****** Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get The Blues ******
                           Provided By: BDSM_Library
                              www.bdsmlibrary.com



Synopsis: More adventures of Jessica and Kate as they attempt to escape their
naked and chained imprisonment on Rabbit Island. They are smart girls but
somehow their captors always seem to get the upper hand. This time they
determined to outwit their so-called Masters. Like the previous story, Rabbit
Island, this is a leisurely-paced tale of female bondage, punishment,
fulfillment and wicked games, non-consensual but generally light and sexy in
tone. The story is being posted as I write it, so any reviews and feedback
(good or bad) are welcomed.
                             Chapter 14. The Silver Lady
                 (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, Aurelius)


The story so far:
...
(Ch. 11) Master Alex collects the drugs he will administer to the armless girl -
Jessica's nerve fails her and she binds herself to the bedpost just before Alex
arrives.
(Ch. 12) During the cross-country race, one of the ponygirls escapes. Kate is partly
responsible and severely punished.
(Ch. 13) The ponygirl hunting posse camp overnight at the beach. Jessica and the
other ponygirls are branded. A tragic discovery.
BACK TO THE LODGE
The vast front lawns of The Lodge were unrecognizable, no longer the immaculate oasis
of calm and order, admired equally by slaves and masters. The whole population of
Rabbit Island, residents, visitors and domestic workers, were gathered there.
Men with broad shoulders and rippling biceps marshalled the assembled crowd. Clad in
tight white tee-shirts and camouflage pants, and with cropped short hair, they looked
like extras from low budget Hollywood action movie. The PA system, most recently used
to commentate on the ponygirl events, was now being used to give out a barrage of
orders from a deep, growling voice.
Jessica and the other ponygirls trotted across the front grounds towards their normal
destination, the cobbled courtyard. Running at pace, with her sight lines blinkered,
Jessica comprehended little of the scene all around her except sensing there was
something important happening; an event with more urgency than celebration.
As soon as they halted by their hitching post Riccardo jumped down from the seat.
“Holy shit. Wait here, I’ll go see what’s happening,” he said, addressing Jessica and
Debbie. Things had to be serious if Riccardo was talking to his ponygirls! He and
Frank walked purposefully back to the front of the Lodge, but were met and blocked by
two strong-armed men who spun them around and steered them back to their pony traps.
“Get them unhitched, remove their locks and bring them around to the front,” one of
them barked, talking over Riccardo’s request for answers. These guys didn’t do
conversations. The men moved towards Kate and Lucy, releasing their hands from the
back rails of their respective seat backs. Kate’s man, muscular and handsome and in
his mid twenties, placed firm hands on her hips and helped Kate jumped down from the
trap. He made no move to separate her leather-tied wrists.
Kate had once seen a TV program about SAS rescue missions; where she learned that
everyone, including hostages, is treated as potentially hostile until the whole place
is fully under control. Perhaps this was similar, she thought, as the charmless hunk
of a man briskly escorted her to the front lawns, his vice-like fingers gripping her
elbow tight enough to bruise.
Her heart sank as she began to comprehend what was really happening. The Rabbit
Island handlers like Erik and Kurt were no longer in charge of events, that much was
clear, but nor did it seem they were ‘under arrest’. Bunnies and slavegirls,
meanwhile, remained as securely bound as ever.
Kate didn’t understand exactly what the invaders were doing at first, not until she
witnessed one of the naked bunnies being processed. Yes, she thought, processed
seemed the right word. She saw pussygirl lucy laying naked on a white bedsheet which
was spread out on the lawn. Her hands and feet were bound then the bedsheet was
wrapped tightly around her from head to toe. Silver-grey gaffer tape was passed
around her wrapped-up body in several places. Once she was securely bundled she was
hooded with a white pillow slip. Its opening was gathered around her neck with
several turns of tape, giving the impression of a snug-fitting collar.
Two men carried the Lucy’s helpless body to the end of the line - a line consisting
of more than thirty similarly bound bodies.
Then it was Kate’s turn. They finally removed the leather cords from her wrists but
she was powerless as three men surrounded her, undressing her, but showing little
interest in her white corset, or the delights of her flesh that the corset’s removal
had revealed. They bound her hands behind her back with strong plastic ties like
those used by the U.S. army, one on each wrist, interlinked together. She heard a
zipping sound as the plastic ratcheted down on each wrists; then two snips as they
clipped off their trailing ends. The efficiency of it chilled her.
“Sixty-nine!” One of her captors called out, having located Kate’s Rabbit Island ID
number at the top of her thigh. Another man noted it on a clipboard, while the third
man unwrapped a length of clear, thin tubing which was coiled inside a hygienic
plastic wrapper.
“What’s that for?” Kate asked nervously. The item looked familiar. They didn’t bother
to answer, and nor did she ask any more questions. A three inch wide strip of white
surgical tape was plastered across her face. Large hands pressed hard on both her
cheeks, pushing her head backwards, to ensure the tape was bonded fully with her
skin.
When the tube was taken from the plain packaging, Kate recognized it in an instant: A
Foley catheter. Though the plain packaging suggested to her that this one was an
inferior far-eastern imitation.
She knew she was to about to be catheterized. As a nurse she’d seen and performed
this procedure many times. She’d even put one on herself a couple of years ago. If
she expected patients to do this themselves at home, then she figured it only right
that she understood what it was like. And having catheterized herself she then wore a
urine bag strapped to her leg for a whole working day on the hospital wards. Her
patients may have admired her, it merely confirmed her colleagues’ earlier opinion of
her: Cute, amusing, but slightly mad.
The man standing behind her kicked her feet apart, using his boots to keep them
spread wide, while another man knelt down in front of her. His latex-gloved fingers
probed the folds of her labia, exposing the opening of her urethra. With little
regard for her pain, and none at all for her modesty, he eased the tube up into the
small opening for several inches. She looked downwards, silent and wide-eyed, as he
syringed a little water into the retaining valve that held the tube within her
bladder. When that was done he tugged gently on the tube to test it. The balloon
valve in her bladder held the tube securely and watertight within her.
Kate saw her urine trickling through the long flexible tube, emptying onto the grass
between her feet. The catheter man taped the tube into place using one-inch surgical
tape, encircling the top of her left thigh. A similar wrap of tape was applied just
below her knee, and again at the ankle, just like fixing a drainpipe in place.
Although the procedure lacked the hygiene standards that Kate had been taught, she
could not fault the man’s efficiency. When she glanced over at the row of thirty
cocooned bodies she realized he’d had a lot of practice.
The man swabbed the tears from Kate’s eyes. “Don’t cry,” he said, but not to comfort
her; it was a direct command. He pushed her to the ground onto a white sheet, placed
one of her ankles onto the other and linked them with two plastic ties. She heard
that noise again: Zip, zip, clip, clip. So impersonal, so efficient! Her ankles were
secured, and as with her wrists, would surely stay that way until someone decided to
cut her free.
They finished by wrapping the white sheet around her, then banded her body in six
places with strong silver-grey tape. Each band preceeded by a loud rip as the tape
was peeled from its roll. There was no farewell to or from Rabbit Island as the white
pillow slip was placed over her head.
Kate was lifted and carried to the end of the line. Dumped on the bermuda grass lawn,
she found herself rubbing shoulders with similarly bound and anonymous victims. She
had become a commodity. Livestock to be shipped. No name, no uniqueness, just another
helpless female body, listed on someone’s clipboard only by her serial number: 69.
Back in the courtyard, it was a further ten minutes before Jessica and Debbie were
divested of all their pony accoutrements. They were naked and barefoot, free at last
from all bondage, stretching and rotating their arms in the air in triumph, savouring
their first taste of freedom. They hugged and smiled at each other, unable to believe
the sudden turn of events. Two muscular men led them out of the courtyard towards the
front of the Lodge. Only when they turned the corner to face the front lawns was the
horror fully revealed to them.
This was not freedom, Jessica and Debbie realized. The ex-ponygirls though free from
harness had the same instinctive reaction at the same moment: Flee!
They both shrugged themselves clear of their surprised escorts, and sprinted away,
heading towards the shortcut to the beach. They were confident they could outrun any
man.
The men didn’t even try to keep up. They didn’t need to. A hundred yards away Jessica
and Debbie were staring down a rifle barrel five yards ahead of them. It was Vince,
who was walking up from the beach with his five bunnies in tow.
“Don’t make me shoot.” He said calmly, the gun barrel’s aim alternating confidently
between their chests. “This baby can make a real big hole in you. I suggest you turn
around and return to the nice men.”
They stared at him with burning contempt, drilling their eyes into his, displaying
their sense of betrayal. Vince was amused by their reaction. He’d never been anything
other than their captor’s employee, and was never particularly kind to them. But for
Jessica and Debbie, he was the devil they knew, which suddenly seemed a hell of a lot
better than these new devils they didn’t know.
“Eighty-four!” The man called out after locating the Rabbit Island ID on Jessica’s
thigh. She felt powerless, numb, like being trapped in a living nightmare, as they
packaged her in the same brusque manner as Kate and all the others. Plastic-tied,
tape-gagged, catheter-tubed, and bedsheet-wrapped, her processed body was laid out at
the end of the ever-growing line.
All Jessica could see was a sunlit white through the pillow slip which had probably
been on somebody’s bed last night. It certainly smelled that way. Her shoulders
rubbed those of her neighbours to each side. On the left she was comforted to feel
Debbie’s presence. She knew instinctively it was Debbie, just from her familiar
grunts and sighs.
Jessica listened to the sounds around her. The feeble cries of protesting bunnies,
and the ripping of tape ceased after Vince’s five had been processed. She heard men
milling around their captives, smoking cigarettes and discussing who was going where,
and when, and with whom. She listened closely for number 84. Her number felt as much
her identity as her own name. She never really liked Orwell’s book 1984 but on Rabbit
Island, having received her tattooed number, she developed a peculiar attachment to
it. Sometimes, when tied up for long periods, she would fight the mind-numbing tedium
by trying to remember scenes from the book. Eventually she had written her own
version of it.
Suddenly she realized Debbie was not longer beside her. Her pony partner had
disappeared; snatched from her side without her even noticing. Jessica feared they
had been separated, perhaps forever. One thing she had grown to appreciate about
ponygirl life was never being lonely, but now Jessica felt utterly alone, utterly
helpless and fearful in a way she had never known before in her year on Rabbit
Island.
Then it was her turn. Helicopters were landing nearby, the strong breeze of its
rotors flapping the white hood against her face, which at least protect her from the
dust storm.
Unseen hands lifted her, and to Jessica’s surprise she was set down on top of another
body. It was facing the other direction so Jessica’s face rested on the woman’s
ankles. Webbed straps were fastened around them to hold the pair firmly together.
Those straps were hooked on to the helicopter’s winch. Her body jerked and Jessica
knew she and her unknown companion were suspended in mid-air. She felt a cool sea
breeze filtering through her thin wrapping and tried not to think of how high above
the ground she was.
They were flying, suspended beneath the helicopter. Had she been able to see, Jessica
would have had a spectacular birds-eye view of Rabbit Island behind her and a
luxurious hundred-foot cruise ship ahead of her. Its sleek black hull was too large
to dock at Rabbit Island’s modest jetty so it was anchored a short distance out to
sea.
The airlift took barely a minute. Unseen hands released the straps separating Jessica
from her trembling companion. The all-pervading thrum of the helicopter faded away as
it headed back to shore for its next load. When she heard the sound of water lapping
against the boat, Jessica knew for sure that she was at sea. Rabbit Island didn’t do
day cruises for ponygirls last she heard. She, and indeed all the ponygirls, talked
sometimes of their terror of being ‘shipped’. Now it had happened, and so far it was
everything she feared it would be.
“Let’s get ‘em into storage,” one of the handlers said to another, “there'll be more
here in a couple of minutes.”
The two men grabbed hold of her, one at the ankles the other by the tape wrappings
just below her shoulders. For a moment she was in an upright position as they
manhandled her down two flights of ladder-like steps.
“She goes in bunk six,” a gruff Canadian voice said. He was definitely not from
Rabbit Island, Jessica knew that much for certain.
After an audible heave from the two men, Jessica landed face-down onto a firmly
padded surface. Retaining straps were fastened across her back and calves. Soon
after, they returned with Jessica’s recent travel companion, fixing her in the same
manner into the bunk below.
A knife started cutting near Jessica’s neck, at the collar of strong tape which
sealed on her white cotton hood. The hood was pulled clear.
