Ponygirl Tales II: Justine�s Pride
Don Winslow
Justine, not her
real name, but the name they had been given her, was her Lordship�s
favorite�and she knew it. Lord Basil Edgewater instinctively knew when he first
laid eyes on the girl, instantly appraising that lean, hard-muscled body, those
streamlined haunches and those long leggy strides -- here was a born
thoroughbred!� Whenever the stable was
taken to compete at the races, she was the one who could be counted on to bring
home the Blue Ribbon.� She quickly
became his prized filly � the ponygirl to beat.� When exhibitions were held at the estate, Justine was the one
Lord Edgewater inevitably singled out for a dazzling solo performance.
�She knew how much he enjoyed showing her off;
displaying her proud mien, her aristocratic carriage and that high-stepping
prance that never failed to garner applause from her Lordship�s guests, those
enthusiastic connoisseurs who held engraved, and highly-prized invitations to
those very exclusive weekend events.��
The very thought of such solo performances before an appreciative
audience made the girl flush, preening with pride.
But pride can be a dangerous two-edged sword.� And never more so than when that pride is
coupled with the sort of beauty that is bound to incite the envy of other
women.� And if among those other women
there is one who is strong-willed, equally proud, and equally beautiful, and if
that woman holds high authority, then such pride should best be hidden, lest it
become very dangerous indeed.� And such
a woman was the haughty Lady Ursula, the coldly remote mistress of Edgewater
Manor.
The lady shared her husband�s passion for that
peculiar, some might even say bizarre, hobby of his.� But while she enthusiastically joined him in what they had taken
to call �our thing,� her manner and methods different sharply from her more
tolerant and amiable mate.� The tall,
well-built, black-haired woman never showed the least affection towards the
occupants of the stable.� On the
contrary, her dark eyes flashed, and her stern face tightened into a hardened
scowl whenever she entered the stables, sending a shiver of fear through the
huddled girls.� Chiding her mate for
being too easy-going, she would grimly take upon herself the role of
disciplinarian, supervising the grooms and overseeing the rigorous training of
the pony girls; insisting that they measure up to her most demanding standards.
This raven haired beauty, in her white silken blouse and cream-colored
jodhpurs, thoroughly relished the role of overseer.� It turned her on; filled her with creamy elation to have a girl
with hands clasped behind her back, kneeling naked at her feet, while the
imperious Mistress looked down on that upturned face, and watched the fear
growing in a young woman�s eyes as she slapped a menacing riding crop, in a
slow measured beat against the side of her booted calve.
It was the Lady who taught the girls the three classic positions.� �Down,� she would command in that clipped, no-nonsense manner of hers, and woe to the girl who didn�t instantly fall to her knees.� On her knees, she might be ordered to service Master or Mistress.� �Forward� would bring the kneeling girl onto hands and knees there to wait on all fours for further commands.� Sometimes she would be forced to wait in that humiliating pose for what seemed an intolerable period of time, while her Mistress attended to other duties.� On other occasions the naked girl would be ordered to follow her Mistress, crawling around the stable, the grassy courtyard, or the thickly-carpeted floors of the Manor House for the amusement of her owners, and their privileged guests.
The �Present� command would have the girl, still on all fours, falling forward to her elbows where she was made to assume an even more subservient position: braced on extended forearms, her head lowered and back arched so as to upraise her tempting bottom in the most provocative display.� Thus she might be made to present a tight young ass for any pleasures Master or Mistress may chose to indulge in, or perhaps for an honored guest who might wish to mount her.� The submissive pose was also ideal for discipline, the girl�s upraised bottom presenting a prominent target for the flicking pony whip, or the plaint blade of the short-handled paddle.� Or perhaps a girl would be made to assume and hold the seductive pose simply for the amusement of the jaded partygoers at one of her Lordship�s soirees.� It didn�t matter to what use she would be put.� The well-trained ponygirl was taught to submit; to obey instantly, and without question.
Perhaps it was inevitable that the sadistic mistress
of discipline and the proud caramel-haired beauty with the perky pony tail
should find themselves on a collision course.�
Lady Ursula sensed that Justine was clearly a leader among the girls of
the stable, who regarded her with a mixture of envy and admiration. She was
older than the others, and having come to pony girl training after a starting a
promising career as a well-respected civil attorney.� The young woman was intelligent, well-educated, pert and really
quite pretty, as the mistress clearly observed whenever she saw her husband�s
eager eyes light up at the appearance of his favorite with wrists tied behind
her, being led out by a sturdy groom who loosely held the leash attached to the
girl�s collar.
