistress just walking behind with both sets of reins. If anything, that was more of a challenge, as the log had given us a kind of reference point to pull against. Now we had to interpret the light flicks of her whip to get the pace right, and I did my best to follow the other pony, who was so much more used to being driven. Eventually our keepers let us rest for a few minutes before using our bodies for the last time.

It was an oddly assorted foursome, with two bound and one unbound female and one unbound male. They did not try to involve their assigned slaves, and I knew that Labia had been impaled on the male for most of the training session. I was relieved to be the first to feel Frank's shaft in my pussy, and with the women sucking both my breasts I came quickly and hard. He held off long enough for the other two women to enjoy the same treatment, with my fellow ponygirl taking his load. He had a regulator, however, and was happy to go through the same sequence again, this time with the females kissing, sometimes all three together.

There was no rest afterwards, although we were given water, and the return to the house was relatively quick. Frank chose different tracks, and although most of the route was level there were some short inclines on which he had to use the brake, and I had to gallop to avoid being overrun. Labia seemed excited by the speed and that made him more reckless, but although my legs got very tired we reached the house without any untoward incidents, and the other carriage was there ahead of us. Frank and Labia kissed me warmly, and five minutes later I was back in the little cell.

Chapter Fourteen - Higher Mileage

I walked the tables again at dinner, but the rules and the conditions had been changed. The tables were still arranged in a square with the mattress in the central gap, but the free diners were spaced further apart because they sat in two rows, opposite one another. Their assigned sex-slaves knelt by their sides or just behind them, wrists behind their backs and having to be fed by hand by their masters and mistresses. When the gong went I was shared by the two closest dominants, and it was up to them whether or not they involved their slaves.

I spent the evening, therefore, being double-teamed or gang-banged, but the episodes were very varied. I was "spit roasted" only once, having been caught between two masters who did not involve their slaves. Both preferred to cum in my mouth, so they had to change places halfway through. There was only one instance of me being used by a master- who sodomized me- while cunt-munching a mistress, and both manhandled my breasts so firmly that they were tender for the rest of the evening. All the other pairs involved both their slaves, and I cannot remember all the variations. Not only did the foursomes include several combinations of sexes, but in all cases two were bound and two free.