“Hey sweetie!” The man said cheerfully as he rearranged her messed-up hair. Jessica
craned her neck upwards in response, her eyes meeting his sooner than she hoped.
She’d forgotten to prepare her angry expression and instead her eyes conveyed only
fear and submission. The broad swathe of white tape masked the lower half of her
face, but the man clearly liked what he did see: Jessica’s thick brunette hair and
soulful dark eyes.
“Ponygirl?”
“Uh-hmmm,” Jessica confirmed, and not without a small amount of pride. She would have
liked to know why he asked, but as Master Alex would often remind her: ‘the gagged
one doesn’t ask the questions’.
The man moved his attention to the girl in the bunk below Jessica, cutting away her
white hood too. “Cute!” he said with a smile. Jessica could see her captor’s face,
but not her companion strapped into the bunk immediately below her.
Twenty minutes later the below-decks storage area was fully occupied. Jessica was on
the topmost of three bunks. Across the narrow aisle were three other bunks. Jessica
didn’t recognize the occupants - they must be visitors, she guessed incorrectly. It
was she who was now the visitor.
The same man started to cut away at the fabric near Jessica’s wrists. Her optimism at
being released was short-lived. He made no attempt to remove or alter the plastic
ties around her wrists, he just wanted access to her hands. He attached metal clamps
to the thumb and fingers of each hand. Her toes got the same treatment. They didn’t
hurt, but she was constantly aware of nip of steel crocodile teeth in her various
digits. She turned her head to observe the woman on the opposite bunk treated
similarly. She could see that the clamps had wires trailing from them. Wires not
strong enough to restrain anyone but strong enough to transmits an electric current.
Soon all six hapless roommates were identically bound and clamped: Wrists and ankles
fixed with plastic ties, wrapped in a white sheet and tape-bound and, like Jessica,
they all sported a wide strip of white tape across the mouth.
Having completed the clamping of fingers and toes, the man stood at the end of the
aisle in sight of all his passengers. Six pairs of helpless female eyes looked up at
him.
“Listen up ladies,” he said, savouring the irony of his salutation, “Soon we’ll be
setting sail, and we expect choppy seas for part of the journey. Enough to cause sea
sickness.”
Their eyes widened at the dreadful implication of sickness to someone who was gagged.
“So, if you agree to remain quiet throughout the journey, we will remove your gags
shortly after we heave anchor.”
They all nodded and quietly mmmphed their agreement. Yes, we’ll be as quiet as church
mice, they would have said.
“Remember! Not a sound after your gags are removed. This bunk space is wired-up for
sound and we’ll be listening for any noise. To the side of your face you’ll see a
straw sticking up? That’s water. Drink plenty throughout the journey. No need to
worry about peeing, we’ve plumbed your catheter tubes into our waste system. If you
need a shit, let me know... but I’m hoping you’ll manage three days without going.”
He gazed with evident satisfaction at the six captives, then he left, climbing the
steps to the middle deck.
Shortly afterwards two massive Volvo diesel engines fired into life, gurgling with
latent power. The ship imperceptibly started its journey as the engines’ throaty revs
increased.
RICCARDO
Riccardo stood on the deck watching the rounded green hills of Rabbit Island receding
into the horizon. Someone handed him another glass of champagne. He’d downed the
first as if it were medicine; a bitter tasting medicine.
“Wait till you see Isla de la Plata. It’s spectacular.” Said the man alongside him.
“So I’m told,” Riccardo said coolly, his gaze still fixed on the ever-decreasing mass
of Rabbit Island. Was he foolish to accept this assignment? He didn’t know. He was
curious to see La Plata for himself. To find out how they did things like ponygirl
training, and how it compared to Rabbit Island; but primarily he was going there out
of a sense of responsibility. He despised himself for his weakness.
This boat was impressive. He’d never been rich but Riccardo had lived amongst wealthy
people for many years and seen many fine things, but he’d never been on a vessel as
large and luxurious as the Silver Lady. It was fit for royalty, a movie star or a
perhaps a Russion oil magnate. Even his small private berth had en-suite facilities.
The captain extended an invitation for him to visit the bridge. He was looking
forward to seeing it, always fascinated by the technical gadgetry that a yacht of
this size possessed.
“Darling. We’ve prepared some delicious snacks for lunch.”
Riccardo turned around to see the boat’s owner. He had to smile. Her leather and high
heels had been replaced by a casual cotton shirt, navy shorts and boat shoes. She
looked almost normal.
“Thank you M...”
“Argenta!” she interrupted, a practiced smile assembling itself on her face. “Please
call me Argenta.”
“Thank you... Argenta.”
He followed Argenta into the lavish stateroom, resplendently decorated, and with the
familiar scent of freshly-picked Rabbit Island orchids. The buffet lunch was
delicious as promised. After lunch, also as promised, came his visit to the ship’s
bridge.
The Captain stood, legs planted firmly at shoulder width, in the centre of the
bridge, casting an eye over the vast array of electronic displays and radars, whilst
gazing contentedly at the open sea ahead like an old sea dog. Yet she was neither
old, and certainly no dog. She greeted Riccardo warmly, having finally noticed his
cautious entry into her domain. His couldn’t hide his admiration of her equipment,
though she was clearly used to such compliments.
Riccardo had always liked a woman in uniform, particularly a tight-fitting one like
the captain’s. Whilst her white uniform jacket and pants were normal for her rank (if
somewhat formal compared to the rest of the ship’s crew), the cut of them might be
called ‘exceedingly fine’, hugging the perfect curves of her breasts and buttocks. He
sensed that if one of the brass buttons on her jacket popped free, the whole thing
would burst open with the repressed power of her stunning breasts. Yes, he liked
that, and envied the man who would undress her at night. He wondered fancifully
whether he may in fact be that man at some time during the next three days.
“Belinda?” The captain called out softly to the slim young woman who had been leaning
over the charts with protractor and ruler. Belinda looked up and smiled politely.
“This is Belinda, Silver Lady’s first officer and my lover.” The captain informed
Riccardo. That final detail perhaps given to save Riccardo from making an awkward and
pointless advance on either of them. He made a brave effort to conceal his
disappointment. He shook hands heartily with Belinda who was every bit as handsome,
in a pretty-female-in-tightly-buttoned-uniform kind of way, as her lover. They spent
a half hour giving Riccardo the grand tour of the radar systems, the satellite
navigation, and the auto pilot. Lesbian lovers they might be, but they seemed to
enjoy his company.
“Come up and visit us any time.” They said cheerily as Riccardo thanked them and made
his exit. He liked them, but cursed God that they were lesbians. Notwithstanding
that, he was fairly sure he would take them up on their hospitality. Riccardo mused
on the possibility of converting them. Bedding a lifelong lesbian was even better
than bedding a virgin.
THE SIAMESE TWINS
Lovers they might be, but the Captain and First Officer Belinda didn’t seem likely to
provide any erotic thrills for the casual visitor while they were on duty. Riccardo
was nonetheless confident he wouldn’t have to look far for such things. He’d been
promised.
He returned to the main lounge and dining area to find out if the cute Thai serving
maids he’d seen at lunch had any free time. He spotted them, sat on the parquet floor
at the feet of Argenta.
She saw him enter. “Darling! Do sit down and talk to us. You’ll feel seasick if you
keep walking around.”
Riccardo feared she was right, and sat a respectful distance along the plush salon
seating from Argenta and her Thai maids.
“You haven’t introduced me,” Riccardo said, gesturing with his handsome latin eyes
towards the maids.
“Oh yes, of course. These are my Siamese twins. I’m sure they have other names, but
why bother with names? I can’t tell them apart anyway.” Argenta laughed at her own
joke, even though she’d told it many times before.
Riccardo made a small wave at the smiling twins. They were truly beautiful; petite,
but with big expressive eyes and devastating smiles. “Hi twins!”
Argenta was right, they really couldn’t be told apart. They waved back charmingly,
though Riccardo sensed they only had eyes for Argenta, their Mistress.
“I was just explaining to the twins about keel-hauling.” Argenta said, bringing
Riccardo into the conversation. “Any more misbehavior from them and they’ll learn
about it first-hand. Apparently if the sharks don’t get you it’s quite refreshing.”
She laughed at her own joke again. Argenta’s mantle was starting to slip. She leaned
towards Riccardo, and lowered her voice as if to confide in him.“The little darlings
are fun to have around, but when I’m bored of them I’ll have them tied up, sealed in
a weighted sack and dropped into the ocean.”
The Thai maids giggled, having overheard the comment.
Riccardo expected to see a smile or perhaps a sly wink, but Argenta’s face remained
deadpan.
“I’ve already told them, but they think I’m joking!” Argenta added with a shrug. She
indulged the giggling maids with a maternal pat on their heads. They adored her,
worshipped her, and seemed to tingle with sexual excitement just from being sat at
her feet.
Riccardo had a couple of questions for her. The first one, ‘are there any females on
board that aren’t lesbians?’ he decided would have to wait. He opted for a simpler
question: Could he visit the Rabbit Island girls in the storage bay?
“Steerage, we call it.” Argenta joked. “Of course you may. Peter will take you down
there later.”
He knew Peter. A fellow pony driver, though he kept himself to himself. There would
be plenty of time in the next few days to get to know each other, Riccardo thought.
The other pony driver, Paul, was altogether more distant, and Riccardo doubted they
would ever be friends. Rabbit Island pony drivers had a genuine camaraderie, which
Riccardo assumed was shared by all pony drivers. Apparently it was not so.
IN STEERAGE, THE ELECTROCIZER
Peter was as good as his word, removing the tape from their faces once they had set
sail. Jessica slurped thirstily from the conveniently placed straw. The water was
cool and refreshing, though its taste hinted of something more than just water. That
wasn’t unusual. She’d become resigned to being fed all manner of drugs on Rabbit
Island; they were mostly beneficial she conceded, judging by her own assessment of
her health. The drug she cursed most was the one that so dramatically affected her
libido. It constantly undermined her resistance to the teasing and torments they
inflicted on her. Sometimes even when running as a ponygirl, she had moments where
she felt horny beyond belief, desperate to feel a man’s dick pumping into her whilst
she tugged violently against her strapping. She’d never actually had an orgasm while
rigged up as a ponygirl. Debbie, her erstwhile partner, coyly admitted to it on
several occasions. Now, cocooned and strapped face-down on a bunk, an orgasm, whether
self-induced, assisted or enforced, seemed an impossible dream.
Peter left them, and for a while the six occupants kept silent as they promised. Two
or three days with only the constant drum of the marine engines would drive her
crazy, Jessica thought. She remembered similar situations before where she wasn’t
gagged but was forbidden to speak. In the company of good friends such as Kate to
stay silent was immensely difficult. It was easier to be gagged and not have the
temptation.
The bunk area was small, consisting of little more than the two stacks of three
narrow bunks and a two-foot aisle in between. It was just front of centre within the
boat, and had a small frosted skylight that perfectly illuminated the room.
Jessica looked across at the woman on the opposite bunk, hoping to utilize her lip-
reading talent. The woman was undeniably pretty, though her blonde hair was cut ultra
short as if it had recently been shaved off. There was something wrong with her.
Instead of relaxing, which was all one could really do when cocooned in the present
fashion, this woman seemed to be tensing, grimacing, struggling with a fierce
intensity. Her eyes bulged with panic.
“Oh my god! She’s having a seizure!” Jessica blurted out. She raised her voice.
“Someone help us. There’s a girl down here having a fit!” Jessica fully expected to
see Peter dashing down the steps into the storage bay a moment later. Surely the
microphones must have picked up her cries for help.
“It’s okay. Amy’s fine,” said the black girl in the opposite middle bunk. “It’s just
the Electrocizer.”
“The what?” Jessica asked.
“The Electrocizer. It sends pulses through the body to stimulate muscle activity. You
know the clamps on your fingers and toes? That’s how you’re connected to it. Don’t
worry, it looks worse than it really is. You’ll see.”
“Jessi?” A voice inquired timidly from the bunk below her.
Jessica squealed with joy. “Katie? Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me. Oh God, I’m so glad you’re here Jessi!” Kate’s emotion overtook
her as she wept, unable to speak another word for the next minute. Jessica soothed
her with gentle words. There was barely a foot of space between them, yet they could
neither touch nor even see each other.
“Who’s on the bottom bunk?” Jessica called out, hoping against all hope that it would
be Debbie.
“It's me. Karen. Karen Galtz!” Came the exasperated response. “There’s been a
mistake. I shouldn’t be here!”
Jessica tried not to laugh. “Me neither, Karen.” Jessica had had little contact with
the journalist since her stealthy arrival on Rabbit Island. Although she hadn’t
pieced everything together, she knew enough to deduce that Karen Galtz was partially
responsible for their current plight. Karen’s ill-fated journalistic snooping visit
hadn’t earned her any friends on Rabbit Island; not among the Masters or the slaves.
Despite it all, Jessica felt sorry for her. (She had ceased feeling sorry for herself
a long time ago.)
The Electrocizer was running on a preset sequence, giving the the top bunk’s occupant
around ten minutes of its stimulating shocks. Then, without warning, its attention,
or rather its current, switched to the black girl in the middle bunk. Her reaction to