Lady Ursula would stand with hands on hips, watching
from the balcony overlooking the gravel courtyard, as her husband, looking trim
and handsome in riding clothes, personally supervised the preparations for his
morning ride.� She saw how he never
passed up the opportunity to check the harness, freely touching the
perfectly-still girl�s naked body, feeling his way along Justine�s narrow
flanks, pausing to finger the thick cap of a prominent nipple, to lavishly
fondle those small, proudly out-thrust breasts. He spent some time at her
hindquarters, filling his hands with her�
slim but nicely-rounded buttocks;�
he savored her firm young body as all the while the girl stood at rigid
attention, booted legs held tightly together, head held high, shoulders back
and thin chest out � in that classic ponygirl�s �ready� position.� The Mistress of the Manor smirked to herself
as she saw the girl respond to a soft-spoken command to widen her stance,
obediently shifting her booted feet so that her Master could test the fit of
the strap which, attached to the waist cincher from front to back, ran high up
between her legs through the place where his hands now followed.� Only when he pronounced himself satisfied
with the trappings would he release her to allow the groom to back the ponygirl
into place between the extended shafts of the delicately-framed buggy.�
Final preparations were now made.� Her arms brought behind her to be tied
together just above the elbows, enough slack left so that she could reach
forward with gloved hands to grasp the horizontal bar which crossed in front of
her.�� Once between the traces, the head
harness was placed over that mop of caramel colored hair, the chin strap pulled
tight and buckled.� The hard rubber bit
was then inserted between the teeth; the reins attached. And the pony girl was
ready � except for the final bit of adornment.
The long pony tail with its squat butt plug was now
attached by the careful groom who held Justine�s rearcheeks apart with one
spread-open hand while he inserted the tapering, well-greased end of the butt
plug into the girl�s spasoming anus.� He
had her shake her new tail to be sure it was securely in place; once satisfied,
he turned to help his master take his seat in the buggy, finally handing him
the light pony whip.
At a crisp word of command the well-trained ponygirl
alertly raised her head.� She obligingly
wiggled her tail to invite the master�s whip -- as she has been taught to
do.� A quick flick of the wrist sent the
delicate strap whipping though the air to kiss Justine�s naked rump right
across the plump curve of those narrow cheeks with a tiny whap that jolted the
ponygirl into action.
As she began to pull, the ponygirl happened to look
up, and saw her Mistress watching.�
Their eyes met briefly.� Lady
Ursula saw those big brown eyes flashing, that look of pride in the pretty face
of the high-spirited pony girl, as the two of them started off on an easy
jog.� She saw the haughty toss Justine
gave to her cropped pony tail as they turned away, and it was the impertinence
of that departing toss of the pony tail that so enraged the watching
woman.�
She
stood watching the buggy turn start down the smooth gravel pathway, gradually
picking up speed as the pony girl broke into loping a trot.� An observer would have noticed the scowl
that creased her Ladyship�s noble brow, the tightening of her lips, the cruel
smile as she watched the buggy recede.�
What
thoughts were going on behind that handsome brow an observer could only
speculate, but as it happens� an
intriguing idea was beginning to form in the Lady�s mind. She realized that she
would soon have an opportunity to attend to the matter of the prized filly in
her own way, for the care and feeding of the ponygirls would be left entirely
in her hands for three whole days.� Lord
Edgewater was about to make one of his rare business trips to the city.� She would make the most of those three days,
determined to humble the elegant, high-stepping beauty.
Of
course, his Lordship and his trotting pony were blissfully unaware of what was
being planned on that balcony over looking the courtyard.� Had he known he would have certainly taken
precautions to see that his consort�s wild enthusiasm was restrained in his absence.��� Basil tolerated the Ursula�s perverse
tastes, with amused tolerance.� But he
kept a wary eye on her sadistic streak, which he wouldn�t allow to go
unchecked, at least not for very long, before he felt he had to take the Lady
in hand.�� He knew how excited Ursula
got once she had been given a free hand with one of the ponygirls.� Her punishments were sometimes fiendishly
ingenious, often bordering on the bizarre, but alas -- too often
excessive.� His Lordship, while
recognizing the value of an occasional whip on the rump, or the satisfying
smack a paddle to a well-placed bottom, just to keep a spirited ponygirl in
line, disapproved of the more heavy-handed methods, the kind that could easily
drive his cruel consort into an exited frenzy.�
But
such thoughts were far from his mind as Lord Edgewater, from his vantage point,
was treated to the cheery sight of his favorite filly, her caramel colored hair
drawn back in that short-cropped pony tail bobbing in a perky bounce, as she
jogged along,� He was captivated by the
liquid churning of those taut little rearcheeks of hers� --�
delightful rearcheeks that so neatly filled his greedy cupping
hands.� He smiled to see the way Justine�s
juddering behind caused her newly-acquired tail to swish from side to side with
spunky impudence.
