Samantha Enslaved Ponygirl

Samantha had never fit in with her family. She wasn't sure why she just knew she was meant for more than the small-town life the rest of them had come to accept and the life they had expected her to embrace. She'd tried to pretend, for a little while, but eventually, it became too much bother. She knew the truth, and so did her family, even if they didn't like it.

She wanted more.

So, she'd worked her ass off in high school and earned a scholarship to college. The day she graduated from that little Podunk school had been the last time she'd ever planned on setting foot in that town. She'd packed her belongings, loaded them into the second had truck her dad had given her, and she'd gone without looking back.

She'd even made the decision to choose a college as far from home as possible, so she could make her mark without worrying about her family showing up and embarrassing her. She was planning to reinvent herself, and that meant no reminders she didn't want or need.

Still, college in the big city was a culture shock but she was a smart girl and she was careful. She'd paid attention at the orientation for the freshman girls, how easily one could be taken advantage of. She'd also heard all the horror stories about what happened to girls like her that weren't careful.

She'd taken those lesson to heart and even when she found the club scene and she really hit her stride she was always careful. No drinks from strangers. No dancing with strange men. No going anywhere alone. No walking by herself. All steps she took to protect herself as she embraced the rest of her new life.

The night she met him she'd been coming to this club for months and she was comfortable. The employees all knew her, and she was always polite, so they watched out for her. Still by the time she bumped into him she had already been a little tipsy thanks to the fake ID she'd gotten. He walked through her defenses and caution like they weren't even there.

He'd said all the right things, kissed her just the right way, touched her in a way that made her feel like her skin was on fire. That was why, when the night ended she was sure she'd go home with him, she was so horny, from all the kissing and touching he'd been doing all night. Then, to her complete surprise, he said he liked her and didn't want to risk her regretting the night because of her drinking.

She'd melted.

The next morning was Saturday and she woke with a hangover and a text from her new friend. His plans had changed, and he needed to drive into the next city for business and she was welcome to come along, but he was leaving early, and she should call him soon.

She called as soon as she'd finished the text and he told her was already on the road but luckily, he'd be driving by her college in about ten minutes if she thought she'd be ready. She had to control herself, and not jump out of bed and fall on her face as she raced to get ready. Instead, she'd calmly informed him she'd be ready when he got there, and then ran around, after a two-minute shower, grabbing what she'd thought she'd need before she'd raced out the door.

He picked her up, right on time and they chatted, easily as they drove out of the city. Truthfully, he let her do most of the talking, telling her how interested he was in her life, and they could talk about his on the way back. Her smile would have lit up a moonless night and she jabbered away as the miles passed them by.

Eventually, all that talking had left her thirsty, and he'd reached into the back seat and brought out a sprite for her, and a coke for himself. He told her he'd noticed she only drank sprites at the club when she wasn't drinking alcohol, and he'd stopped at the store to get her some.

She smiled at how thoughtful he was but still made sure that when she opened the bottle it was had been properly sealed and she was the one to break it. He'd smiled at her, and told her she was very smart to be so cautious and continued to listen as she continued talking about her plans, and how she'd just had to get off the farm, all while sipping her soda.

She didn't even remember falling asleep.

When she woke up things had radically changed. Her hands were bound to her shoulders and a strap seemed to hold her elbows to her side. There was something in her mouth that held her mouth wide open and she was in a cage. Worst of all, she was completely naked.

She tried screaming for help but nothing intelligible came out of her mouth. Instead, her screams were the sound of pure terror as time continued to pass with no one showing up, and her terror mounting with each passing moment.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity her friend showed up.

Only he wasn't a friend at all.

He laughed as he showed her the syringe he used to coat the threads of the Sprite bottle with the tasteless drug he'd used to knock her out. She'd glared at him and was already plotting to go to the police and see him sent to prison. The reality of her situation hadn't really sunk in yet, or rather, she hadn't let it sink in.

That ended when he suddenly got deadly serious and started to explain her situation. He told her she was now his slave and she would learn to act like one. She would do things she'd never imagined, and she'd do them willingly, even eagerly. Yes, he knew she didn't want to be a slave, and he also knew she wouldn't want to do any of the things he'd require from her, but that was what training was for.

He promised her that when all her training was done, she'd do anything and everything he ordered her to. He even told her she would do those things willingly, even eagerly. All it would take was time, and patience and lots, and lots of training.

She shook her head in denial and made unintelligible demands for release as she tried to tell him she'd never do any of those things. Of course, it was all complete garbled nonsense that came through her gag, but he understood the meaning, if not the words.

He simply smiled, he'd heard it all before.

After that, it seemed almost hourly that she was being subjected to some new horror. Sometimes it was electricity, applied to her most sensitive areas, making her dance and beg. Other times it was clamps on her nipples, with weights that swayed painfully when she moved, something he made her do even when she didn't want to, thanks to his ability to make her squirm in pain.

The thing that he did that scared and humiliated her the most, however, was the orgasms. She would never have believed before this began, that someone could

make

her orgasm against her will. He did it, however, and not just once or twice, but repeatedly until the orgasm itself became an agony, a torture she'd do almost anything to end.