the Electrocizer, Jessica noticed, was strikingly similar to that of the blonde
woman. Amy was her name, she said, exchanging pleasantries with Jessica, whilst
recovering her breath. Though exhausted, as if she’d had a good workout, she didn’t
seem any worse for her shock treatment.
When the girl in the bottom bunk was receiving her dose from the Electrocizer,
Jessica trembled and braced herself for the inevitable. Then it hit her, like
somebody yanking on her legs, trying to dislocate her thighs from her pelvis. She
felt a powerful uncontrollable twitching in her muscles as if an electric force was
taking control of her body. If she were not so well cocooned and strapped down she
imagined her arms and legs would be flailing around in all directions. Soon her heart
was pounding, sending more blood to her muscles. The devilish machine had a varied
repertoire, warming her up, stretching her, aerobically pacing her, and even
massaging her, or so it felt. It was providing quite a work-out.
Riccardo arrived just in time to witness Jessica’s electrically-induced exercise
routine.
“Don’t touch her!” Amy in the opposite bunk called out, having seen Riccardo’s hand
move towards Jessica’s face. “You’ll get a shock.”
Riccardo stood back. “I've just had one. What the hell is happening to her?”
Shona, the black girl below Amy, explained about the Electrocizer again. Jessica
looked up at Riccardo, her eyes bulbous, popping out alarmingly, her mouth open like
a hungry fish, trying and failing to form words or engaged her vocal cords.
“Jesus Christ!” He exclaimed, suffering a different kind of shock to Jessica. He
could barely stand to look at her. He spotted Kate in the bunk below and bent down to
to stroke her head. “Hey sweetie!” he said, perhaps too tenderly.
“You’d better not touch me. I’ll get the same thing any moment now,” Kate warned him.
“Damn it! I’m not a ponygirl, I don’t need to exercise like Jessica does. I never...”
Kate was right. It was nearly her turn. While she jerked and jolted in her bunk,
Jessica collapsed in groans of relief.
“How are you?” Riccardo asked his ponygirl, leaving a jerking, bug-eyed palpitating
Kate to get on with her exercizes. It didn’t seem right to watch.
“Exhausted, Sir,” Jessica replied. “Completely exhausted by that thing. Oh my god,
that was unbelievable.”
After sipping water through her straw, Jessica said, “Riccardo, Sir, can I ask what
is happening? Why are we on this boat? Where are they taking us?”
“We’re going to La Plata.” Riccardo replied, “It’s a sex colony similar to Rabbit
Island. We’ll be there until all this fuss dies down. Rabbit Island was attracting
too much attention so they’ve shut it down for a while. With any luck we’ll be back
home in three months.”
His choice of the word home gave Jessica mixed feelings, but she understood what he
meant. “We’re on Madame Cavallo’s boat, aren’t we?” she stated, almost answering her
own question. She needed only a straight answer as confirmation.
Riccardo sighed. “Yes we are. You’ve been transferred into her custody while Rabbit
Island is closed... and so have I. But I’m still be in charge of you, so don’t go
thinking you’re on holiday!”
His black humour coaxed a equally sardonic chuckle from Jessica. If all she had to
worry about was obeying and pleasing Riccardo the next three months would be
tolerable. Yet she harboured an unsettling feeling it would not be that easy.
Riccardo felt awkward witnessing Kate’s convulsions, as if intruding on something
personal. He bade a quick goodbye with a promise to return in the morning.
“You like your driver don’t you?” Amy stated.
“I respect him,” Jessica corrected her. “He is a firm driver, but fair.”
“Peter is my driver.” Amy said. “He’s a bastard.”
Jessica’s heart skipped a beat as she fitted the pieces of the story together: Peter
was driving the pony trap that crashed. Amy was the ponygirl with a broken ankle that
they took to the medical suite. It has to be her, because the other ponygirl was
dead.
“How’s the ankle?” Jessica asked.
“It’s swollen and it aches a little,” Amy said stoicly, “but I received good
treatment in your medical suite. Kate’s a good nurse.”
It was all the confirmation Jessica needed. She knew she’d have to break the sad news
to Amy.
“I wonder what happened to my partner.” Amy mused, just as Jessica expected she
would.
Jessica sighed. “Amy, she’s dead. They found her body on the beach. They didn’t kill
her, she drowned.”
Amy went silent with shock. Jessica watched as tears gathered on Amy’s lower eyelids
before they spilled down her cheeks.
Jessica cursed her bondage for preventing her from giving Amy a consoling hug. “I’m
cuddling you,” she said softly.
Amy nodded, and sniffed. “I know you are.”
“They buried her in a beautiful place, and removed all her bonds. She’s free now.”
“She said she’d rather die than go back to La Plata,” Amy said with bitterness. “It
looks like she kept her word.”
RICCARDO GETS A SURPRISE
“Riccardo dear, I meant to tell you earlier, there’s something waiting in the room
next to yours.” Argenta teased.
He went to investigate, opening the door to find two cocooned bodies squirming
alongside each other on the single bed. They were still hooded, having received no
attention in the many hours since their transfer to the boat. He dragged one, then
the other, onto the open bow deck.
“You can unwrap them, but don’t untie them. We don’t want to lose them overboard!”
Argenta instructed.
Using his pen knife he started hacking through the copious tape binding their bodies.
With their Rabbit Island numbers written in black marker-pen on the white sheet he
already knew which bunnies he was unwrapping.
Rachel was desperate to get out of her cocoon, writhing so much that Riccardo feared
he would cut her with the blade. Only when she was fully unwrapped and propped up in
a sitting position did he pull the tape off her face. With her wavy blonde hair
cascading down to her breasts she looked as attractive as ever, apparently unharmed
by her ordeal.
She studied the catheter tube fixed to the full length of the inside of her leg. It
was fitted with a small clamp at mid thigh.
“Can you remove my clamp please Sir, I’m bursting!”
Riccardo’s eyes followed the tube from her slim plastic-tied ankles up to her knees
and thighs. Seeing the tube disappearing between her pussy lips made his dick stir
into life.. He pulled the little clamp from the tube on her thigh and watched the
pale yellow urine flow through the tube and into the deck’s gutter. Rachel, in
blissful relief, closed her eyes and half-opened her mouth which only further aroused
Riccardo’s lust.
The other bundle was wriggling and mmmphing for attention, having heard Rachel’s and
Riccardo’s conversation. He was amused, joking with Rachel about Mandy’s excellent
impersonation of an overgrown maggot. He’d never found Mandy to his taste, but
totally covered, bound up and making a delightful squirming movement she looked
rather sexy. Reluctantly he cut her free of her wrappings and propped her up
alongside Rachel, leaning against the white uPVC wall of the cabin, with their legs
extended in front. Their ankles were still held together by plastic ties.
Not wishing to disturb the peace with Mandy’s notoriously inane chatter Riccardo left
her mouth taped up. Rachel, in contrast, knew how to shut up. For a Texan, she was
pretty good at keeping quiet; she seldom said more than was necessary.
“What are you going to do with them,” A voice enquired from behind Riccardo. He
didn’t turn around. He knew it was Cavallo, or Argenta as her ‘friends’ called her.
“I thought I’d feed them and make sure they’re comfortable.”
She handed him two small cartons of juice. “This will do them.”
Riccardo tore the small straws off side of the packets, popped them through the holes
and offered them to the mouths of his girls. Not inclined to peel off Mandy’s gag,
lest she said the wrong thing to Argenta, he pierced the tape between her lips with
the straw. They sipped urgently knowing that Riccardo could move the cartons away
from them at any time.
Argenta noticed Rachel’s large breasts; it was hard not to. “Oh good, a milkmaid!”
she exclaimed, smiling broadly. The little steel hats fitted over Rachel’s nipples
confirmed it, though the size and shape of the breasts were also a strong indicator.
She bent down and toyed with Rachel’s nipple covers, pulling and twisting until
Rachel winced with pain. “How much per day?”
“Just over a litre, Ma’am.” Rachel responded in her soft Texan drawl.
“Ever had children?”
“I had a child at sixteen.”
“Healthy?”
“Yes. I gave him up for adoption.”
Argenta seemed pleased as she looked at Riccardo. “This one can go into the breeding
unit with sixty nine.”
Then Argenta gave a cursory glance at Mandy, who looked rather plain alongside
Rachel. “The Domestic unit will have this one,” she pronounced with a desultory wave.
RABBIT ISLAND MEMORIES
It didn’t take long before the six occupants of the storage room were exchanging
tales about their respective island homes. Kate and Jessica were the most
forthcoming, prompted by Amy’s constant questions.
“I remember when I first arrived at the bunny cabin.” Jessica said. It was paradise
in some respects. Days on end messing around on a fantastic sandy beach! The eight of
us got on very well, and Kate became my closest friend. At first it was hard, living
every day in a collar and cuffs, but I soon got used to it. Sometimes it was fun,
like the soccer games, and meal-times at the trough usually with a little wine in the
evenings, and flirting with the pony drivers. Then of course there were the night
time games!”
“Ah Jessi,” Kate interrupted, “but remember, after you left to be a ponygirl they
made us wear chastity belts!”
“I didn’t leave!” Jessica corrected her. “If you remember we escaped, but got
recaptured. I didn’t really have a choice about becoming a ponygirl. It was either
become a ponygirl or get shipped to some dreadful place.”
Amy kept quiet. La Plata, her abode for the last two years, was probably one the
dreadful places Jessica was refering to.
Kate laughed as she thought of something. “Jessi, do you remember the hunting game
where we had to run and hide in the hills? They locked gags on us and made us wear
dark goggles so it was difficult to see where we were going.”
Jessica laughed. “Yeah, but we outwitted them. We removed each other’s goggles so we
could see what was happening.” She explained to Amy.
“And you kicked that man in the balls, just when they thought they’d trapped us. Oh
my god, Jessi you really hurt him! Anyhow, Amy, the end result was that Jessica won
their stupid game, and she was rewarded later that evening. That was when Jessica
first met Master Alex.”
“That’s not true,” Jessica corrected her. “He had me on the beach one evening a few
days before that.”
“And because you won the hunting game you got the princess treatment that evening!”
Jessica became defensive. “I was kneeling in chains next to somebody’s chair all
evening. That’s hardly the way to treat a princess!”
“Who’s chair?” Kate asked.
“Master Alex’s, as you well know!”
“And when they made me into a puppy recently, they took me to Master Alex’s bedroom,
and who did I find snuggled up under the duvet?”
“I was not snuggled up, as you put it. I was very tightly hog-tied and gagged, which
is how that.pervert likes me!”
“He likes you any way he can get you!” Kate laughed.
Kate’s persistent teasing had touched on a sore point. There was a rumour that Master
Alex had one favourite out of all the beauties they kept on Rabbit Island - a
ponygirl named Jessica.
“So what’s your point, Katie?” Jessica asked irritably. She hated to be teased.
“My point, Jessi, is that he’ll want you back. I’ll bet you anything.”
Jessica gave out a grunting, straining sound, pretending to struggle. “I’ve just
checked my pockets and I don’t have any money, all I have is my nipple and labia
rings.”
“All right then.” Kate said decisively. “ I’ll bet you two nipple rings.”
THE BOWSPRIT
Everybody had come onto the bow to watch as Rachel was secured to a sturdy aluminium
pole. Its shape and built-in fixing points indicated that it was made for a specific
purpose. Pulley wires were clipped to the ends of Rachel’s pole. A motor winch
whirred and the slack wire disappeared through a hole in the deck. The men lifted
Rachel and held her over the bowsprit until she was dangling beneath it, several feet
above the ocean’s gentle swell. The wires continued to disappear down their
respective channels until Rachel’s naked body was fixed to the boat’s prow like a
figurehead, the ocean swelling onto her body, sometimes dousing her face in salty
water. Above her, men, including Riccardo, swigged beer whilst savouring her watery
terror.
Mandy did not escape their attention either, at least not a first. She was bent over
the railing at the stern, her ankles secured a stride apart, her wrists remained
plastic-tied behind her back. Her life had never been so simple; for the rest of the
day she was nothing but a receptacle for men’s sperm. To be used if they wished, to
be ignored otherwise. With only three men on board she was ignored for hours at a
time.
Meanwhile, one-hundred feet away at the front of the boat, Rachel had noticed small
fins breaking the surface of the water in the distance. They seemed to be making
rapidly towards her. The pitching of the bow was making her physically sick, the kind
of sickness that makes you just want to curl up and die... except she couldn’t, not
unless the sharks got her. Pale grey shapes appeared beneath the water, moving
rapidly, one on each side of her. With startling speed they broke the surface in
perfect synchronization, their bodies forming a graceful arch either side of Rachel’s
shoulders.
She screamed with delight as the dolphins did it again, looking her in the eye as
they hit the zenith of their leaps. They surfed the ship’s bow wave, sometimes racing
ahead, often criss-crossing each other’s path, or gliding effortlessly on their backs
as if showing off. They even nuzzled the soles of Rachel’s feet, perhaps to comfort
her, she thought. If only they could bite through the straps fixing her body to the
ship, she would gladly swim away and live with them forever!
When darkness fell they hauled Rachel onto the deck, detaching her from the metal
frame. They left her, still bound hand and foot with the plastic ties she’d worn
since Rabbit Island.
“I don’t want that smelly wet thing brought inside!” Argenta stated, wrinkling her
nose up at the bedraggled blonde dripping sea water onto her shining white deck.
That suited Rachel just fine. She slept on the bow deck, dreaming of dolphins.
                                  End of Chapter 14