A
shouted command, punctuated a with another crack of the slender whip, sent the
running girl straining harder, forcing her even further over the bar she held
before her, so as to acquire the faster pace her Master ordered.� She broke into a loping trot.�� This was what Edgewater most admired: a
well-trained young woman who held her head up and her upper body erect,
straining shoulders pulled back, and arched chest proudly out in front.� A talented girl could hold the demanding pose
even while prancing; the sight of which never failed to generate a tingle of
excitement in him.� He especially
enjoyed the way Justine�s hard naked body pulled against the restraining
harness, the flex and pull of smooth leg muscles as the long-legged filly
pounded down the beaten track.
****���
****��� ****
On Friday the news swept swiftly through the stable.� The sight of the big silver Rolls pulling up to the front of the house, and left to idle there, its engine purring, while the uniformed chauffer took up his position to wait by the open door, was further evidence: the rumor was true � the Master was going off on one of his business trips.� The sense of dread hung over the stable for all knew how much their cruel Mistress relished the chance to get her hands on the ponygirls.� Justine watched and waited, her feelings a mixture of excitement and dread.
And she didn�t have long to wait, for the car had not been gone an hour before the groom came for her. Her wrists were banded with wide leather cuffs, padded, and lined with silk to avoid chafing.� Lady Ursula was careful to see that none of the girls would bear any marks of abuse which might come t o the attention of� the Lord of the Manor once he returned.� A leash was snapped to the high leather collar she wore.� The ponygirl�s hands were then drawn back behind her, the cuffs clipped together, and she was led off to the exercise yard, walking tall, with head up and hands behind her back, wearing nothing but her sleek black boots.
This would not be the first time her Ladyship had put Justine through her paces, for the beauty of the stable was often singled out for special treatment, sometimes in private, sometimes before the other girls, as when the imperious Mistress made the kneeling girl bend down to the ground to kiss a proffered boot while the others watched in awed silence.� Lady Ursula got a wicked thrill from witnessing the abasement of the proud beauty, wildly elated to see the young beauty lowering her head in complete and total subservience to her Mistress� iron will.
But although she was shamelessly used while in the harness, she bore the mild discomforts well. It was the humiliating way that her mistress used her as her personal love slave that Justine most dreaded.� For there were times when she was required to do service as a ponygirl during the day, and to provide services of a personal, more intimate kind at night -- in the Lady�s bedchamber.****��� ****��� ****
The groom began to put her through her paces.� The daily routine always started with 40 laps around the tall metal pole erected in the exact center of the exercise yard. The short leash was replaced by a long lead that hung loosely from her neck while the other end was attached to a freely-pivoting ring set near the top of the pole. The first lap began at a brisk walk.�� The groom set the pace, the girl taking wide strides in her high-heeled boots while her wrists remained tied behind her.� At the second lap, the overseer ordered a prance.� He called out his command and with a flick of the wrist slapped her straight across her tight-cheeked young bottom.� Lifting her knees ever higher in the stylized manner of a show pony, Justine was dutifully making her rounds when the single word �Stop!� rang out.� Instantly, she stood stock still.� Keeping her gaze fixed forward, she was unable to see the figure coming up behind her, but the ominous crunch of booted feet stomping on the crushed gravel made it clear to her.� She knew that tread!� And the realization sent a shiver of fear through her.� Lady Ursula was about to take charge!
���
It
was well known that Lady Ursula thoroughly enjoyed wielding the pony whip at
the daily exercises, gleefully urging the prancing ponygirls to step lively
with each crack of the lash, but today the fiendishly inventive sadist had
something quite novel in mind for her husband�s favorite, for in watching the
naked girl parade around, her attention had been drawn to Justine�s vulnerable,
high-riding breasts.
Now Ursula stepped right up to Justine.� Both women were tall, and both wore high-heeled boots, but the full-figured woman in the riding outfit was a few inches taller than the slightly-built nude.� Justine stood with eyes forward, not daring to look up, while Ursula looked down on the arched chest before her, pointedly studying the small, upthrust breasts with their brash oversized nipples.
