Brenda's Fate

CAUTION: If you regularly read my stories, this one is not a sweet story of fun sex as most of them are. It is a story of abuse and torture and enslavement and may result in feelings of depression. If thie kind of story bothers you, you probably shouldn't read it.

"Ooooooh," Brenda moaned every time she moved. "I never thought he could do this to me. I wouldn't have thought anybody could do this to another human being."

"He" was Cornelius McGillicuddy III, whose name was vastly more impressive than his physical appearance. An old man, he was short, less than five feet tall, and skinny and bald, but his vast fortune enabled him to surround himself with large, muscular young men who would do his bidding, regardless of what it was. "This" was having those young men strip Brenda almost naked, tie her hands together over her head and fasten the rope to a chain that hung from the ceiling.

What made her situation even worse was that she knew it was her own damn fault. Dressed, as usual, in her evening gown, a red domino and spike-heeled boots, Brenda had just finished her job as a hostess at a night club, when a handsome stranger handed her a note, and waited for her response. After learning that the very wealthy Cornelius McGillicuddy III sought her presence, she didn't hesitate. Her response was to allow herself to be escorted out to the limousine in front of the club and driven to his mansion. Almost six feet tall, even without her heels, with a great cloud of brunette hair falling down her back, a beautiful face and a body that seemed to be specially built for sex, Brenda thought her ship had finally come in. By pleasing an old and enormously rich man, such as the sender of the note, a young woman as gorgeous as Brenda, could find herself set for life.

After passing through a locked steel gate, a huge metal door and some other security measures, Brenda was escorted by the handsome man into a large room, where her possible future patron sat in a large wooden chair against the opposite wall. When he got up and approached, she was repulsed by his appearance and, when he got closer, by his odor. Thinking about all his money, however, she steeled herself to smile and pretend anything that might be necessary. Brenda was concentrating so much on the smelly, ugly old goat that she didn't even notice the two muscular men, until they had seized both her arms. A third person, probably the man who had brought her to the house, unzipped her black evening gown from behind, pulling the zipper all the way down to where Brenda's curvaceous ass flared out from her waist.

With his "guest" unable to resist, the "host" approached her, reached out, grabbed onto the front of her dress and pulled it down. Wanting to appear as enticing as possible to customers of the night club, Brenda had not been wearing a bra, and her luscious breasts bounced and swayed after their liberation. The old man smiled evilly at their loveliness, fondled them with his cold, bony hands and walked around the helpless young woman, patting and squeezing her ass and waist. The captive's dress was split high up either side, showing off her long legs, and the evil old man reached under it and stroked the soft inner skin of her thighs. He went even further, squeezing his fingers under Brenda's skimpy panties to fondle her newly-waxed pussy.

"Yes," he said, and Brenda could almost hear the gloating in his voice. "She'll do quite nicely. Take her to the training room."

The two burly thugs carried Brenda into a large, featureless room and pushed her to her knees. The third man used a pair of shears to cut and rip off the top of her evening gown. After tying the wrists of their half-naked victim above her head, they attached the rope to a chain that was hanging from the ceiling. Once her arms and hands were secured, a leather device was buckled over Brenda's head and a thick wooden cylinder crammed into her mouth and strapped into place. A pair of reins was attached to the device, and she realized it was a bridle and the thing in her mouth was a bit. The other ends of the reins were wrapped around what looked like one of the hitching racks she had sometimes seen in western movies. Forced to kneel and unable to use her hands, Brenda still struggled, with no success, to stand up or get away from the monstrous thing that was happening to her.

The next humiliations she suffered were to have what appeared to be a harness made of leather straps fastened to her body over her naked breasts and buckled into place, and a small saddle cinched onto her back. The bridle, harness and saddle looked like tack for a small horse or pony, except they fit their unwilling wearer almost perfectly. Once the saddle was firmly fastened, she looked down and saw stirrups hanging from it, and divined that the evil man who was holding her expected to ride her as he would a horse. Brenda continued fighting back as hard as she could against her abusers, but to no avail. They still did what they wanted, and her struggles apparently only exacerbated the situation by angering them.