coming soon...Life on La Plata


(Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Comments,
criticisms, suggestions and reviews always welcome.)
                   Chapter 15. Arrival and Processing on La Plata
             (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, Aurelius © 2004)
The story so far:
(Ch. 13) The posse camp overnight at the beach - the ponygirls are branded - a
tragic discovery.
(Ch. 14) Rabbit Island is evacuated - bundled and shipped.
DOUBLE TROUBLE
The math wasn’t difficult. Riccardo calculated that three days at sea at a constant
eighteen knots meant that La Isla de la Plata was a thousand miles from Rabbit
Island. That four-figure distance made it seem a long way away. On the final morning
on board it wasn’t the only cause of Riccardo’s depression.
The night before, their third night at sea, he received an unexpected and truly
delicious bonus. Waiting for him in his single-berthed room were the Siamese twins.
Throughout the journey Riccardo was often to be found leaning on the top deck’s
balustrade staring out to the horizon, a bottle of beer held loosely in his hand. It
seemed that Madame Cavallo felt sorry for him, or was it that she felt he was
getting too close to Rachel and Mandy, his former charges from Rabbit Island?
Whatever the reason for her gift, Riccardo wasn’t complaining.
The Siamese twins were naked, standing side-by-side, backs to the wall. Each was
fixed in handcuffs clipped to securing rings high up on the bulkhead. Their ankles
were also restrained, slim enough to sport regular handcuffs. Around their delicate
necks each wore a thin silver chain threaded with a handcuff key nestled perfectly
between their breasts. Those perfect mounds of flesh were conspicuous for being the
only part of their bodies that were not skinny. They had been surgically enhanced,
that much was obvious, but it didn’t detract from Riccardo’s lustful admiration for
the gifts attached to his bedroom wall.
Riccardo cast his eyes slowly up and down their identical bodies on the pretext of
looking for any difference between them, but no matter how closely he looked no
difference could be found. They were perfect - if you like petite Asian girls with
unnaturally large breasts, with smiles that can melt a heart at ten paces.
During his inspection those seductive smiles didn’t desert them for a moment.
Riccardo had amused himself with the notion that these twins were not really women
at all; they were living sex toys. A few decades from now, when Sony or Honda or
whoever produces household robots, this is what some of them will look like... or at
least the ones owned by single men. In the future, when women view men as obsolete
in terms of reproduction, men with toys like these might view women as obsolete in
everything but reproduction. But Riccardo, if he lived that long, would still prefer
a real blonde with a real character.
“Who chained you up?” Riccardo asked them, curious to know who else had been in his
room.
“We did, Sir. Our Mistress told us to spend the night in your room. That’s if you
want us, Sir?” they said with eyes cast downward in what appeared to be genuine
humility. They’d done a good job of self-bondage; their hands fixed so high their
bare feet could only just stay flat upon the parquet floor. There was no doubting
the tightness of the cuffs either. Had a lot of practice, Riccardo suspected.
“It would be impolite to refuse your Mistress’s gift.” Riccardo conceded graciously.
The girls giggled, as they habitually did at anything resembling a joke. They’d
noticed the way he’d been staring at them for the last couple of days. The Silver
Lady was more likely to strike an iceberg than Riccardo was to turf them out of his
room.
One of many good things about these slim five-foot-nothing Asian girls is how little
space they take up, excepting their breasts jutting out into the small room. If it
wasn’t for the pleasant sensation of a building hard-on filling his pants, Riccardo
could have happily left them like that as ornaments like erotic walling hangings.
But after two days of seasickness and celibacy is wasn’t likely.
He lifted the key chain from around the neck of one of them. It seemed unfair, but
he was thinking of taking one of them bed and leaving the other chained to the wall
for the night. That was often the problem with having a slave-girl for the night -
you want to feel the heady power of having her chained to the wall while you sleep,
yet you also want her warm squirming body cuddled up in bed with you. Tonight would
be the best of both worlds, Riccardo thought.
He tried to unlock the first set of handcuffs. With his body pressed against the
girl’s as he tried to unlock her, she was squirming in pleasure, her handcuffed
ankles twisting and tugging against their metal bracelets seeking to relieve the
delicious itch between her thighs.
Alas, the simple handcuff lock proved surprisingly stubborn. Riccardo assumed that
it was the wrong key; they’d obviously got their keys mixed up. He tried the key in
the other twin’s handcuffs. It turned and released as easily as he would expect.
Riccardo took that girl’s key chain from around her neck, expecting the key to
reciprocate with the other’s handcuffs… It didn’t! However it did fit her ankles’
cuffs.
That left him with one twin left standing chained to the wall and the other free,
except that she had to hop around with her ankles cuffed together. “You don’t have
any more keys?” Riccardo asked more in hope than expectation. They shook their
heads, as disappointed as he was. It was no accident. He was the victim of more game
playing, yet this would prove only a mild inconvenience to his night of lust.
“Warm up your sister for me,” Riccardo commanded the free girl as he disappeared
into his compact bathroom to undress and brush his teeth. “Lots of tongue!” he
added.
When he emerged five minutes later, naked, refreshed and ready for love, the wall-
chained twin was well on her way to orgasm, eyes closed, mouth open, her head
swishing from side to side in reaction to her sister’s The biggest challenge for the
kneeling sister was how to keep her in a heightened state of readiness for their
Master’s arrival. Her mouth switched greedily from pussy to penis as soon as
Riccardo was within her reach. While the kneeling twin attended to his penis, he
pressed his mouth to the standing twin, grabbing her softball-sized breasts. She
liked that, just as Riccardo loved what her kneeling sister’s mouth was doing to his
cock.
He’d seldom ever moaned out load during foreplay, but this was one of those times.
In spite of the immense fellatial pleasure he was receiving he still preferred to
climax within the tight folds of a woman’s sex, at least for the first ejaculation
of the night. Having to arch his back just to kiss the girl, he realized their
height differential needed resolving. The solution was kneeling right in front of
him.
“Lie flat on the floor,” he instructed her breathlessly. “Under your sister’s feet.”
With the problem solved, Riccardo rammed his cock into the standing twin. Thanks to
her sister’s body beneath her, she was perfectly positioned to enjoy Riccardo’s
violent thrusts that brought him to a climax.
Sated, Riccardo crashed out onto the bed instructing the twins to stay as they were.
The one lying belly-down on the floor was receiving a spine-cracking foot massage
from her sister. Each crack of her spine made him wince yet it was undeniably sexy
too. When there were no further cracks to be had he instructed the kneeling one to
lick her sister clean, having noticed his cum trickling down her thigh.
The free one (except for her cuffed ankles) stood up, wiped her mouth with the back
of her hand and hopped to a small shelf to retrieve a bottle of wine for Riccardo.
The ship was well stocked with the small plastic bottles usually found on airlines.
She poured a glass for him.
Snuggling up against him while he sat legs outstretched on the bed, she soon had
Riccardo perked up enough to consider another round. So far this evening she’d
merely been a service provider for her sister and Riccardo, first with her mouth,
then by acting as a human footstool to assist Riccardo and her sister to fuck
against the wall. It wasn’t that she was jealous; simply a matter of equality, and
now it was her turn! She moved to the foot of the bed crossed her handcuffed ankles
and spread her knees to create a wide opening between her legs. Then she lifted
Riccardo’s ankles between them. Riccardo sipped his wine as she shuffled up the bed;
his legs encircled by hers, her tight pussy moving closer and closer to his cock. It
was a mutually delightful ensnarement. She wanted him badly, using every trick to
get his cock to the desired size and rigidity. Witnessing the astonishing lust on
this sweet girl’s face as he squeezed her breasts brought Riccardo’s cock to prompt
attention. Quite assertive for a petite Asian girl, Riccardo observed, perhaps she
doesn’t get a real man’s cock very often!.
A MORNING STIFFY
Riccardo awoke from a heavy sleep. His cabin was bright, even though lit only by a
small porthole. The twins were gone as he expected they would be, knowing they had
breakfast service to attend to. He turned over in bed for a luxurious final five
minutes, enough time to savour the memory of previous night’s fun with the twins.
Those sexy thoughts soon brought on the start of a pleasant morning erection. He
reached a hand under the duvet towards his cock. It made contact with something
harder that he imagined. Hard, like thick plastic. He threw off the light duvet
cover; confused and curious.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His semi-flaccid penis was encased in a
similarly shaped device made of a clear acrylic. A ring of the same material
encircled the root of his cock behind his scrotal sac. The two pieces were joined at
the top of his penis with a neat padlock. A few exploratory tugs and twists
confirmed his suspicion: It wasn’t a toy. Any kind of erection was impossible.
Despite its secure fixing, it was fairly comfortable except for a slight pinching
behind his balls. That’s what worried him; it was comfortable enough for long-term
use.
Not knowing whether to be laugh or cry, he got up, went to the bathroom and pissed.
It was easy enough, and thanks to the various holes in the plastic, sanitary as
well. The only thing it prevented was erections.
He pulled on his pants and headed for breakfast, wondering what forfeit he would
shortly be performing in order to have the chastity device removed. Perhaps he might
be required to give cunnilingus on the captain, he mused rather hopefully.
Madame Cavallo looked up from her fresh fruit salad. Her smile said it all -
superior and smug, almost laughing through those thin lips of hers.
“Welcome to your first day in my employment, Riccardo. You might have noticed we
have some special rules of our own.”
Riccardo remained nonchalant. He wasn’t going to lower himself to ask or beg for the
device’s removal knowing that the padlock would yield to a hacksaw in seconds.
“You’re upset because Rabbit Island insisted you were chained to your bed every
night?” Riccardo suggested. The rule affected all female visitor and residents on
the island, with absolutely no exceptions.
“Upset doesn’t begin to describe that insult!” She spat out, bitter at the memory of
her humiliating bondage. “But to answer your question, no it’s not because of that.
It’s our policy. Same applies to Peter and Paul here.”
Peter and Paul looked up sheepishly from their breakfast. Peter gave a resigned
shrug. “Rules are rules,” he stated with unarguable logic as he scooped up another
spoonful of cornflakes.
ARRIVAL AT LA PLATA
The dramatic yet peculiarly ugly peaks of Isla de la Plata loomed on the horizon
whilst Riccardo sat down to breakfast, served by two embarrassed twins who dared not
look at him. They even served him at a cautious long arm’s length. He’d figured it
out. They must have spiked his wine and fitted the chastity device on him
themselves. That’s what you call giving something to remember them by!
Below decks Jessica, Kate, Karen and the three others in steerage hadn’t moved or
been fed for three days. The last twenty-four hours had passed by in a half-
conscious stupor, interrupted only by the insistent muscle toning sessions of the
Electrocizer. Voices from the deck above, and the general busyness of footsteps,
caused them to sense that their destination was at hand.
Riccardo leant on the hardwood balustrade and stared at the imposing island getting
ever closer. He was surprised to find something so grey and misty on a bright sunny
morning in a tropical sea.
“The mist usually burns off by mid-day,” Peter explained. He pointed out the harbour
where they were heading - a small assemblage of industrial buildings and loading
cranes that looked minuscule compared to the precipitous grey mountains looming
behind them.
Jessica and Kate said hurried goodbyes as they heard two pairs of feet heading down
the steps into their storeroom. Nearly three days tied belly-down on a bunk with
nothing to eat, wasn’t fun but the company was very fine indeed. They’d made new
friends and learned a lot about each other, and perhaps too much about La Plata.
None of it was good.
While Paul taped up her mouth, Peter removed the clips from Jessica’s fingers and
toes. Though the shocks from the Electrocizer were not exactly enjoyable they
created a routine to the day, and she had to admit that the treatment really did
stimulate the muscles. She was curious to see how she felt when they finally got
around to freeing her from the unyielding plastic ties on her wrists and ankles.
Just as Jessica was first into the boat, they were preparing her to be the first
out. Jessica remembered how the two men struggled to carry her down the steps into
the bowels of Cavallo’s boat and worried about how they would ever manage to lift
her out. The answer came from above. Literally.
Peter levered open the small skylight that provided the room’s source of daylight.
It was just about wide enough for a man’s shoulders. A monstrous iron hook and
winching block descended slowly and silently into the opening. Peter strapped a
padded leather band around Jessica’s ankles. It had a couple of heavy iron rings
built into it, one in front, and one in back. He slipped the iron hook into the
front ring.
Without any apparent signal, the hook rose smoothly and silently upwards, lifting
Jessica with it. Peter guided her body through the opening, careful to avoid
damaging the living merchandise.
Jessica’s first glimpse of La Plata was like that of most new arrivals - upside
down. The crane’s stevedore, who had been standing outside next to the opening (his
hand signals guiding the crane’s movements) wished her a sarcastic welcome as she
rose up above him and clear of the Silver Lady.
Thirty feet in the air, suspended by her well-secured ankles, Jessica thought this
must have been how Houdini felt as he did his notorious escapes, except for her
there was no escape.
She was gliding towards a loading bay on the second floor of an old brick-built
warehouse, a relic from a different age. The age of mining. A heavily built man was
there to grab her as she hung above ledge of the loading bay. She was lifted off the
crane's hook but straight onto another one. This one was attached to an overhead
rail bolted to the high ceiling. The man pushed against her body, moving her along
the rail like a carcass in an abattoir. Still wrapped and taped in a white sheet
there was little about Jessica for him to admire. Naked bodies were much more
interesting... like those of Mandy and Rachel who were already hanging from the rail
when Jessica joined them. As she viewed their red blotchy skin Jessica realized
they’d had a far more eventfully couple of days on the boat than she.
The three acknowledged each other as best they could with taped up mouths, until the
miserable man turned around and yelled “shut up, bitches!” He was looking out of the
loading hatch waiting for the other five items on listed on his clipboard (Jessica’s
recent roommates) and didn’t care for the noise of incomprehensible conversation
from the tape-gagged consignment.
Mandy was crying, which was not unusual, whilst Rachel was silent though visibly
trembling, her long blonde hair trailing forlornly on the floor. Kate arrived next
in the room next, looking absolutely terrified. Jessica remembered how Kate hated
heights. Dangling upside-down twenty-feet off the ground whilst being transported
between a ship and a warehouse, compounded with a journey to an unknown and fearsome
future had filled her eyes with a mad panic Jessica had never seen in her friend
before.
Though shoulder-to-shoulder there was no comfort to give each other either
physically or emotionally. Despite Amy’s earlier attempts to explain what would
happen to them, it still felt like their world was about to end. For Jessica the
feeling of being an animal in an abattoir persisted. If men wearing heavily
bloodstained white coats entered the room she would not have been in the least
surprised.
Next to arrive from the ship was the instantly recognisable bald head of Karen Galtz
followed by La Plata’s returning ponygirls, Amy, Terri and Shona. The warehouseman
inspected the inventory one by one, his bulging crotch at the same level as their
taped-up mouths. With his inventory complete and in good order the man pulled up the
standing flap of the loading door, cutting them off from the outside world. He left
the room muttering something about ‘lunch-time’.
***
More than an hour elapsed before anyone attended to the eight silent upside-down
figures swaying gently on the rail. The only sound to be heard was their heavy nasal
breathing.
Finally somebody arrived. It was Madame Cavallo and two assistants. They were in
jovial mood, and appeared well fed and refreshed.
Amy, Terri and Shona were dispatched to their stables. One of the assistants pulled
them along the overhead rail system, and one by one, with a motor whirring loudly,
they disappeared out of a loading door.
“These are the five bunnies loaned to us while Rabbit Island is closed.” Cavallo
explained to her assistants. “Of course we have to return them when Rabbit Island
reopens, though I seriously doubt it will happen for quite a while, perhaps not
ever!”
Her snippet of information was aimed as much at the five bunnies as it was her
sidekicks. Cavallo didn’t seem particularly sad at the thought of Rabbit Island’s
demise, but Jessica did.
“You! Stop snivelling!” Cavallo shouted at Mandy, who was bringing attention to
herself with her constant sobs. Cavallo consulted a clipboard and announced the
respective fates awaiting her guests.
“These two,” she announced, pointing to Rachel and Kate, “are going to the Breeding
unit.”
“The cry baby and baldy,” she said, referring to Mandy and Karen Galtz, “will be put
to work in the Domestic unit.”
“And finally, having suffered a careless loss of a ponygirl on Rabbit Island, which
was entirely due to their negligence, we have this one as a replacement. She’s not
up to the standard of our own ponygirls but she’ll do.”
Jessica mmmphed at them from behind her taped mouth, angry at Cavallo’s low opinion
of her, as well as the blatant lie concerning the cause of the ponygirl’s death.
“She’s a brunette,” one of the assistants said, pointing out the patently obvious.
“We can’t have a dark tail with the blonde ponygirls.”
The other assistant agreed. It was, after all, Cavallo’s ruling that the ponygirl
teams should be strictly segregated by race and hair colour. She looked at Rachel’s
long blonde hair, notable for being the only one of the five upside-down captives
whose hair reached all the way to the floor.
“Perhaps this one would be kind enough to donate hers?” she suggested with a smug
grin, bunching Rachel’s loose hair in her hand and pulling upwards until she had
tilted Rachel’s head. “Get the scissors, Brenda!”
It must have been Jessica’s upside-down viewpoint, but until then she thought
Brenda, with her short blonde hair, her overweight frame stuffed into denim
dungarees and white tee-sheet, was a man. The other assistant, though similarly
attired, at least had the approximate shape of a woman.
Brenda promptly obliged Cavallo’s request, pulling a large pair scissors from one of
her many pockets. She knelt down and started crudely cutting away at Rachel’s
glorious blonde locks. It’s easy task when your client is hanging upside-down, and
barely half a minute later Rachel’s crude haircut was complete. Brenda knotted the
eighteen-inch hank of hair and handed it to her boss.
“Thank you Brenda,” Cavallo said, swishing the hair across Rachel’s tape-gagged
