Breeding the Pony Girl

Breeding the Pony Girl, Pt. 12

(This story is set in a world where legalized, non-hereditary slavery is commonplace for serious crime, unredeemed debt, or voluntary self-indenture.

All characters who are enslaved or have any intimate/sexual contact with slaves are 18 years of age or older

. This is fiction; no one should ever be deprived of free will, still less used sexually, without his or her uncoerced permission.)

(The character of Nancy Bradford as well as her background appear courtesy of Mr.Smith27.)

(

Lois Spalding's Perspective

)

In the days after I came home from the annual Slave Expo, I thought long and hard about my own future. On the first day of the event, I had foolishly indulged my own submissiveness by appearing as Pony Girl Ginger, first as part of a slave team pulling a wagon in the parade and then acting as a "demonstrator" for the students of the new Slave Veterinary Medicine program at U.T. This involved hours of being edged while random visitors to the expo kept diddling my clit and (often clumsily) re-inserting my ponytail butt plug. The young student who had "borrowed" Ginger, not knowing my real identity, had almost sold me to a random stranger who liked the blowjob I gave him. Fortunately for me, Richard Jameson, another pony rancher who had become my boyfriend, appeared just in time and rescued me, but he was NOT amused by my masquerade.

I discovered that Richard already knew my shameful little hobby--the fact that I liked to play pony didn't seem to phase him (hell, he'd already had sex with "Ginger" on several occasions and seemed to enjoy it), but he WAS annoyed, and rightfully so, that as a free woman I had played this game in public and risked being enslaved for real, not to mention being charged with prostitution (slaves cannot refuse sex, therefore they're immune from laws about selling sexual favors). Richard made me promise to think about safer ways to play, such as a Texas Free In Name Only (FINO) personal services contract that would give me some legal protection. But that only worked if I were willing to take the humiliating step of registering myself as someone's de facto, part time slave. And then, to emphasize his displeasure, Richard (1) collared and cuffed me like a real slave, (2) flipped me over his lap and spanked my butt red, and (3) Locked me into a standard "poodle" wire mesh cage and returned me to my own employee and friend, Mary Jacobs, with my face covered but my boobs on full display. Finally, with Mary's full agreement, he had loaded that cage and me into the back of my ranch pickup truck, so I got to ride the whole way home cramped and humiliated on public view! (The really sad thing was that I kinda enjoyed it.)

OK; message received. Even if I did not get enslaved, he was correct that I was running too many risks of social disaster if my little hobby became public knowledge. I had gotten away with another such game three months earlier when, at my request, Mary had rented me out as a sex pony to the Breeding Barn Café. Richard and two other women who knew the truth about me had enjoyed using me as their personal toy, but so far they had kept my secret either because they liked me or (more likely) because they enjoyed the sex and knew that I would feel obligated to submit to them again in future.

That same night at the Breeding Barn, my drunk ex-husband had been rather rough using me as a pony prostitute and had commented on the resemblance between "Ginger" and his "tight assed" ex-wife (he tried to stretch the ass in question but lacked the equipment to do so.) Predictably, when he sobered up two days later he telephoned me, claiming he had used me while I was masquerading as a pony slave. He was correct, of course, but the idea was so outlandish that I dripped scorn on him and threatened to get a restraining order and sue him for slander. He saw that he wasn't going to win, and actually apologized--but I had to forego any future trips to the Breeding Barn. At least until the inevitable day when Jack got caught DUI or wrapped his car around a telephone pole.

While I'm talking about leaking information, I might as well mention the very first outsider who had discovered me--Texas Agriculture Department Inspector Sam Houston Sterling. Sam's job was checking slavery establishments to ensure that the most extreme forms of mistreatment did nor occur and incidentally to check whether any free women had been enslaved illegally.