Then, he'd reverse course completely, and instead, take her

right

to that edge, but then ruin it, or worse, deny it completely. After a few hours of that, she was begging for him to do anything,

anything

else to her, if he'd just let her cum, once.

She couldn't believe what she was hearing herself say, and it had only been a few days. She started to seriously doubt her own ability to resist becoming what he wanted. In fact, in a dark corner of her mind, there was already a tiny voice whispering that she was going to lose. She tried to ignore that voice.

Then, of course, there was the

real

pain, caused by the stinging bite of the whip, crop, and paddle. Each was explained in detail and then used to devastating effect. She was sure, after more than a few torture sessions, that she'd be a mass of scars, but he never drew blood and explained he knew exactly how to use each instrument to inflict maximum pain with no lasting damage. After all, that would take away from her value when it came time for her sale.

The comment was made so candidly that she had shivered as she knew he wasn't joking in the slightest.

Finally, there was the oral, anal, and vaginal rape. It seemed he was always fucking her in some way. How could a man have so much sperm? She was sure her insides were filled with it as he was constantly fucking her, raping her. He laughed at her and obviously enjoyed showing her how easily he could take her, whenever and however he wanted, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Even when it was just the arm bondage, that he

never

removed, except when she was in her cage, he was still able to overpower her and force himself into one of her holes no matter how hard she fought, protested, and resisted.

When he'd finished with her, and she was curled up in a ball, crying after another session of sexual use, he would gloat about his complete control over her and her holes. She'd been mortified when he called them that the first time. He seemed to go out of his way to make everything he did as horrible, psychologically speaking as he could, and she'd lost count of the number of times she'd promised herself she wouldn't cry "this time" when he came for her, only to see that promise broken every time.

She needed to be broken, and he was going to do that by taking away everything she thought made her who she was: her independence, her freedom, her choices, even her ability to speak like an intelligent human being. All of it was being systematically taken away. She didn't know it, but all of this was designed to get her mind in a place to make her ready for the upcoming stages of her training. Those stages that would permanently alter her from a free, modern woman, into a sex toy for others.

After a week of this first stage, things for her changed as he determined she was ready, for what came next.

He dragged her out of the room that had been her entire world for the last seven days. His destination was a barn at the back of the property. A barn, he'd told her, holding her leash loosely as he led the ominous looking building, would be the sight of her further, more intense training.

He said it was darkly as he could and was intentionally holding the leash in a loose grip. He wanted to see if she would be foolish enough to try to escape, or if she'd passed the corner on her training where she thought that was even a remote possibility.

She'd tried multiple times, when he'd "accidentally" left her cage open, to open the door to the room he'd kept her in. She had tried desperately working to handle to try and achieve some means of escape. He'd allowed these efforts, naturally, because he wanted her to try and

fail

so she would come to realize that escape was impossible.

It had been a long hard lesson for her to learn but learn it she had. She had been forced to learn it, and other lessons at the receiving end of what he called, "The Kit", a belt and clamp assembly with two large metal dildos for her ass and pussy, and clamps for her newly pierced nipples and clit.

Piercings that still made her shudder as she remembered receiving them.

She had screamed as the needle had penetrated her flesh and passed out when he punched the needed hole in her clit. That one act, more than anything so far, she'd been through had truly driven home the fact that he meant to keep her as a prisoner, for the rest of her life. More importantly, the efficiency with which he did everything spoke to her mind of experience, and that meant she wasn't the first, and that made her confidence in her chances of escape shrink even more in her battered and shaken psyche.

He'd told her at that point that her escape attempts were no longer an amusement but would be considered an active act of defiance and would be punished as such. She'd been terrified of those words but, after catching the light of the new rings in her nipples, her anger had overcome her fear and her reason, and she'd tried once again.

He caught her, of course, and told her that even though she'd only had a few days for the piercings to heal she needed to learn a lesson, once and for all about obedience. With that announcement, he'd pulled out this collection of metal, wires, and straps and she'd started to tremble.

He'd taken great pleasure stuffing the dildos into place, as he described their function and the way they delivered their electric shock to the most intimate and sensitive flesh of her ass and cunt.

He's emphasized the word "cunt" telling her that as a slave she no longer had a "pussy" or a "vagina" she had a cunt, and if she called it anything else, she'd be very sorry. She'd been too terrified to really listen, something she'd regret later on, as he attached the clamps to the new piercings and told her how much better they'd conduct the current to the nerves in her clit and nipples.

The whole thing was automatic and delivered shocks of varying intensity and duration. It was powered by a strong rechargeable battery and run by a small computer.

He'd simply hooked her up, gagged her, shoved her into a small locked room and walked away.

An hour later she was a mess of pain and misery. She was also a very contrite and terrified slave who had resolved to do everything in her power to do exactly as she was told. Anything to avoid another experience like she'd just been through. Especially when he told her that next time she could expect an even longer session at the higher setting if she failed him again.

She'd nearly peed on herself in fear, and only the belief she'd be punished for it, kept her from doing so.