face, tickling her nostrils in giving her a chance to say a final goodbye to her
crowning glory.
Then it was Jessica’s turn. Brenda knelt down, bunched Jessica’s hair in her fist
and pulled down hard, as if trying to yank the hair from Jessica’s scalp. Jessica
whimpered as she felt the tension gradually ease as her hair was cut off.
Brenda showed Cavallo the hank of Jessica’s hair in her fist, unsure whether it was
long enough to make a good ponytail. They reluctantly admitted it was better than
nothing. After all she wouldn’t be joining the blonde team until she’d completed her
trials.
Kate was not so fortunate. Her blonde hair, being rather fine and barely shoulder
length was discarded onto the floor, to be swept up and thown out with the garbage.
Neither did Mandy’s hair make the grade. Cavallo detected her visitors were a little
upset with their new hairstyles. The fifth, Karen Galtz, having had her head shaved
on Rabbit Island a few days previously seemed unperturbed; glad that she would not
look so conspicuous from now on.
The scissors were immediately back in use, this time Brenda was cutting through the
tape and white sheets which had cocooned Jessica, Kate and Karen for the last three
days. Jessica was sorry to see her travelling outfit cut from her. Helpless and
covered seemed less vulnerable than helpless and naked. Cavallo screwed up her nose
as the unpleasant odor coming from the unwrapped bodies.
“What about their catheter tubes?” Brenda asked. Her scissors were poised to cut the
tape encircling Jessica’s left thigh which held the tube in place. She took a few
moments to run her fingers up and down the inside of Jessica’s legs, whilst waiting
for Cavallo’s answer.
The lean well-defined quadriceps of Jessica’s thighs did not escape Brenda’s notice
and admiration; nor did the eight rings pierced through Jessica’s thick and inviting
labia.
“Leave the tubes in. It won’t hurt them for a couple more hours.” Cavallo answered,
not that it would worry her if it did.
A machine whirred to life, the wire on the overhead rail went taut, and with a
sudden jolt Karen and Mandy were gliding out of the room, their bodies swung
slightly in recoil, heading towards their new lives of domestic servitude.
Kate and Rachel were also despatched along a rail which disappeared through a door
in a different direction. They would soon be installed in the Breeding Unit.
Only Jessica remained; alone with Madame Cavallo. It was almost as if the woman had
planned it that way. Yes, there was butch Brenda and her mean-spirited junior, but
they seemed to disappear into the walls, as Cavallo confronted Jessica from two
yards away. Her eyes were level with Jessica’s sex, but she much preferred looking
down towards Jessica’s upside-down face.
“How do you like my island so far?” Cavallo enquired with a sneer. Jessica’s mouth
was still taped, so she shook her head, closing her eyes as she breathed rapidly
through her slightly blocked nose.
“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Cavallo said with obvious pleasure. “Is it because
you’ve nobody to protect you now?”
Jessica hung motionless, not moving her head nor opening her eyes. Cavallo was
content to continue her monologue.
“All you have to do is be a good hard-working pony. Stay out of trouble, and you and
I will get along fine. You can forget about dressing up for fancy evenings in a
ballroom, like on Rabbit Island. Here we treat ponies like ponies. It’s simpler that
way. Don’t you agree? We won’t confuse your poor little ponygirl brain, like Master
Alex did. He’s a wicked man you know, playing with your emotions in the way he did.”
Jessica wondered if Cavallo was right. How foolish it was to have an emotional
attachment to a man who had enslaved her! Cavallo had upset her but she reined in
her emotions. She promised herself she would cry later that night, when the lights
were out and everybody was sleeping.
Cavallo’s pause indicated she’d said what she wanted to say. It was the most she’d
said to a ponygirl for a long time! “I could stay and talk to you all day, but we’ve
both so much to do, you and me. It’s time for you to join our stables, but not
before our staff carry out a few necessary modifications. Bye-bye Jessica!”
Cavallo nodded towards butch Brenda who was stood by a wall-mounted control panel.
On Cavallo’s command she pressed a big green safety button. The overhead rail
juddered, causing Jessica’s upside-down body to swing as she was sent on her way.
Cavallo immediately turned her back, leaving the dispatch room even before Jessica
had reached her own exit point.
Suddenly Jessica emerged into bright sunlight, suspended ten metres off the ground
by a wire that led towards a dark shadowy hole in an adjacent building. It was an
old brick-built warehouse similar the one she had just exited. About half-way
across, Jessica heard a noise, a distinctive clatter of hooves coming from below
her. Passing directly beneath her along a paved road was a ponygirl foursome pulling
a trailer laden with large boxes. Jessica strained for a final look at the two-by-
two arrangement of ponygirls as she entered the dark hole of her next destination.
Perhaps that’s my fate too, she thought desparingly, just an anonymous rubber-
helmeted ponygirl spending each day hauling stuff around an unfriendly island!
DENTAL WORK
Jessica’s overhead cable soon brought her into a brightly-lit white-tiled toom. It
was a disturbing hybrid, part operating theatre part torture chamber. A man and
woman were laughing at a shared joke as Jessica glided up to them.
Having not quite recovered from whatever it was they found so funny, they unhooked
their latest arrival from her overhead wire. Between the two of them they carried
her to a reclining examination chair. As Jessica sat with her hands still fixed
behind her back the nurse fastened a heavy leather strap across her chest, holding
her perspiring skin firmly against the leather padding of the chair.
Her bound legs were resting between two gyno stirrups, so Jessica knew that the
plastic ties which had connected her ankles for the last three days would soon be
removed. The doctor, or so the man appeared to be in his white smock, used a curved-
edge wire cutters to snip easily through the plastic around her ankles. How annoying
that something as flimsy as those plastic ties could contain her so absolutely! He
placed her lifeless legs in the stirrups, pulling leathers straps around each ankle.
Jessica’s dark eyes flitted between the doctor and the nurse looking for some kind
of communication. They didn’t return her gaze, but nor did they avoid looking at
her. She was of no importance to them; they had work to do - and her body was it.
The doctor and the nurse divided their tasks, she attending to the top half, and he
to Jessica’s lower half. How appropriate, Jessica thought cynically.
A high pitched buzz filled the air behind Jessica’s head. At first she thought it
sounded like a vibrator, but it was the nurse holding it, not the doctor. The nurse
ran the electric hair clippers over Jessica’s scalp as if she were a new army
recruit. A minute later Jessica’s hair was everywhere but on her scalp. Scattered
clippings of Jessica’s dark hair rested lightly tickling on her breasts.
Meanwhile the doctor attended to her catheter, lubricating and cleaning the moist
area between Jessica’s labia in preparation for its removal. He syringed the small
amount of water from the retaining bulb then gently... very slowly... began pulling
it from her bladder. Jessica cried into her taped gag, but the nurse’s hands held
her head steady. Jessica sighed with genuine relief, almost gratitude, as the tube
came free.
The doctor lobbed the tube in a wastebin, discarding his latex gloves with it. He
looked up at Jessica’s bald head and smiled at his nurse, complementing her on a
good job. The nurse ran her palms and fingertips over Jessica’s scalp, almost like a
shiatsu massage. She liked the feel of a freshly shorn scalp, feeling the tiny
prickles of hair on her fingertips, mingled with the fresh indignity of her
unwilling customer.
The doctor regloved and watched as the nurse carefully ran a razor over Jessica’s
scalp. He cast a mock-sympathetic glance at his patient. He smiled. Jessica didn’t
know it, but the smile carried a degree of admiration. Some women looked ugly with
their head shaved, but Jessica, with shapely eyebrows and passionate dark eyes still
looked quite sexy, the doctor thought.
Jessica watched the doctor warily as her shaving continued. He held pliers, more
like bolt cutters, in one hand while his other hand rested near her pussy. He
grimaced slightly each time he squeezed the pliers. One by one he clipped off and
removed Jessica’s labia rings, placing them carefully in a small bowl. They were
gold, he informed his nurse. He’d melt them down later that evening.
The nurse spotted the doctor’s expression. “Are you gonna give it to her?” she asked
coyly, whilst rubbing a lotion into Jessica’s scalp.
The doctor’s gaze was fixed on Jessica’s invitingly open sex. “Yes, I think I will.
It would be a shame to pass up the opportunity. As his finger tips brushed her inner
thighs he noticed an unvoluntary squirming from his tightly restrained patient.
Whether it was fear or arousal on Jessica’s part, the effect was the same for the
doctor, his erect penis straining in his pants just inches away from its ultimate
goal.
The nurse leaned forward to place her hands onto Jessica’s breasts, causing her own
breasts to press against Jessica’s head. She fingered Jessica’s nipple rings, while
the doctor dropped his pants. Jessica’s eyes widened, her pupils dilating as she
realized what was coming.
“You look like you’ve never seen a penis before!” the doctor joked as he pressed his
erect member against her. “Enjoy it baby, this’ll be the last cock inside you for a
long while!” After watching him don and discard two pairs of latex gloves it came as
no surprise to Jessica that he should sheath his cock in a condom.
He pushed easily into her. Jessica’s inclined chair proving as suitable for sex as
it was for medical procedures. The tape gag on Jessica’s face barely stifled her
moans as the man fucked her. The nurse leant over, her smock pressing against
Jessica’s bald scalp as she massaged her breasts, giggling all the while. All
Jessica could do was take comfort from her rapist doctor’s comment that it would be
her last fuck for a while.
PONY DENTAL WORK
All Jessica could remember was the nurse placing a gas mask over her face, like the
one time when she had dental work as a child. When she came to, her mouth was numb
and swollen, the pain was barely repressed by the remains of the anathesthetic.
The doctor seemed happy as he cleared away his implements. Putting a patient under
and removing two back teeth needed effort and concentration. He’d done it before,
many times, but never took the operation lightly. Bonding the steel bit across the
mouth, where the teeth had been, was a simple procedure, though the double piercing
of Jessica’s tongue had been messy.
A human tongue was a remarkably good healer, so he wasn’t overly concerned about a
bit of swelling and bruising. With a screw-threaded protrusion rising up through the
center of her tongue, Jessica’s mouth and its tongue-bit would be ready for use in a
few days, though on La Plata they seldom worried about healing times.
At least her labial didn’t require any modification. The two central piercings were
mature and well situated in her flesh. The doctor pulled and stretched out her flaps
of flesh between his finger and pushed the U-shaped staple of a padlock through one
labia and then the other. The padlock closed with a firm click. Jessica groggily
looked down to see what had caused the coolness against her tender flesh. Compared
to the pain in her mouth, her locked-up pussy didn’t worry her. It had been a long
time since she had thought of it as her own.
Jessica’s feet were fixed together with the familiar hoisting straps. The doctor and
nurse wheeled her chair towards the overhead pulley system which had earlier
delivered her to them. The doctor heaved on a pulley and Jessica’s feet lifted high
into the air until she was dangling upside-down yet again, but this was to be her
final journey.
Her new home and her new ponygirl life were waiting at the end of the line.
THE STABLES
On this final cableway journey, Jessica didn’t even notice the teams of ponygirls
passing twenty feet beneath her, dutifully pulling their laden wagons across time
worn cobble stones. Nor did she notice the long low shed with its corrugated plastic
roof. This crude building, almost a hundred metres in length, was to be her new
home. She gradually descending into that building, gliding into a narrow vertical
slit in the clapboard wall barely the height and width of her suspended body.
Two men were there to greet her. All she could see was their hairy legs right in
front of her nose. Stall 42, they agreed was her destination. With a jolting
movement the owners of those hairy legs, hauled her onto another overhead pulley.
This one ran the length of the building. Jessica glided past identical stalls. Each
had a low single bed and an equal width of floor space beside it. Looking down at
the floor just a foot below her shaven head so saw the stall numbers painted in
large numerals onto the concrete. she passed smoothly over them counting down
45,44,43 and 42. She stopped with a jolt, causing her body to sway like a pendulum
until she settled. In front of her was her new home, a prison cell but for the lack
of a front wall.
One man hugged her dangling body lifting her an inch or two so the other man could
pull her ankle cuffs free of the cableway’s hook. They dropped her face-down onto
the bed with no more care than a sack of potatoes was entitled to. Not that Jessica
minded. Still weak and drowsy from the anaesthetic she had ceased caring about
anything. With her head laying on a thin pillow Jessica was sure that sleep would
claim her in seconds.
She heard a ‘clip-clip’, then her hands fell like dead weights onto the mattress,
free of the plasticuffs that had secured them for three days. “Sit up!” one of the
men said. Reluctantly, with weak aching arms she did as she was told, sitting on the
side of the bed watching a man fix a long chain to the wall on the side away from
the bed. Holding the loose end of the chain and a small padlock, he indicated with a
brief touch that she should open her knees for him. He clipped the chain to the
padlock in her labia.
“Go to sleep. We’ll bring you some food in an hour or two,” one of the men said.
Then, just as he walked away, “My name’s Jack, but you must call me Sir.”
Jessica nodded to show she understood, but Jack had already gone. She noticed a
folded freshly laundered cotton sheet laying on the bed. She unfolded it, laid down
and covered herself. She was asleep in seconds.
                                        ***
Jessica wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep. The building was illuminated by
daylight coming through the semi-opaque panels of roof. At first she thought it was
morning, but the general noise around her sounded like arrivals, not departures. She
sat up in bed, leaning against the brick wall, hugging her knees. A ponygirl walked
past. Then another one went by a few minutes later. Jessica thought it strange that
they should be unaccompanied and walking purposefully past without so much as a
sideways glance in her direction. Then, when the third one walked past, she saw the
reason: The cableway, which had carried her into this building, was also used to
guide the ponygirls. A chain leash between it and the ponygirl’s collar connected
them to it. No wonder they walked with such purpose! It they stopped or slowed down
they would fall and choke.
Jack was as good as his word, returning with a tray of food, and answered Jessica’s
question of how long she’d slept - ‘an hour or two’, the time he said he’d be gone
for. It eased her disorientation a little, knowing that it was the same day. She
hoped a night of unbroken rest still lay ahead of her.
He placed the tray on the floor. “You’re allowed to use your hands,” he informed
her, making it sound like a special privilege. Jessica said ‘thank you, Sir’, or
rather she tried to, but her pierced and bruised tongue couldn’t form the ‘th’
sound. It came out a rasping ‘hank koo her.’ Jack gave her sympathetic, slightly
condescending, look and walked off.
She knelt down on the floor beside the bowls, constantly aware of the heavy chain
attached to her labia. She acquired a habit of holding the chain at a point a foot
away from her sex in order to relieve its weight, horrified at the thought of what
might happen should she absentmindedly forget about it. At five-feet in length the
chain was designed to give her the run of her stall but nothing more. It also asked
the question: As the only restraint that kept her in the cell would she be prepared
to rip her most tender flesh for a futile escape bid? The answer was no. At least
for the moment.
After three days without solid food, Jessica’s empty stomach heaved upon sight of
the two bowls. She was at once drawn to yet repulsed by the contents. The toxic
green colour of the mush in one bowl didn’t help. She ate the stuff with her
fingers. It was plain boiled vegetables, peas, cabbage, broccoli, courgettes and
such. It wasn’t bad, and Jessica figured it was designed as a safe reintroduction to
solid food.
The other bowl contained what looked like dog biscuits; thick ovals in a rainbow of
colours. A closer inspection revealed the brand name deeply impressed into them. It
was a poignant taste of home. Her father’s black labrador, many years dead now,
loved these biscuits. Jessica picked up a red one together with the large paper cup
which, with its plastic straw and lid, reminded her of something from a fast food
restaurant.
She resumed her position on the bed taking the water and a biscuit with her. She
sucked the cool water through a straw, idly meditating on the biscuit, until it
could not be seen through her tear-filled eyes. The sudden memory of home triggered
the deep sobbing that she had been promising herself all day.
After five minutes giving vent to her pent-up emotions her mind cleared, like air
after a rainstorm. At last she felt awake enough to attempt to make sense of her
predicament. She placed a finger into her mouth, trying to ascertain exactly what
they had done. Her fingertip felt a screwed thread of steel rising up through her
tongue. Further probing revealed that her lower back teeth had been removed and a
steel bridge bonded between them. It was a miracle that she was able to eat
anything, yet in providing her with food they clearly expected that should would be
able.
In a subconscious gesture she ran her fingers through her hair, forgetting that it
had been shaved off. It would not truly register until she could see herself. With
absurd optimism she looked up at the walls, hoping there would be a mirror. Like
most other women Jessica felt her identity was closely allied to her physical
appearance. She was desperate to know who she was, what she had become. Had she been
able to look into a mirror she would have seen that the ugly bruising on her cheeks
from the dental work was far more alarming than her bald head.
The evening passed, punctuated by more of her new stablemates returning home. They
and the male stable hands strode past her narrow view of the corridor with barely a
glance in her direction. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or disturbed that her
appearance was not deemed worthy of a second glance.
Unlike the liberal regime within Rabbit Island’s pony quarters, there was laughter
here, only the occasionally sighs or quiet groans. The sound of subdued ponygirls
and handlers going about their business.
Later that evening when the daylight had been replaced by gloom the familiar outline
of Jack appeared in the corridor in front of Jessica’s stall. She was already in bed
curled up under the sheet, her left hand gripping her labia chain. It held her, but
it was also something to hold on to.
“Give me your hands,” Jack instructed.
Jessica did as she was told, fully compliant as he fastened her wrists inot
handcuffs which were connected by a chain to the top of the iron bed-frame.
“In future, when you are ready to sleep you can fix the cuffs on yourself, you don’t
need to wait for me.” He explained helpfully.
Her hands, although cuffed and chained could assume their normal prayerful position
just as she always slept on Rabbit Island. She drifted off to sleep with one
consolation. Tomorrow she would be a ponygirl again.