The worst part, besides the uncertainty over what would be happening to her next, was the way her legs were bent double, with her ankles tied tightly to her thighs. That last part, she had been told just before the men left and turned off the lights, was punishment for trying to kick them. It was punishing in the extreme. After just a few minutes, the cramps started and, in the hours since that, they went from being annoying to being excruciatingly painful. Brenda's bent knees would have been supporting her entire weight, if she hadn't pulled against the overhead chain to take some of the strain off them. Even so, she questioned whether she would ever be able to walk again.

That night of agony seemed everlasting but, as all things do, it finally came to an end. She had been left in total darkness, but suddenly the overhead lights were switched on and the door opened. Cornelius McGillicuddy III, carrying a small leather case and accompanied by the two goons strode into the room to confront their captive.

"Good morning, My Dear," he greeted her. "I trust you found your quarters comfortable."

"Hooo! Hooo!" Brenda protested. With the bit in her mouth, she was unable to speak, but she made her anger and hatred known as well as she could.

"Don't go 'hoot hoot' at me, My Dear. You're not an owl; you're a pony girl now. You're my pony girl, and the sooner and better you learn that, the better off you'll be. You can neigh or whinny, but nothing else. Do you understand that?"

Brenda was hardly in a position to argue, so she nodded her head.

"That's better. Last night, you kept trying to kick me and my men, and we left your legs trussed up like that to teach you a lesson. Have you learned it?" When Brenda nodded her head again, he continued: "I have something pretty for you, and we're going to untie your legs, but you have to promise not to try to kick anybody. Do you promise?"

After Brenda nodded her head again, the old man's minions did as he said, letting Brenda support her weight on the fronts of her knees and her toes. From lack of circulation, her legs were numb, and she couldn't have kicked anybody anyhow. With her legs free, they continued the humiliation that began the previous night. Her knee-length boots and cotton socks were pulled from her feet, followed by the remnants of her dress that were stripped down her thighs and off. They left the last and most enjoyable part of her divestment to their boss.

He was more than equal to the task. After opening the case and setting it down next to Brenda's knee, he reached under her skimpy panties to fondle her ass and pussy. The rough, cold hands under the silky garment caressed the soft skin of her most private parts, but they didn't stay there long. He pushed the panties around her ass and let them drop down her thighs. The men who were still holding her legs raised them, and pulled the panties all the way off, leaving Brenda's voluptuous body completely uncovered, except for the tack that had been fastened to her so long ago. All the men stared at her delectable nakedness, until their leader reached into the leather case and took something out. Brenda was certain it would be something she wouldn't like, but she couldn't see what it was.

His men saw, though, and knew what to do. They seized her ass cheeks and spread them apart, and their fingers reached onto the sides of her anus and pulled it open. Seconds later, she felt a smooth, pointed object squeeze into the tiny hole they were making. Although she tried to move away from and resist the intrusion, Brenda was held too tightly to prevent it. While his minions held her ass open, the evil old man pushed and twisted the object, thrusting it deeper and deeper into her rectum. It was a wedge or a cone of some kind and, the farther it was rammed into her, the thicker it became, and it was already stretching her ass open.

Pain shot out from its course, but Brenda was unable to scream or do anything to prevent the latest and the worst of the atrocities committed against her. Although it seemed the old man would never stop driving the thing into her, the intrusion finally ended. Just as the pain from her ass being stretched seemed unbearable, it ended. Although Brenda was still in agony, that reverberated out from the presence of the thing in her bowels, her ass was no longer being cruelly distended. She realized what the thing was. One time when she was looking over an internet advertisement for sex toys, she had seen some devices described as butt plugs. She had lost her virginity long ago, and good riddance to it, but Brenda never had any interest in anal sex, either with a man or with a toy. She realized she was experiencing it now, and it was painful in the extreme.