Now, a week late, her master led her to the barn, testing to see if she'd try to make a run for freedom. He didn't think so, not after her experience with The Kit, not to mention the other myriad of tortures and suffering her body and hind had been forced to endure. He was certain that, at this point, the idea of escape was some long, distant dream that had no true hope of coming to pass. Like the person that dreams of winning the lottery.

His confidence was not misplaced.

Samantha had suffered and fought and found that resistance had gotten her nothing but more pain. Not once, had her efforts stopped or even slowed his progress. When she did succeed in slowing him down, she suffered severely for it, and then he just went on and did what he wanted anyway.

So finally, her mind had asked, "what's the point?"

When she'd been unable to really articulate a truly valid reason for her continued fighting, the will to do so had simply evaporated, like a fog on a hot summer morning. All of her confidence, and her will to resist, which she'd been holding onto with all her strength, was simply gone.

It hadn't been quite that spontaneous but it sure felt like that to her. She simply couldn't see the point in fighting anymore, and she sullenly accepted what he demanded and did conserve her energy to try and make it easier to endure.

That decision had permanently compromised the very essence of her resistance and, without her knowing it, had crushed the last parts of her spirit that

might

have allowed her to still fight. By that one seemingly simple and reasonable choice she had laid the beginning foundation that would doom her to a life of servitude and slavery, and she didn't even know it. What was worse was that now made, it was almost impossible that she'd ever be able to reverse that decision. She had crossed a mental event horizon, and just as with a Black Hole, this event horizon, once crossed, only allowed travel in one direction: forward into the abyss.

Now, even if a chance to escape did present itself and there was a ninety-nine percent chance success she still wouldn't be able to marshal the resistance to try. That one percent chance of failure would stop her in her tracks because she just couldn't risk it. She couldn't imagine the tortures she would face for actual rebellion. This was the very essence of a psychological phenomenon called "learned helplessness" and it was an important step in breaking and training a slave.

He had seen this step and was capitalizing on it immediately, hence the move to the barn.

When they got into the barn he turned to her and asked, "Do you know what a pony-girl is?"

She shook her head and he said, "You will."

Silently, and with an efficiency that spoke of long practice he quickly had her in her new pony gear, a belt for her waist, bit and blinders for her head and ponytail for her ass. Then some extra heavy boots that had additional weights built into them. Each boot weighed just over ten pounds and was designed to quickly build the leg strength of whoever wore them.

Next, she was attached to a small cart by means of a large dildo slipped into her cunt and held in place by straps attached to the tight belt around her waist. She shifted nervously, trying to find a position where the two dildos inside her didn't make her feel so achingly full.

When the bit went into her mouth she quickly learned that she ceased even to be the sex slave he was training her to be. She became an animal, not even worthy of her master's verbal commands. Instead, she learned a new language, the language of a pony-girl.

The aching pulls of the reigns became her vocabulary. The stinging and agonizing snap of the whip, her punctuation. Through these, she learned to obey without question. To respond to the reigns without conscious thought. To truly be an animal.

After that day her routine was mind-numbing and repetitious, the very definition of Hell. As the days, and then weeks went by she became an expert in everything he demanded of her, all geared to take her already broken will and psyche and shatter it utterly.

Her days were spent in endless training under bit and bridle, growing stronger and faster; her endurance growing by leaps and bounds. All while learning precise movements and instant response to her rider's unspoken commands. Eventually, the blinders became a full blindfold. By that point, she had learned to trust her rider completely and no longer needed to see where she was going but rather simply obey her reigns and whip.

Her nights, by contrast, were spent learning and perfecting every sexual art and skill possible. She was becoming an expert in satisfying her master's cruel sexual lusts. Learning to play the games he wanted to play to perfection, regardless of what they were because, as with the training during the day, any humiliation, embarrassment, or defilement was still better than the agonizing tortures he inflicted if she failed in some slight way to perform flawlessly at whatever lesson he was teaching her.

In some ways, her nights were what she felt most humiliated about, and she often thought back that the rapes when it all started and how they seemed almost preferred to what she endured now. At least then she didn't have the added weight and humiliation that came with being an active participant in her own defilement.

Whereas before she'd have sworn never to give in, now, she begged him to control her, to master her body, to show her that she was nothing but his toy. He'd taken her freedom from her in every way possible and her begging for him to demonstrate it just drove home how completely helpless and at his mercy she now was. Worse, she now couldn't imagine it being any other way.

So, time passed for Samantha, or rather, the slave that had once been Samantha. Suffering day and night at the hands of a professional who had expertly designed and expertly carried out every moment of his time with her to accomplish two things:

First, completely excise and destroy everything of the person Samantha had been. To make her into an empty sexual animal and shell.

Second to rebuild her into the most perfect toy she could possibly be. A skilled, totally obedient, and utterly submissive pony girl and bondage sex slave.

He looked at his training schedule and estimated that in six months her training would be complete. By that time, she wouldn't even be a subject of idle gossip back at her old college. Just another small-town girl that probably got in over her head and met a sad and anonymous end.