Ten minutes into light canter the camp had hidden behind the wooded slope of the nearest hill. Keeping the reins in one hand, Adam gestured to the remaining two sulkies. After filing out of the Orchard Correctional Centre the ten teams of drivers and ponygirls had by and by dispersed to train in their individual speed. His colleagues signalled back over the threefold rhythm of hoof beat and bell chime. They kept following the main path as Adam had his pony sway left onto the smaller track before the solitary ash tree. The pressure of the bit to the left corner of her mouth acted as command, as gentle as compelling. Necessary it wasn't, though, not with this mare. OCC schedule required the handlers to rotate within their respective group to become conversant with each pony's quirks and needs for exercise. Thus it was only every tenth day that Adam could tack up Number Zero-Five, a time span that had grown almost unbearably long over the last several weeks. The Orchard did not name its stock beyond a number, but Adam had felt to do so with this one.
Under Firefly's high-stepped trot the track meandered north, and soon the sunlight became sputtered with the shades of the first branches. After a few dozen of paces along the treeline the trail curved into the forest for good. Blinkered and not blindfolded as she was, the pony could follow it on her own, but as the undergrowth reached out to the wheels of the sulky, her driver worked the reins to constantly fine-tune her direction. Up a gentle raise with a narrow brook gurgling down moss-green boulders he finally slowed her down to a prancing walk. Not that the ponygirl was in any danger to lose her footing. It was the cosy clearing ahead, oak to oak all around, that he wished not to pass. Neither did Firefly. With a final pull Adam reined her to a halt in the middle of the glade. The pony surrendered to the tilting curb bit against her palate, yet the indignant toss of her head would have got her a pair of bearing reins with any other handler.
"A tad skittish today, aren't we?" he teased whilst climbing out of the sulky.
Ponies didn't talk, but the look shot at him sharply past her left blinker alloyed irritation, longing and a state of urgency into one. He disconnected her harness from the hitching bars and took the reins short to lead her across the glade. However, it was arguable who was leading whom. This spot with the fallen tree trunk near the brook had been their refuge during secret afternoons in the past, and her presence here did nothing to calm the pony. Adam liked how Firefly continued to high-step, yet enjoyed it by her side without comment. Little else transported the image of absolute obedience, of total devotion to the equine ideal than the keen rises of a ponygirl's knees.
She pressed herself against the sun-warm, weather-dry bark. With her hands secured in a high reverse prayer between her shoulder blades Zero-Five trusted her handler in aiding her in her attempt to lean over the trunk. She became light on her hoof boots as her leather-protected midriff took a good portion of her weight. Her breasts remained spared by the dead tree's girth, bells swinging sweet and free on her nipple rings. A sound she had learnt to hate when put through her paces, then to love when it had been Adam who had made her pace.
The smell of fresh sweat and rivetted leather enwrapped him. Beneath those scents a third, quite different one lingered, betraying to Adam what had already been known to him of Firefly's state. Her bent-over pose granted access to her layered crotch strap. Alas, only the independent rear portion with its retainer ring to hold her tail opened to him. Ponies didn't come, of that the chastity tack would make sure. Its keys were well-guarded and their use meticulously documented.
The tail plug, although free now of its fixture, remained seated deep within Zero-Five's rectum. Adam took hold of the base plate and exerted a steady pull. Zero-Five struggled to relax, but only slowly her sphincter loosened its grip around the stem. As it finally did so fully, she moaned under the sensation of her muscles widening to the bulbous shape, then snapping back once the tapered object was expelled. For now Zero-Five's tail with its lavishly arched chestnut strands found its resting place on a stone, leaving a slightly swollen and slightly open orifice behind. Adam smoothed his hand along the belts and shingles of her harness, felt the hot flesh quivering underneath until he reached her waist to steady her for the inevitable act to follow.
Lubrication had been sparse to begin with, as sloppy tail carriage was frowned upon at the Orchard. Quickly Adam guided himself between her whip-crossed buttocks lest the closing of her ring and the vigour of their shared desire lead to undue pain. Still the initial penetration drew a gasp from Firefly in its swiftness. After a moment of adaption he entered her further, and in a rate at which discomfort would not swing over to hurt yet progress wouldn't be hampered by unmeant daintiness.
In the spirit of this he paused but briefly once fully sheathed, then retreated against the incredible heat and tightness engulfing his manhood. Had Firefly remained stoic during most of the instroke, jaws clenched around her bit, the ponygirl now became vocal through a variety of groans and huffs. As to maintain the original breach, Adam refrained from pulling out completely, instead repeated his advance more forcefully this time. Instantly he was welcomed by strong bucking and the arousing sensation of involuntary rectal contractions -- tell-tale sign that the haughty pony before him asked to be broken in. Adam's right hand took hold of the reins again. They worked wonders at steering her through woods and boulder fields, and they would control her just nicely during a sound buggering. Firefly tilted her head back to counteract his pull, but could do so only for so far an angle. With her neck fully bent the pony had to submit eventually to the cruel curb bit whose twin ports were harrowing tongue and palate alike. But clinging to titillating defiance, she rose with her back hollowed to compensate the strain. Adam, experienced handler that he was, would have none of this. Leaning into her, his free hand searched and found her left breast and the ring in its tip. Each pony, no matter the length of her stay, was to be ringed as a means to provide anchorage points. For an additional lead to the septum. For those adorable bells. For the nipple chain, fiendishly designed to work along ways the reins could not. Ensuring a good grip at the implement, Adam contorted Firefly over the trunk more severely than ever to plant his thrusts to utmost depths. Trapped between the reins' demands and the intensity of the chain hold, the ponygirl finally offered herself to be tamed in this most depraved fashion. The handler increased his pace to the equality of a full gallop, and the maddening bells of a mare ridden hard out-chimed the whispers of breezed foliage and the murmur of the brook.
<~>
The grass, damp in the oak shades, was a blessing to Fiona's heated body. Lying on her side, freed from bit and bridle, she recovered from the futile, yet delightful insemination of her bowels. Although not being able to reach orgasm through anal stimulation, the intercourse and the heavy petting that had accompanied it had taken care of the worst. After seven weeks of daily tail regime Fiona had lost her bodily resistance and her reservation against the dark arts of sodomy.
"We have to go back soon," Adam stated into the silence of the glade.
He was sitting close to her, back against the fallen tree. That the trunk hadn't disintegrated into splinters under their latest performance was astonishing. Fiona wouldn't be able to trot in a straight line for several days.
"How soon?" she cooed, looking at him from eyes the colour of the sea without moving her head.
"Soon-ish."
With a lazy finger he traced the welts on her shaped bottom and thighs, some of which laid on by him. Again she flashed her eyes.
"You were mean today."
"Behave, and you won't get whipped."
"If I behaved, it would look suspicious!"
"If I did not stripe your bum, it, too, would look suspicious."
Fiona scowled in played anger, then her humour left her with a moan.
"That redhead bitch will be driving me again tomorrow. Can you please hint to her that she does not use enough lube?"
"You mean you are especially sore after a stint with me? I'm flattered."