Cornelius McGillicuddy III may or may not have known he had just taken Brenda's anal cherry, but he felt the need to tell her what he had just done and why. "My dear, you're getting to be more of a ponygirl, because you now have your tail in place. You acted as if you didn't like it, but you'd better get used to it, because you'll be wearing it most of the time."

All Brenda could do was glare, which served no purpose, and her captor continued outlining what he wanted. "Your ponygirl training is starting today, and the first thing will be a little ride around the room. I hope you won't make me use this too much, because welts and whip scars detract so much from your beauty." As he spoke, he brandished a riding crop in front of Brenda's face.

The other men helped him mount his unwilling steed, and he sat in the saddle and accepted the reins from one of them. "Giddyup," he commanded Brenda, and his riding crop brushed her on her right thigh. Growing impatient when she failed to start immediately, he slashed her hard in the same place, raising an angry red mark. "I said 'Giddyup' and I meant it. You'd better learn your place, and what you're here for. He reached behind his back and lashed her other thigh, producing a matching welt on that leg. Slowly, not wanting to be whipped any more, Brenda started forward, walking on her knees and carrying her tormentor as he had commanded.

She could feel her back straining, but the man she was carrying was light, and her upper body was supported by the chain and rope that immobilized her hands. The floor was covered with plush carpeting and Brenda's knees, once the kinks in her legs worked out, were not in as much pain as they had been. By tugging on the reins, her rider told her where to turn, and Brenda obeyed him. She hadn't noticed earlier, but the chain fastened to the ropes that held her wrists was apparently connected to some kind of a track in the ceiling so she was able to carry him all about the large room, while his two goons walked on either side of her.

For a few minutes, she walked slowly on her knees, carrying the evil old man, until he decided he wanted more speed. "Faster, he commanded her," punctuating his command with a slash of his short whip.

Knowing she would be whipped until she obeyed, Brenda sped up. With her arms tied to the ceiling, she couldn't fall down, and she moved as fast as she could, knowing her rider was enjoying her humiliation, but unable to do anything about it. For what seemed like an hour, Brenda obeyed the orders that he transmitted by pulling on the reins. She walked in silence, growing closer and closer to exhaustion, slowing down sometimes, until a taste of the riding crop forced her to pick up the pace. Finally, the old man pulled back on the reins and called out "Whoa!" They had stopped in the same place as they had started, and the leather case was again beside her knee.

While his henchmen held his steed in place, Cornelius McGillicuddy III dismounted, crop in hand. He turned to Brenda and smiled evilly. "That was a good first session, My Dear. I believe you'll make a fine ponygirl. After you get done feeding, we'll take another ride." He left, accompanied by his minions.

Although not enthusiastic about what would follow that, Brenda was extremely thirsty, and hunger pangs were gnawing at her stomach. Whatever they fed her, she would be glad to eat. Her ass was still throbbing painfully from the butt plug that held her tail, and her knees were sore from the unaccustomed labor they had performed. She was in extreme distress, but eating and drinking would help some.

The two brutish men returned, one with a bench and the other carrying a tray. The former was placed in front of her, and the tray was set on top of it. There was a small basin, filled with water, apparently for her to drink, and a platter with gobs of some kind of mush and small pieces of carrots and turnips. No utensils were provided. The bridle and bit were removed from her head and mouth, which would allow her to eat, but Brenda's hands were neither untied nor freed from the chain that hung from the ceiling.

It was obvious what she would need to do. Although she hated herself for it, hunger and thirst were powerful motivators. Starting by holding her face just above the surface, pursing her lips and sucking up water, the new ponygirl began her first meal as a chattel of her master.

Thank you for reading this story. I hope you enjoyed it more than Brenda did, or will be doing in the foreseeable future. I like writing stories on Literotica, but I like it a lot more when I know that people are reading and enjoying them, and I appreciate it when readers take the time to express their opinions by voting. Like most authors on Literotica, I practically live for feedback from readers, either public comments or email to me. Such feedback, whether praise or criticism, helps me to write more and better stories, and I respond to it whenever I can.