The
Lady wore short riding gloves and now, without a word, she raised both gloved
hands and began to fondle the flattened mounds of those pancake breasts, laying
splayed fingers on them, pressing them together, and palming the large puffy
nipples that Justine sported.
�Such
pretty things,� she murmured, pressing the soft flesh of Justine�s thickened
disks into slow circular motion. �Superb!�
Ah, but those nipples of yours are far too large; quite excessive for
such delicate treasures, don�t you think so George?��� She flicked a nipple with the tip of her finger, while
delivering this aside to the groom who stood there nodding with grinning
enthusiasm.� But Ursula ignored the man
who stood fascinated to see the interplay between the two beautiful women.� For Ursula, the groom did not exist; nothing
existed but the two of them -- and the world which they were about to
enter.�
�Look
at me!� she hissed.� And while she was
looking deep into Justine�s big brown eyes she delicately plucked a prominent
nipple between thumb and forefinger and gradually tightened her grip, all the
while searching the girl�s eyes for the first glint of rising pain.� She smiled to see it, as tears welled up and
the girl sucked in a shivering breath of air through clenched teeth and jacked
upward.� Lady Ursula held on, pulled,
testing its elasticity by stretching the little breast into a tightened peak,
while her victim arched her back and clenched her jaws against the pain.� It took only a bit of this rough tit play
before Justine was breathing deeply, her tortured breasts throbbing, undulating
in ragged heaves. The excited nipples now protruded, dark and swollen with
arousal.
�You
see what I mean, George?� All together
too brazen!� We can�t have her walking
around with those big things sticking out like a sluttish whore�s! Such
impudence!�
Here
she paused to consider.� �I think,� she
teased, rolling the hardened bud between thumb and forefinger, �that these will
have to punished for showing off like this.�
�She turned to her wide-grinning assistant,
who obligingly held out a set of nipple clamps.� These were spring clips with smooth blunted jaws designed to
insure that the tender flesh was not cut, but instead constantly squeezed and thus
subjected to a dull throbbing pain that would persist while the devilish clamps
were in place, and for sometime after they were removed.� And they would not be removed until the
Mistress of Discipline deemed that it be so. Justine knew of girls who were
made to the wear the hateful clips all day long and even in stable at night,
where they were free to remove them, but did not dare to do so.
Now
she held the nipple clamps, squeezing one to demonstrate the opening of the
little jaws for Justine to see. �The
pair were joined together with a short chain.�
Curiously, the length of light chain between the clamps had been
threaded through a hard rubber dowel rod.�
Ursula
plucked each breast and very precisely attached the clamps to Justine�s jutting
nipples, while the girl fought to stand still, biting down on her curled lower
lip with each twinge of hurt.� The ache
settled into a dull throb; she would learn to tolerate the pain. For a moment
the little rod swung down between her captive breasts like some sort of bizarre
necklace.� Moving closer, Ursula gave
her victim the sort of smile the cat reserves for the canary, and lifting up
the dowel rod purred in a silky whisper: �Open wide.�
�The ponygirl obediently opened her mouth to
accept the bit that was jammed between her small white teeth.
With
the rubber rod distorting her mouth, she looked up at her Mistress, confusion
in her wide alert eyes.� Ursula smiled
benevolently, placed two joined fingers under the girl�s chin and lifted it
high, higher, till Justine stood with collared neck stretched upward, her head
thrown well back.� With her chin held
high her breasts were pulled taut and uplifted, the pliant flesh stretched up
and out. Her Ladyship declared this to be a distinct improvement in posture!
She
now confided to her silent assistant that she considered bouncy tits unseemly
on a ponygirl (although quite obviously in Justine�s case, her taut, small
mounded tits hardly merited such restraint). Nevertheless, this was the posture
the unfortunate girl was forced to maintain as she was ordered back into her
routine, once more around the familiar circuit.
�"Trot,
Bitch!�� The obedient ponygirl, her
little tits stretched tight, her wrists held behind her back, broke into a
trot.
�Faster! Keep your chin up; head high! Now
Prance!� Prance!�
�THWACK! The
sharp sting of the flickering whip punctuated the shouted command, biting into
that pert rump.
��Shake that
skinny arse of yours, you saucy bitch.�
Show us just what a little whore you are!���
The lines of distress that creased the ponygirl�s
pretty face brought a low, throaty laugh from her tormentor. And in this manner
the bizarre performance went on and on, the ponygirl high-stepping in endless
circles, and for some mysterious reason, the prancing girl�s deep humiliation
was now drowned in a surge of perverse pride.
The End
Copyright Don Winslow, 2003