                                 End of Chapter 15

         coming soon... ponygirl training, the dog show, Riccardo's tour.
    (Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Comments,
                criticisms, suggestions and reviews always welcome.)
                           Chapter 16. Tied to the Tracks
               (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)
(Bestiality code warning: This chapter contains a brief Dog/f scene)
The story so far:
(Ch. 13) The posse camp overnight at the beach. The ponygirls are branded. A
gruesome discovery.
(Ch. 14) Rabbit Island is evacuated. Bundled and Shipped.
(Ch. 15) Riccardo learns about self control. Arrival and processing on La Plata.

THE LEATHERBODY
Jessica was awakened by the morning sunlight and the stirring of her as-yet-unseen
neighbours in adjacent stalls. A man appeared and she was slightly disappointed it
wasn’t Jack. She felt she knew where she was with Jack. This other guy was similar
to Jack in age and demeanour. His alternating shift partner, Jessica supposed, as he
released her hands from the bed cuffs.

“You need the toilet?” he asked gruffly.
She nodded, feeling strangely ashamed at such an admission. A galvanised steel
bucket, with a very worn wooden seat atop, was in the far corner of her cell. She’d
noticed it the previous evening, but had no need for it, except for a moment when
she was eating and thought she might be about to retch.
The man watched expectantly, his forearms folded, accentuating his biceps, as
Jessica shyly took up a position on the low potty. “Three minutes!” he warned as he
walked away.
That was the best technique for encouraging ponygirls to finish their business
promptly. Jessica evacuated her bowels without difficulty while her left hand
continued to hold her labia chain out of habit. Though her mature piercings didn’t
cause any pain, she was aware of her stretching labia if she allowed the padlock and
chain their full weight.
She noticed a small pail of water on the left side of the primitive commode on which
she sat. Having spent a year on Rabbit Island toilet paper had become a distant
memory to Jessica. She’d become pretty good at keeping herself clean just with her
fingers. Her business was concluded well within three minutes, she stood up and
instinctively bowed her head, awaiting the man’s return.
There was something about the very fabric of the building that compelled her to
obedience - the place reeked of fear. Until she could find out more about this place
she resolved not to put so much as a toe out of line.
The man returned, standing at the faded yellow line on the floor that demarked the
boundary of her stall. “Kneel down here with your back to me,” he instructed.
She did so, shins on the flagstone flooring, her butt resting on her heels inches
away from the man’s legs. “Hands held together behind your back,” came his further
instructions.
“This is how you must wait for me in the mornings. Do you think you can manage
that?”
Jessica had a momentary urge to give a sarcastic response to his condescending
question, but she held her tongue. In fact she became aware that the metal
construction in her mouth literally held her tongue and would have rendered her
riposte into a humiliating garble.
“Yehh,” she replied, unable to form the S sound. As a qualified speech therapist
Jessica knew exactly what the problem was - her tongue’s lack of mobility.
Suddenly he slapped her on the side of her head. “No talking! Just ‘Um’ for yes,
‘uh-uh’ for no! Understand?” he said harshly.
“Um.” Jessica replied, using the correct form. This new language would not take long
to learn.
“Good pony,” he said, softening a little. From under the foot of her bed he pulled
out a plastic crate containing pony equipment. Jessica hadn’t realized she’d been
sleeping right on top of her tack.
She stayed motionless and upright as he dropped a heavy leather harness over her
shoulders and began strapping it around her. As with Rabbit Island’s harness her
arms were crossed behind her so her wrists could be secured into padded leather
cuffs in the small of her back. As he buckled them Jessica squirmed. She was
responding to a familiar feeling; the position of her arms, the embrace of the
leather straps banding her torso. Soon she would out in the open, running in
harness, but free in spirit. She could hardly wait to feel her thighs pumping, the
ground moving rapidly beneath her, her lungs filling with so much air that it felt
like she could almost burst out of her straps. She wanted to tell him to hurry up
with her dressing.
He still had a lot to do. “Keep your head still,” he instructed as he stretched a
black neoprene hood over her shaven skull. It made a distinctive crinkly plasticky
sound as he carefully peeled the hood down her face. First she was blinded, then her
hearing became dulled as it covered her ears. His hands pushed against her bruised
cheekbones until the hood snapped into place under her chin. Some final adjustments
were needed. He pulled and pinched the hood until it was lined up correctly: Holes
were positioned beneath her nostrils and in front of her eyes. Jessica’s panic
eased. She could see two circles of brickwork at the end of her cell, barely
overlapping, as if looking through binoculars. The tiny holes in the hood negated
for the need for pony blinkers. The man stretched the bottom of the hood until
Jessica felt it constricting the middle of her neck.
“Open up!” said the man, “nice and wide.”
Jessica hesitated for a moment, slightly confused. Did he mean her legs? A fingertip
brushed her lips, indicating that he meant her mouth, which was fully exposed
through an oval hole in the hood. She opened her mouth, gasping at the sharp pain
caused by the invasive metalwork fixed within. He pushed a one-inch wooden bit into
her mouth, lodging it at the back of her bite. Whilst fitting it, the hole in the
centre of the bit was penetrated by the threaded protrusion that skewered Jessica’s
tongue. Standing above and behind her kneeling body, the man gripped Jessica under
the chin with one hand, and spun a wing nut onto the thread until it tightened
against the wooden bit, leaving Jessica profoundly bitted. All but the tip of her
tongue was locked down in the bowl of her mouth. Her jaw was locked open at the
prescribed angle.
Then the man pulled a leather jacket around the front of Jessica’s torso. It had no
sleeves or armholes, and was shaped to fit the contours of a ponygirl with her arms
bound behind her.
“It’s called a leatherbody”, he informed Jessica, whilst tugging on the heavy zipper
at the back. It reminded Jessica of her biker jacket, a gift from a motorcycle-
riding former boyfriend. She loved wearing the jacket more than being on the back of
the motorcycle - which frankly scared the life out of her. She particularly enjoyed
it when her boyfriend pulled up the heavy zipper for her, causing the tight leather
to squeeze her breasts within its corset-like embrace. Even now, in circumstances
that could hardly be more different, Jessica felt a strange tingle of pleasure at
the resurfaced memory. The leatherbody was zipped all the way up to her neck, fully
overlapping the hem of the hood.
“Good pony,” the man muttered as he moved on to the next item. “Chin up.”
The heavy moulded posture collar was easy to fit. Hinged open at the front and
snapping together at the back. Its elegant curvy shape fitted her from chin to
shoulders, leaving Jessica’s head immobile but for a little upward movement.
“Lean forward, knees apart.”
With one hand leaning on Jessica’s back to steady himself, he knelt down and offered
up the tail plug to her ass crack. Jessica felt its cool lubricated tip rubbing up
and down over her anus. She responded as she was trained to, relaxing her muscles.
‘Empty and yielding, don’t fight it,’ Ray used to say. She felt the plug slip into
her. It could hardly be said that she enjoyed wearing a tail plug all day, though
she derived a moment of shameful pleasure from its penetration. Its proximity to her
sex was just too apparent. She sensed this tail-plug was slightly longer and thinner
than the Rabbit Island one. It was metallic too, she deduced by its coolness.
As with the other stages of her pony dressing she was unable to keep herself from
making comparisons at each point. What else did she know these days, but ponygirl
bondage, how to trot, and how to respond to whips and reins. In such things she was
an expert.
Her regular Rabbit Island butt-plug used an internal inflatable bulb that was pumped
up after insertion, so it needed no other means to secure it. Being made of metal,
this one didn’t pump.
From the bottom front of the leatherbody a long flat leather leash hung down. The
man threaded it firstly through her labial padlock, and then pulled it between her
legs and through a slot at the base of the butt-plug. It was drawn tightly up her
spine to her neck.
The peremptory click of a padlock at the back of her collar signalled the conclusion
of Jessica’s new style of harnessing. This padlock, she noted, was the only lock
used on her garment. Nothing, not the hood, not the harness, nor the leather body,
the neck-brace, or the tail plug could be removed while that padlock remained shut.
Even with the leatherbody between it and her skin, she could feel the padlock’s
weight against the top of her spine, teasing and taunting her.
“Sit on the bed,” the handler said, in a tone neither harsh nor kind. Jessica rose
easily to her feet, aided by him grabbing the handle sewn into the back of the
leatherbody. She’d forgotten her labia padlock was still chained to the wall. It
tugged slightly as she made a quarter turn and sat on the bed. It felt funny, her
legs and feet naked whilst above her hips she was utterly encased in leather and
latex.
With her knees open, Jessica looked downwards and saw the pony tail spilling onto
the bed between them. It was her own hair, bound in a thick plait. Meanwhile the
handler hung a long blonde plait on a hook on the wall directly in front of her. It
was Rachel’s, sheared off just in case Jessica needed a blonde tail. She ached for
Rachel, her glorious flowing locks cruelly shorn just so she could have a blonde
tail! Jessica knew she would treasure it and keep it safe for her, even though it
could never be restored.
“When you make the grade, you’ll get the blonde tail.” The man explained, as if a
ponygirl could wish for nothing finer in life.
Jessica’s squawky outburst surprised the handler as he tried to put on the
ponyboots. She’d recognised they were her own pair from Rabbit Island. (Nobody
appreciates a comfortable pair of boots as much as a ponygirl!) It was as if her
quality of life had improved in an instant. The handler smiled as he realized the
sound was not distress but was sheer delight and relief. Putting them on her he
noticed they fitted her as well as any boots he’d ever seen. Her feet and those
boots seemed to belong together, he thought, as he tightly laced to them to mid-
calf.
The final item of Jessica’s new outfit was a bright steel chain - a ‘Y chain’ they
called it. The carabiner-style clips at each end were snapped to Jessica’s nipple
rings and to her labia padlock to create a Y of chain on the front of her leather-
clad torso.
“Up!” the handler commanded with a tug on the chain. She rose to her feet. With the
added inches of the sole and the hoof angle of the boots, she was now taller than he
was. “Nice teeth,” he casually commented. The design of the hood and the bit between
her teeth served to accentuate the beauty of a ponygirl’s mouth.
He led Jessica by her Y chain, thereby demonstrating its primary purpose, towards
the overhead cableway that ran along the length of the stable block. He positioned
her beneath the cableway and stood in front of her. Even with her limited sight
Jessica could see he was watching and waiting for something to arrive from behind
her. He made a sudden grab and took hold of a dangling leash. In a quick and fluent
move he clipped the connector to a large D ring at the front of Jessica’s collar and
moved swiftly to the side just as she felt an imperative tug.
All Jessica could do was concentrate on walking and not falling as she was pulled
along by the cableway’s leash. The boots were fine of course, but the ponygirl
bondage was different to Rabbit Island’s strict yet sensual strapping. The
leatherbody, the tight neoprene hood and the neck brace combined to contain and
control her utterly. Though she was curious to see who or what was in her
neighbouring stalls, she simply couldn’t. The rigid collar and the tunnel-vision
eyesight granted by the hood kept her eyes on what was ahead of her.
Ten yards ahead was another ponygirl, leashed to the cableway, and attired like
Jessica, right down to the plaited tail swishing between her thighs. This ponygirl
walked with a distinctive high-stepping clip. Jessica attempted to do the same,
raising her knees higher and increasing the pace while shortening her stride.
Whether it was a requirement or not, Jessica knew it would warm her up better than
strolling in pace with her leash. It felt good to be moving her legs again. Still
with Rabbit Island’s performance enhancing drugs within her system she craved
exercise almost as much as, usually more than, sex.
As the mechanised leash continued leading her at a medium trot Jessica sensed that
something was very different. It was her boots - they were silent! The bells that
had jingled to every step she’d ever taken as a ponygirl had been removed. Only the
dull thud of her rubber soles on the concrete floor remained. It wasn’t so much the
sound of her own bells she missed but the reassuring sound of the other ponygirls.
She could recognize each of them by the unique cadence of the bells alone.
She emerged into the bright outdoors and into a new regime. A man unhooked her leash
from the overhead cableway and led her to the training and evaluation ring.