Being a competent guy, Mr. Sterling had immediately realized that the ranch's records for a pony slave named Ginger bore the Slave Identification Number (875-33-9443) belong to a free woman (if this confuses you: for various reasons many citizens get themselves slave graded, including having SINs tattooed inside their mouths, soon after they reach age 18; the SIN by itself does not indicate enslavement.) Only Sterling didn't make a fuss about his discovery--in fact he pretended that he didn't know 875-33-9443's actual name and identity, even though he must have looked it up in the National Slave Registry. Instead, Sam came around every few months to check on this woman, supposedly to ensure that she was not being coerced. His manner of checking was unorthodox, though--he visited Ginger's stall (or in one instance drove me out to a remote corner of the ranch) where he proceeded to tie me up and tease me until I begged for use, which "request" (he claimed) proved that I was still acting of my own free will. Of course, once I begged for it, he conducted an extended search of all three of Ginger's "cavities" using his cock!

I found these visits a real turn-on, and he never abused the privilege or insulted me (which didn't exclude calling "Ginger" by the usual terms used to demean and arouse slave ponies, beginning with bimbo slut and escalating from there!) But I was alarmed when, two days after Ginger had been used & spanked at the Slave Expo, the news broke that Sterling had been arrested for taking money from various slave businesses in return for not reporting irregularities. I knew that he had recorded my lust-filled voice begging him, as my "Master," to fuck me in any opening he chose, and I waited for my entire life to blow up in my face. The Ag Department did send out an investigator, but that guy didn't appear to have the incriminating tapes. Instead, I told him truthfully that Mr. Sterling had never asked for nor received money from the Spinning Wheel Ranch (Technically, pseudo-pony pussy has some monetary value, but he only asked about cash payments.)

I might as well finish this sad story--I'll get back to Richard and me in a minute, if you don't mind.

The next thing I heard, Sterling had been convicted and sentenced to eight years' penal servitude. The day after that happened, I had to sign personally for an envelope delivered, by private messenger, from Sterling's lawyer's office. Inside was a note addressed to Ginger, that read in part:

"I have to tell you, one more time, that you are a fantastic piece of ass, 9443. I mean that as a sincere compliment. I know you're legally free, and I really was checking to make sure you stayed that way, but in my mind (no offense) you were definitely 'Born to the Collar.' I want to ensure that, in the event of my demise or arrest, you don't suffer any ill effects from having been such a cooperative cunt when I 'inspected' you. The attached thumb drives contain the only copies of my inspection visits. Lust always, Sam."

How can you not like a guy who cares enough to plan like that? He was a corrupt civil servant (not particularly rare in Slave Texas's Ag Department), but I still had a soft spot in my heart for him, just as I think he still had a hard-on for Ginger. So, I had my agent buy the disgraced inspector when he came up for slave auction (he only sold for $2500 because of his age), and then I put Sam to work peeling potatoes and washing dishes in our mess hall. I owed him that much for covering for me, not to mention for COVERING me in such a thrilling manner. Mary's husband Bill, who knew about my hobby including Sterling's visits to "Ginger," was the head cook--he said that Sam never breathed a word about me, just quietly worked off his sentence. Too bad Sam and I had both lost the convenient fiction that he could "compel" me to service him as a pony.

*****

But I need to return to what happened right after the Slave Expo. Richard Jameson had insisted that I should talk to Nancy Bradford, so when she called and invited me to meet her for lunch, I agreed--Richard had reason to be pissed at me, and it seemed like such a little thing to cooperate. I still hadn't dared to talk to him in person since he collared, spanked, and caged me. (I guess it shows you how submissive I was that I still worried about pleasing him. Any normal woman would have told him to fuck off and die for humiliating her like that, but by now you know I'm not "normal" when it comes to social relationships. I just wanted to feel him dominating my bound body.)

When Richard first asked me if I knew Nancy, I had replied that she was an alumna of my sorority chapter at school, only "a few years older" than me. That's a typical Southern social lie (I guess there's no such thing as a "little white lie" anymore, is there? Only big lies.) In fact, I knew Nancy had graduated 14 years before me from the same college, but you'd never have guessed her age when you saw how youthful and fit she looked when we met. Although she was generously endowed in both chest and tush, her entire body was taut and in shape, and she moved with the grace of a dancer when we air-kissed and sat down (this being Texas, I actually wrote "set down" in my first draft) at our table. Long, brunette hair, perfectly-made up face, sexy contralto voice--she was the whole package (if you've read the previous parts of this story, you know that my hobby had caused me to recognize I had some "bi" tendencies, but Nancy was a "10" in anyone's book, regardless of gender or sexual preference.)