RACING THE CLOCK
Jessica was clipped onto a frame, which felt similar to being harnessed to a
ponytrap. It was what they called a rotator - a large revolving frame with braced
ten-metre long arms with harness attachments at the ends. Normally it was equipped
with four arms to hold four ponygirls for pace training. Today it was set in clock
racing mode. That is to say there were just two arms, which could rotate
independently around the axis like the hands of a clock. The ten-metre radius of the
arm provided the ponygirl with a lap of just over sixty metres.
Another ponygirl was being attached to the other arm on the opposite side of the
frame though Jessica with her tunnel vision and unyielding neck brace was not yet
aware of her fellow pony. She was however aware of being attached to the frame by
multiple attachment points at the back of her leatherbody. Then there were meddling
hands around her buttocks and tail. Her handler had connected an electrical wire
from the rotator to her butt plug.
Suddenly Jessica felt a sharp pain deep within her rectum.
“When you feel that, you walk,” her handler shouted like a drill sergeant. “Always
right hoof first!”
Jessica walked at the steady purposeful pace she knew well - slightly more than
three miles an hour.
“Good!” the handler shouted encouragingly as Jessica completed a couple of circuits.
She could tell by the fading of his voice that he stood in the same place waiting
for her to complete each circuit. Halfway around the circuit another man stood,
although he barely acknowledged her. The vocal affirmations of Jessica’s handler did
not prevent his application of his whip on her buttocks each time she passed him.
Jessica became aware of somebody else, another ponygirl slightly affecting her
rhythm, but it was company of sorts and she was glad of it.
“When you feel two jolts you trot!” he explained slowly and loudly after Jessica’s
second circuit, making quite certain he would only say it once.
Seconds later, Jessica felt two painful contractions like sharp cramps deep within
her. She trotted as required, a formal high stepping trot, but it seemed so lifeless
without the jingling of boot bells, and harder to maintain a rhythm. Then Jessica
felt something change. Up until then the two hands of the monstrous rotating frame
were fixed opposite each other forcing the ponygirls to run at the same pace. Then
the occasional jolts transmitted from the ponygirl on the other side of the circle
ceased. The two rotating arms had been unlocked and could turn at their own pace
like hands on a very large clock.
The whip lashed her buttocks again. “Move it! The race has started!” her handler
yelled. A race? Jessica was confused for a moment, but she understood the word race
well enough.She shifted her pace up a gear.
Jessica was beginning to adapt to the tightness of the leatherbody and the collar.
The rigidity of her posture and the way the leatherbody sheltered her from the
breeze seemed to concentrate her mind on the task in hand - pumping her thighs and
moving with her unique little jiggle that pony drivers had often commented on. It
felt good to be running again, her lungs filling her chest, which pushed against the
leather bands encircling it.
The two hands of this bizarre clock had moved from the opposite positions they
occupied earlier. The whip hit Jessica’s buttocks yet again. “Faster. She’s gaining
on you!” her handler yelled urgently. Why didn’t he say so earlier? Jessica thought
to herself as she stepped up another gear, gladly trading grace for pace.
Five more circuits brought five more swipes of the whip, but the handler’s
accompanying tone of voice seemed more optimistic, until on one pass the whip was
coupled with a shout of “atta girl!” His encouragement helped, but Jessica knew she
could have run much faster if only Debbie was at her side and the commanding
reassuring presence of Riccardo was behind her.
After another five circuits seeing nothing but the repetition of two handlers coming
in and out of her sight, something else entered her field of vision. It was her
opponent, clad in a leatherbody, hooded and neck-braced just like she was. The girl
was beginning to struggle. Her running was losing form, not helped by the angry
ranting of her handler. Jessica’s handler wasn’t even using the whip now. She could
even see his smile as she ran past him.
Jessica was gaining rapidly on the girl, like a hunter about to pounce on her prey.
When she was four yards behind the girl and closing with each stride, the ponygirl
collapsed. Jessica ran into her, unable to stop in time. The beaten ponygirl
slumped, but harnessed to the steel arm she could not fall to the ground. Jessica
bent forward panting for breath, sensing heat and perspiration building within her
leatherbody as she fought to recover. The handlers detached the defeated ponygirl
from her harnessing points and let her slump lifelessly to the ground.
“Give her a beating and send her to the mines,” Jessica’s handler instructed the
other. He seemed to take a certain pleasure at those words. “I told you this new one
was quality but you didn’t believe me!”
At such a triumphant moment on Rabbit Island Jessica would have expected a
condescending yet oddly pleasurable petting and sweet-talking session from her
driver. Things were very different here. The handler took hold of Jessica’s Y chain
and led her from the training circuit.
Fifty yards along the track a team of ponygirls was waiting. There were three of
them, two in front and one behind, with space for another beside her. They were all
identically attired in their black hoods and leatherbodies. Jessica figured that was
exactly how she looked too or she wouldn’t be joining their team.
The three ponygirls were standing between a pair of railway tracks, hitched to a
four-seat open wagon with a flatbed area behind. Unable to look downwards, Jessica’s
toes kicked then stumbled over the rail. The handler snapped a series of metal
fastenings to the D rings of her leatherbody. She felt her head pulled back as the
rings at the sides of her built-in bit were connected to unseen reins. Something was
happening to her butt tail, Jessica could feel somebody connecting something.
‘Wiring her up’ she heard the handler say. She felt an excruciating pain in her
belly, an electrical discharge from the anal insert.
“Working fine,” the handler called out, chuckling to the driver. Their fun wasn’t
for sharing with ponygirls.
Then Jessica felt smaller jolt in her belly. Immediately her fellow ponygirls leant
forward, gradually hauling the carriage into motion. Jessica instinctively joined
in, imitating the ponygirl four feet in front of her. The railway track descended a
slope causing the ponygirls to reach full pace almost at once. A ton of wagon
rolling behind them was all the incentive the ponygirls needed to keep running.
Suddenly, after five minutes of steady running along a flat route the rails began to
slope upward. Jessica strained with effort, feeling her lack of fitness and unsure
if she could pull any harder.

THE PONYGIRL EXPRESS
(Riccardo and Jessica)
Riccardo stood next to his guide, Peter, whom he had gotten to know on the recent
boat journey to the island. They were standing at one of five stopping places for
the Ponygirl Express. The six miles of railway tracks that these ponygirls travelled
all day long linked the key facilities of the island like a scheduled passenger
service; so regular that a printed timetable was displayed on a nearby lamppost.

Witnessing the team of four ponygirls stamping energetically towards them, Riccardo
was impressed. The slight incline of the track immediately before the halt was
designed to take the speed out of the ponygirls’ gait, yet if their pace dropped too
early they would falter halfway and their carriage would roll backwards down the
slope, taking four humiliated ponygirls with it. This time the ponygirls came to a
halt directly in front of Riccardo and Peter. Two men jumped down from the carriage,
exchanging a chummy greeting with Peter and a welcome to Riccardo.
Riccardo looked the ponygirls up and down. Covered in leather and latex, all but
their thighs and buttocks, there was little for his eyes to appreciate apart from
the sleek and strict bondage they endured. They were impressive without doubt, but
he missed the intimate, almost teasing, strapping of a naked body that was such an
essential part of the Rabbit Island ponygirls. Hooded in black latex, these
ponygirls lacked the appealing individuality which Rabbit Island ponygirls retained
even after their thorough training. They look so anonymous, he commented to Peter.
That was the whole point, Peter explained, the suppression of individuality so that
these females are just faceless parts of a machine.
Peter and Riccardo stepped up into the carriage. They had the four seats to
themselves.
“No driver?” Riccardo asked.
“Not required!” Peter answered. “We just give them the signal to start.” He pressed
a green button on the simple dashboard control panel. The four ponygirls seemed to
judder in unison before leaning forward and pulling the carriage into motion. A few
yards along the track they were on a downward slope and building up the speed needed
to reach the next destination.
“The green button sends a little shock into the ponygirls’ asses. That’s their
signal to go. The one at the front right hand side is the leader, the others keep in
step with her. They have to maintain a fast pace so they have enough momentum to
make it up the slope at the next station,” said Peter as they glided along. “If they
fail to make it up the slope they’ll be punished, but that seldom happens.”
The journey along the tracks was fast and smooth. Riccardo could readily see how
efficient this arrangement was. It answered one of his questions - why there was
such a high proportion of ponygirls to drivers on the island. The statistic had
confused him when it was first mentioned. Now he understood. Here were four
ponygirls working the whole day long without the aid of a driver.
The track-borne ride was so very different to the twisting undulating trails of
Rabbit Island, the jogging of the ponygirls didn’t transmit to the carriage like the
two-pony configuration he was used to. Out of pony driver habit he studied the
buttocks and thighs of the ponygirl immediately in front of him checking for rhythm
and form. Then he realized they were more than just familiar, it was Jessica’s
distinctive wiggle that he knew so well! The recently applied brand in the centre of
her left buttock left no doubt in his mind. The satisfaction of discovering her
whereabouts was tempered by the realization of what day-to-day life would be like
for her.
Jessica had recognized Riccardo long before then. He’d been standing next to her,
talking to Peter, for a couple of minutes before they set off. To avoid mutual
embarrassment she had made no attempt to make her presence known to him. She knew he
would figure it out soon enough.
They were approaching a cluster of buildings. It was a much smarter quarter of the
Island than Riccardo had seen before. Without any prompting, the ponygirls began to
speed up a little in anticipation of the halt’s incline fifty yards ahead of them.
Once again their approach speed, their deceleration and gentle stop were faultless,
even allowing for one new ponygirl in their quartet.

THE BITCH FRAME
(Kate)
After Riccardo and Peter dismounted from the carriage, Peter leaned over to push the
green button. After the pony team had received the customary jolt, the Ponygirl
Express trotted off, unattended and unladen, towards its next stop.
Riccardo heard dogs yapping, not just one or two, but a whole pack. On Rabbit Island
there were only a couple of hounds in the orchard, friendly mutts that scarcely made
a sound.
Peter led him to a sprawling complex of single story units opening onto a large area
of lawn with mature trees forming its border.
“Do you have bitch-dog training on Rabbit Island?” Peter asked as they walked.
“No we don’t, just puppy-girl training. Nothing with animals.” Riccardo replied. He
knew exactly what Peter meant by bitch-dog training, the incessant yapping of the
dogs in the near distance confirmed it.
They turned the corner of a building and came upon the bitches - four of them
sitting on padded mats alongside a long wall, about two metres apart. The naked
women wore heavy studded leather collars, by which they were chained to the wall.
Their hands and feet were leather mitted in the same fashion as Rabbit Island's
puppygirl regime. Hands were held in a useless fist shape. Feet were subjected to
the pressure pad devices in the soles of the mittens that emitted a painful shock if
the bitch attempted to stand. These new ones, said Peter, were dual punishment
models utilising sharp needles AND electric shocks.
The four bitches, seeing the two men approach, dutifully assumed their doggy-style
hands and knees position, looking up at the men, with their mouths wide open as if
awaiting a treat. Their upward curving tails, emanating from their butt plugs,
wagged gently to indicate their apparent pleasure at the men’s arrival. Thin black
leather crotch belts held the plugs in position.
Peter grabbed the short hair of one of the bitches tilting her head up to Riccardo.
She grimaced at the strain on her hair but was otherwise a model of obedience.
“Ever used these gags before?” Peter asked.
Riccardo peered into the gaping mouth and noticed a metallic framework within.
Ingenious, he thought.
“It holds the mouth open but they can still eat. Close your mouth!” he commanded the
bitch. She did so, but very slowly, and with obvious effort. After a couple of
seconds her mouth was wide open again.
“You see? Spring loaded!” Peter delighted in explaining. “They can eat, but speech
is very difficult. They can’t close their mouths quick enough.”
Peter let go of the bitch’s hair and moved to the second one. He took another gag
from the shelf above her, one unique to the bitches. It was a real animal bone with
leather cords tied to each end. He pushed the bone into the bitch’s mouth like a bit
gag and fastened the cords at the back of her head. This bitch had copper-red hair,
obviously dyed, cut in a short, shaggy style which seemed perfectly suited her
status. Closer inspection showed her face was made up - lips a deep red, eyes
shadowed in black and brows accentuated. Riccardo was quite taken with a nervous
looking russet-haired bitch looking at him. She appeared familiar to him, as well
she might. The hair and make up couldn’t disguise that it was Kate.
Riccardo recalled how delicious Kate looked and acted as a puppy girl on Rabbit
Island so he wasn’t at all sorry to see her resuming a canine role. He especially
liked how her ass was plugged with a curved dog tail and split by a neat crotchbelt
- liked in the sense of feeling his penis growing to fill its restrictive tube. The
perspex restraint curtailed his erection, making him strangely glad not to be adding
another bone to the scene. It was, after all, his first day on the job!
Peter unhooked Kate’s leash from the wall and led her crawling onto the lawn.
Riccardo walked on Kate’s other side as they made towards a shady area beneath some
large trees.
Kate stopped, digging in her front paws and tensing her limbs until her leash pulled
taught. Peter laughed, moved his grip to her collar and dragged her the remaining
two metres to the wrought iron bitch-frame.
“Grab her arm and put the shackle on it!” Peter told Riccardo, as he hauled the
reluctant Kate onto the frame. He often met with this kind of rebellion. Kate’s
struggles were feeble compared to others who, fittingly, fought like dogs to avoid
being fixed to the bitch-frame.
Once her wrists were locked into the front shackles Kate’s resistance was reduced to
gestures. Her knees and ankles were soon buckled into the frame. Two straps dangling
from its underside fastened across her back, leaving her immobile and exposed in the
doggy position. A chin holder with a protruding spike was adjusted to keep her head
facing forward rather than downwards.
“We’ll take out the butt plug,” Peter said, “just to provide more options. Can you
pass me the dog skin from that bag?”
Riccardo pulled out the bristly Alsatian hide and draped it across Kate’s back. The
velcro straps at its corners fastened under Kate’s armpits and around the tops of
her thighs holding the hide in place like a coat.
“Dog claws can be pretty sharp but the hide should protect her back from the worst
of it.” Peter said as the two men looked down at Kate’s trembling body. “Could you
get the lube please?”
Riccardo reached into the bag again to retrieve a small, pump-handled oil can, like
one he used as a kid for maintaining his pushbike. He squirted it liberally onto
Kate’s exposed sex then poked the nozzle between her pussy lips and squeezed again.
He rubbed in the light oil with the palm of his hand, a finger slipping between her
labia into her moistening folds. His gentle but insistent rubbing was soon rewarded.
Kate couldn’t help herself. She rattled the frame in response. The ironwork was
designed to clang and rattle a bit, Peter explained, the videos were much more
interesting with a little noise and movement from the bitch’s struggles.
“Nice looking bitch. Cute ass.” Peter commented casually as he moved towards the
surrounding trees. “One of yours?”
“Not exactly mine,” Riccardo chuckled, with a hint of regret in his voice, “but yes,
she’s from Rabbit Island.”
Peter was busily adjusting several small cameras fixed to the surrounding tree
trunks whilst speaking to somebody on a walkie-talkie. All the cameras were focussed
on Kate, who was about to play a starring role in a long-running video series.
As if Kate wasn’t fixed securely enough, Riccardo had noticed the bottom of the
frame was equipped with nipple clamps at the ends of light chains. Each in turn, he
pinched the clamps between the finger and thumb of one hand while his other pulled
downwards on Kate’s substantial nipples to bring then within reach of the serrated-
edge bite of the clamps.
Kate yelped, her eyes widening with shock, as the vicious clamps bit into her
nipples. It was no more or less a reaction than Riccardo expected. He must have
clamped a thousand nipples in the last couple of years on Rabbit Island. He stroked
her short red hair, very taken with how its vibrant copper colour complemented the
blue eyes looking up at him.
Peter was done with his camera tweaking. He and Riccardo walked away leaving Kate
rattling against the metal restraints of the frame. Riccardo took a last look over
his shoulder. Did he feel guilty about her treatment or just regretful that he
couldn’t take advantage while she was secured in the position he liked the most?