We made small talk until the waitress brought our orders, and then she started in earnest.

"We only know each other slightly, so to coin a phrase I suppose you're wondering why I called this meeting," she said quietly, with a slight smile on her face.

"Actually," I responded, tried to respond in the same joking manner, "I thought Richard Jameson called this meeting."

"He did," Nancy replied, and hesitated for a moment. "Only, what he asked me to talk about is kinda personal, so I hope I can trust my sorority sister not to repeat it."

"Of course you can," I replied, suddenly serious. "And I hope you will respect my privacy in the same manner. I gather it has something to do with--this is really embarrassing--with the fact that Richard has seen me several times when I was dressed up like a pony girl."

She looked relieved. "Thank you for that, and you're right, that's the topic, although he didn't tell me very much about what you do in your private life."

I couldn't help giggling. "I think Richard is worried because it's no longer my quote private unquote life. Last week I was part of a ten-pony team pulling a float in the Slave Expo parade, after which I got used as a sexual demonstrator at an expo booth for slave veterinary students. So I'm not exactly private any more, even though they certainly were playing with my private parts!"

"Whoa!" Nancy rejoined with a broad smile. "Since you were so honest, let me be equally blunt and tell you my own story."

She took a deep breath, paused, and launched into her tale--I could tell she had told variations on this many times over, because it came out with almost no "ums" or hesitations.

"I graduated from college at 20, and by age 23 I was married with three children--a girl and twin boys. I loved them to pieces, and so did my husband Hank, but they kept us so busy that we didn't have much time for sleep, let alone a love life. Besides, I was still 25 pounds overweight from the second pregnancy."

"My friends and I began attending a slave yoga class, taking turns caring for our kids until they were old enough for day care. I started to feel better physically, and I also got turned on by the sensual content of slave yoga. Then I found a couple of videos of actual slave handlers instructing slaves in Block Positions. You probably know more about that than I do, but the postures were more suggestive than in slave yoga and the things those slaves had to say!! I had never dared to say or even THINK phrases like that--you know what I mean, "Please shove your monster cock up my ass, Master," "Buy this body and fuck any hole you want"--stuff like that. I started to practice at home, nude, while my kids were napping; I always kept a robe on hand to grab if I heard a cry on the baby monitor."

"So the weight started to melt off me and I got really horny. One day my husband, Hank, came home unexpectedly at lunch time and found me butt naked, posturing obscenely and begging to be used hard! So he obliged. We hadn't made love like that in years, and the whole time I was in sub-space, calling him Master."

"Wow--what a great story," I said, not wanting to sound judgemental. "I'm sure that did wonders for your marriage."

She smirked. "You could say that, but it didn't stop there. Whenever the grandparents could take the kids, I'd spend a weekend or an evening as Hank's slave slut, bound, collared, and stuffed in every opening. Then he got the idea of dressing me up like a pony girl, at first in the bedroom and later, on the rare occasions where we could get away in the countryside, with him treating me like a pony slave."

"Double wow--thanks for telling me all this; now I understand why Richard wanted me to talk with you." I murmured, but I was thinking to myself that she had a happy ending ONLY because her guy loved her and her parents would cover for her.

"Well;" Nancy replied. "Now that I've confessed this much to you, do you mind if I finish the story?" Hank really enjoyed it whenever he got Rosebud alone in the bedroom."

"Rosebud?" I asked, raising one eyebrow.

She blushed slightly. "Yeah, it means just what you think. Remember this all started with slave mantras where I invited a 'master' to sodomize me. Well, once I got used to wearing a ponytail butt plug and realized how much fun a had pretending to be a submissive animal, I found that I REALLY enjoyed having Hank ream my Rosebud, even though it's not part of our ordinary love play when we're equals."

"I'm not judging," I assured her. "Some of the best climaxes of my life have been with oversized stallions stuffing me back there."

"Oh, wow--you mean slave stallions using you?" She asked; I nodded, turning red myself. "I mean this as a sincere compliment, but you really ARE a slut, aren't you?" She replied.

"Guilty as charged."

"Anyway," Nancy pursued. "Pretty soon, our children were old enough to go to summer camp and things REALLY got interesting in their absence."

"You and Hank played pony every night?" I suggested.

"Better than that," She replied. "They don't put this on their web site, but the Lone Oak Equestrienne Academy runs summer training sessions for MILFs--which in this case means MARES I'd love to... you get the idea. I spent two summer sessions at the Lone Oak learning dressage routines. Once I qualified, I got the chance to be branded with the Lone Oak symbol right between my butt cheeks. I don't know who was prouder--me to qualify or Hank to fry my ass!"

"Ouch," I responded. "I went to the Longhorn Slave Market to get my ranch's brand on my left buttock, and it hurt for weeks, especially when I sat down."

"Well, I guess you couldn't ask your own blacksmith to brand you, but how did you get it done at the Longhorn?" the MILF inquired.

"My stable manager and I had ourselves kennelled as slaves and had it done on a weekend." I answered.

"DAMMMN!" She laughed. "As a free woman you went into a slave market pretending to be a slave? I can imagine what THAT led to." I nodded, smiling at the inuendo--I had personal confirmation of the urban legend that women who stayed overnight in a slave market got gang-banged. Nancy continued, smiling and shaking her head. "Like I said before, you could give skank lessons to a Sandy Foot Girl. Makes me proud to be your sister!"

"Anyway," She resumed, "let me finish the story really quickly. Once the boys were off to college, Hank and I began to play more openly and for longer time periods. When the Texas Legislature passed the FINO law, I was one of the first people to sign up, making myself into Hank's parttime slave. That made me feel a lot safer, because now I was in the National Slave Registry so he could use his pony on a lunch date in public without getting arrested. Eventually, most of my friends joined in and it turned into a group effort--a chance for the husbands to change mounts in the middle of the stream, so to speak. Monday lunch at the Breeding Barn became Monday MILF day."

"Sounds like fun," I replied. "But, that's what bothered Richard, because he knows I masqueraded as a pony prostitute at the Breeding Barn even though I was a free woman. He suggested I talk to you about being a Texas FINO. Only trouble is, I think that most of your success as a FINO pony can be attributed to the love you share with your husband. And I don't have anyone like that."

"I call bullpucky, Girlfriend." Nancy almost erupted, leaning forward and speaking forcefully under her breath. "Look, Lois, I don't know you very well, but as you can imagine Hank and I are pretty friendly with Richard or he wouldn't know my little secret. I gotta tell you, every time Richard speaks about you he lights up like a Christmas tree, and you act the same way when you talk about him. I'll bet the guy wants to put TWO rings on you, one on your third finger and the other on your neck as a FINO."

"From your lips to god's ears," I replied, still not believing it.

We spent a long time talking about how to make a loving FINO relationship work. She recommended that I talk the whole thing over with a slave psychiatrist, which was a legal requirement before signing such a contract.

The last thing Nancy said stuck with me: "I can tell that Ginger belongs in my group of MILFs, although most of us are into dressage rather than harness racing. Once you sort out your legal status, PLEASE let me know so that we can welcome you to our herd of sluts."

*****

With suspicious promptness, Richard called me the same evening I had met Nancy ("Rosebud") for lunch. I thought he would still be angry at me, but instead he seemed in a good mood. After we chatted about everything EXCEPT the elephant (in this case pony) in the room, he asked me what I thought about Nancy's story.

I hesitated but decided that it was a little late for secrets. "I don't know, Richard. Her life sounds wonderful, but a Texas FINO contract is a long term commitment, not to mention that I could easily be humiliated if that became general knowledge. Unlike Hank and Nancy, most of my acquaintances have access to the National Registry and might look me up if they heard a rumor. That means I'd need to find someone I could really trust to quote own unquote me."

Richard gave a little laugh. "I understand what you're saying, Darling, but you've already given that level of trust to several people without any legal protections. Both at the Breeding Barn and at the Slave Expo, you could easily have ended up enslaved for real with no options, and wouldn't that be far more embarrassing than a Texas FINO contract? As for finding an owner, you've already given Mary Jacobs that trust, and I hope by now you know you can trust me. If I wanted to trick or humiliate you, I could have done anything I wanted once you let me collar and cage you, right?"