BURIED
(Mandy)
Two strange lumps were protruding from the lawn in front of Peter and Riccardo.
Positioned eight feet apart the black cloth bags looked like improvised goalposts
for a casual soccer game, but these bags were moving!
Peter bent over one of them. Riccardo instinctively stationed himself above the
other, watching as Peter pulled the bag off the object. It was a woman’s head. She
was very much alive, but silent due to the wide strips of tape plastered over her
mouth.
Riccardo pulled off the cloth bag between his feet. It was Mandy, shaking her head
angrily and managing to complain despite the tape gagging her. He ripped the tape
from her mouth. She strained her head back against the manicured lawn around her
neck.
“Ouch! That hurt! Riccardo, Sir, look what they’ve done to me!” she cried. “They
strapped me up and buried me. I need water, but they won’t give me any.”
Burial had certainly not dulled the edge from Mandy’s notorious complaining.
Riccardo saw her mouth within licking distance of the toe of his shoe. It was as low
as somebody could get. He felt a degree of sympathy for her, though he knew that her
habitual whining was probably the cause of her current predicament
“She refused to drink last night.” Peter said. He was kneeling down feeding bread to
his own buried girl.
“Drink?” Mandy responded indignantly. “Those dogs were pissing on me!”
Peter had the measure of Mandy already. He merely laughed.“So are you going to drink
this morning, or shall we gag you again?”
“What choice do I have? I don’t want to die of thirst!” Mandy replied with
resignation.
As they were walking away Peter clarified. “They’re not actually buried. She’s
strapped up inside a tube which slots into a prepared hole on in the ground. Then
the turf is carefully rolled around her neck. And the dogs, they’re fed a diuretic.
It makes their urine weak and quite palatable enough for a thirsty slave.”
After Mandy and her companion had been watered by the dogs, they would be fitted
with red ballgags and dark sunglasses. A miserable day of taunts and teasing awaited
them, as that area of the lawn was the open-air extension to the canteen, regularly
used for coffee breaks and lunches.
Suddenly a motley pack of dogs raced from an enclosure at the far side of the lawn,
barking and yapping as they gambolled over towards Kate and the two buried girls.
Peter and Riccardo watched from a short distance. The dogs began marking Mandy and
the other girl. Mandy’s head went back, facing towards the sky, and her mouth opened
wide as she tried to catch the spray of a large Alsatian.
Over by the trees Riccardo could see a dalmatian had already mounted Kate, while
another muzzled dog was trying to lick her face. He was too far away to see or hear
Kate’s reaction but there was no doubting his own. His penis swelled until it
painfully filled its plastic tube. His hand involuntarily rubbed against his crotch.
Oh to be a dog! Knowing that he would be able to watch the video of Kate’s animal
rape later that night left Riccardo with mixed feelings. Sympathy for Kate? Yes, but
lust and jealousy too. It was the last of these that concerned him the most.

THE BANGKOK AND DISTRICT PRIVATE SANATORIUM
(Alex)
Doctor Alexander Kundera collected his visitor’s badge from the charming Thai
receptionist. He clipped the badge to the breast pocket of his linen jacket and
walked the corridors of the sanatorium searching for the reason for his visit, and
the cause, indirectly, of Rabbit Island’s current demise.

Like many of the doors he passed, the door to room 234 was already wide open so as
to allow sunlight to the corridor. Alex had to lean into the room to read the
number, confirming he’d found the right one. A young woman was sitting in one of the
two chairs, staring serenely out of the window at the lush gardens.
“Good morning,” Alex offered awkwardly, realizing that he didn’t have a name to
append to his greeting.
“Jane. They’ve registered me as Jane Doe, but they call me Janie. Are you Doctor
Kun... something?” She asked.
“Kundera - but please call me Alex. Pleased to meet you, Janie.”
“They said you were a well known writer, but I haven’t heard of you. I hope you’re
not offended. I haven’t heard of anyone else either!”
“Don’t worry. I’m only famous for books on psychology,” Alex said self-
deprecatingly, trying to put her at ease. “I’ve written a few. Cases of memory loss
like yours are my speciality.”
“Have you ever known one who lost her arms too?” she asked.
Alex hadn’t consciously registered that her elbow-length sleeves were empty, not
until she mentioned it in such stark terms. He lived on an island where females so
often had the hands tied behind them that the visual absence of Janie’s hands didn’t
seem in the least unusual. He had noticed her face, quite pretty but with overly
tanned skin, heavily freckled. Her fair hair was short, just covering her ears, and
seemed prematurely greying. He’d also noticed her breasts, their full shape evident
beneath the loose V-neck tee shirt.
There was an almost full glass of water on the table in front of the girl. Alex
breezily took it away, muttering words about fixing a couple of fresh drinks for
them. The kitchenette was conveniently behind the girl’s back.
Engaging someone with complete memory loss in idle chit-chat wasn’t easy but Alex
managed a faltering conversation as he unzipped the black leather wallet containing
Dr. Schmidt’s potions. His fingertips touched each one in turn: Truth, memory and,
if necessary, death. First the water, then the potion, poured very gently. Finally,
remembering the doctor’s advice he placed the straw in the glass but didn’t stir.
Alex placed their drinks on the table and diligently arranged his notepad and tape
recorder between them. “Cheers,” he said with a degree of irony as he took a long
drink from his glass. As he expected, the young woman mirrored him, leaning forward
and sipping at least an inch of water through her straw.
The interview commenced. Alex knew the truth drug would hit Janie’s system within
ten minutes. He could tell by her irritable responses that his line of questioning
was the same as she had been subjected to many times in the previous weeks. She knew
nothing of her past life.
Dr Schmidt’s truth drug didn’t change matters, except to reveal the depths of her
despair.
“I can’t slit my wrists, I can’t take an overdose, but I can jump in front of a
truck as well as anybody. Every evening after dark, when nobody can see me, I go for
a walk around the hospital perimeter. Heavy trucks pass by just a few yards away,
and I often think of stepping in front of one,” said Janie, her eyes piercing his,
carrying the conviction of her words.
Alex didn’t react, except to write in his notes: ‘Stage B: Freely admitted to
suicidal thoughts.’
“I’m useless aren’t I? I can’t do anything for myself. I don’t even know my own
name. I can’t dress myself, feed myself. I even need somebody’s help to go to the
god damn bathroom!”
Alex listened impassively while making notes - a psychologist’s regular defence when
there are no words for an adequate reply. She sucked the remainder of her water.
Doctor Schmidt was right. The first potion had given her a thirst. He got up from
his chair and refilled their glasses. Aftertruth came memory, or so Doctor Schmidt
planned. Alex wasn’t so sure.
“I feel I can trust you,” said Janie, “like I can tell you anything... except I
can’t remember anything to tell you.”
Alex chuckled with her at the irony. Her trust was borne out of a drug, as indeed
her memories might soon be.
Meanwhile Alex was in search of a truth he didn’t want to hear, and for once hoped
that Doctor Schmidt’s medicine would fail. He showed Janie a series of photographs.
A dog, a house, a baby, a mountain, a bicycle, a pizza, a rock band, a canoe, and
hundreds more. She knew what things were but not how they might apply to her own
existence.
“I need to look at the wounds.” Alex said, breaking the awkward silence as they
stared at the photographs scattered across the table. “Do you mind if I touch you?”
“I can’t stop you,” she replied, “but no, I don’t mind at all if you touch. The
staff here are very kind to me. Very polite and considerate.”
She couldn’t help adjusting her posture as Alex stood up and stepped behind her. He
bent over her, breathing on her neck as his hands lifted the tee shirt clear of her
head. Without arms to impede its progress the garment seemed disturbingly easy to
lift clear. These were full bone amputations. Usually a surgeon will endeavour to
save something below the shoulder to facilitate prosthetics, but not in Janie’s
case.
“Did they inform you that I would touch you in intimate places?” Alex asked.
Janie swallowed and nodded. “Yes, they told me that. I trust you.”
He moved his hands towards her shorts. Unbuckling the belt, unbuttoning and
unzipping, he eased her shorts down over her hips until they fell to her ankles. The
tattoo near her labia was indeed a rabbit motif - a poor imitation of a design
formerly used on Rabbit Island.
“What’s the significance of the rabbit?” Janie asked.
“I really don’t know.” Alex answered thoughtfully. It was true, he didn’t know the
significance of this particular rabbit.
He placed a folded towel on the wooden seat and sat the girl down on it. Then he
blindfolded her with a sleep mask - the type commonly used on airlines. This one was
marked Qantas, and came from a complimentary pack from his most recent journey.
“Comfortable?” Alex asked, taking up a position behind her chair.
“Fine, thank you,” Janie replied with a Mona Lisa smile. This was the most
stimulating thing that had happened to her since she could remember.
He kissed her on the head, then on her shoulders. His hands moved to her breasts and
her nipples. They hardened in response to his touch. “Tell me if you want me to
stop. Tell me what you are thinking.”
“Nothing, except it feels nice to be touched. Alex, do you think I’ve made love
before?”
“I’m sure you have,” Alex said with confidence. “Does this bring back good memories?
If you don’t know, take a guess.”
“It feels good, but I don’t sense any memories. I feel relaxed and happy. A little
excited too.” Janie giggled.
As she was still under the influence of the truth drug, Alex had no reason to doubt
her. He pulled on her nipples, (fit for a ponygirl, he thought to himself),
stretching and squeezing them. They’d been pierced in the recent past, he could tell
by the marks. He took his hands away.
“No. Please don’t stop. Can’t you keep doing that? Perhaps I might think of
something if you keep going,” Janie suggested.
Alex resumed his ministrations, his fingers moving lightly on her ribs and belly.
“Hey, that tickles!” Janie protested feebly. Soon Alex had her laughing and then
begging as she squirmed in her seat, unable and unwilling to prevent the delicious
assault.
“Lower please, go lower,” she said, her breathing rapid and trembling.
“What would you like me to do?” Alex asked. It was a cruel thing to ask somebody
under the influence of a truth drug.
“Fuck me!” she blurted out, before realizing what she had said. “Oh god, you’re a
doctor! I’m sorry. Why would anyone want to have sex with a freak anyway?”
“You’ve a very fuckable body,” Alex said, entering into the spirit of truthfulness
for a moment.
His fingers had reached her short, formerly shaved, pubic hair. Stroking its
silkiness, teasing her. He dipped lower, touching her labia pressing lightly on her
clitoral hood. He would not go further until she revealed something, anything, to
him.
Fifteen minutes of on-and-off teasing torment elapsed. Janie, sitting naked and
blindfolded, was in despair, knowing that the relief and pleasure she craved was so
close. Yet her memory was as dark as the blindfold itself. She sensed Alex was about
to call a halt to his examination. They had another appointment for the same time
tomorrow.
She wanted nothing more than to feel Alex’s fingers between her legs, even just for
a few seconds. Suddenly, something came into her mind.
“Two lines!” she said fervently. “Two lines in the darkness.”
“What kind of lines?” Alex asked, his fingers brushing her clitoris and moist labia
as a reward.
“They’re shiny. Parallel lines. Curving.” She was becoming agitated, excited at the
thought of giving birth to a memory as much as she was by Alex’s long-awaited
physical reward.
“Like railway tracks?” Alex probed. Janie sighed as he continued to lightly stroke
her; helping her to what she hoped was an inevitable outcome.
“Two lines, yes, like railway tracks... Oh God. Don’t stop... tracks. Does that mean
something?”
It wasn’t the question to ask a psychologist, to whom everything means something.
Even if Alex was unsure, he knew it meant something. However vague, however distant,
he sensed it was a significant memory. Janie waited for her reward, unable to
concentrate on anything else by then.
Alex bent down to kiss her neck, his nose nuzzling her ear as his fingers continued
to rub and probe her sex. His cock was twitching, demanding to be nested in the warm
and moist flesh where his fingers were.
“Oh Jesus!” Janie proclaimed with a burst of hot breath. “Yes, yes, don’t stop just
yet.”
He didn’t stop. Completing the girl’s pleasure was the least he could do in the
circumstances.
Alex recalled Doctor Schmidt’s instructions. They were explicit: ‘Don’t hesitate to
use the third vial if the second shows any sign of releasing memories.’
“Can I have another drink of water?” Janie asked, sighing with contentment.
Alex obliged.
                                 End of Chapter 16

  coming soon... the giraffe girl, bacchanal, crucifixion, kidnapping in Bangkok.

    (Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Comments,
                criticisms, suggestions and reviews always welcome.)
                                Chapter 17. Caged
               (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)

The story so far:
(Ch. 14) Rabbit Island is evacuated. Bundled and Shipped.
(Ch. 15) Riccardo learns about self control. Jessica and Kate are processed on La
Plata.
(Ch. 16) Jessica and the Ponygirl Express. Kate and the bitch-frame. Master Alex
visits the armless girl.

A HISTORY LESSON

“Isla de la Plata has been in the same family’s hands for six generations, ever
since its settlement in 1830. Madame Cavallo inherited it from her father ten years
ago following his death. The mining is almost finished now, but the Mistress has
inherited a very large fortune from silver and other minerals...
“There’s a long history of slavery here, which continued throughout the twentieth
century. Many of the buildings you see on this island were built by the original
slaves - people from various southern Pacific islands. One day Madame’s great-
great-grandfather decided to grant the slaves their freedom. Most stayed on the
island and continued to work hard for a modest wage and somewhere to live. But that
era didn’t last long. There was a protest and then a rebellion over the working
conditions in the mine. Many slaves were killed before the rebellion was quashed...
“That brought about the second period of slavery. It was a much harsher regime. The
slaves lived their lives in chains and under the strictest supervision. That was
the era when the women slaves were first used as human ponies. They were too weak
for the heavy work, but when harnessed as a team were found to be adequate
replacements for donkeys. The mining business flourished and expanded under
Mistress’s great grandfather. He acquired more and more slaves to meet the demand.
It was he that started the breeding program, mating the strongest and healthiest
men and women to produce all the slaves he needed...
“These days, with so little mining activity, the island doesn’t need many slaves,
but Mistress retains a passionate interest in slavery and breeding, and ponygirls
too.”
Riccardo looked at the girl giving him the history lesson as they shared a morning
coffee. Lucinda was pretty, and, he guessed, in her late teens. He’d seen many
beautiful women, but this one was unique, and he had been captivated by her
appearance since he arrived on the island several days ago.
Lucinda wore a long white dress with a dramatically plunging neckline. The cloth
had a gauzy lightness to the point of translucency, designed more to titillate the
onlooker rather than protect her modesty. Her dress was complimented by roman
sandals with white laces that criss-crossed up the lengths of her shins, knotting
neatly just below the knees. Her wrists each sported half a dozen metal bangles
that clinked musically as she moved to take a sip of coffee. But it was her neck
that was most alluring. It was encased in what looked like bronze hoops, broad at
her shoulders and narrowing towards the top of her neck. Her neck was unnaturally
long, stretched by many years wearing the brass rings. Riccardo had seen tribal
people wearing something similar, but never a white woman.
When he asked about her neck, Lucinda explained as she had many times before. “I
was born on this island. I’m a product of its breeding program, and like the other
babies I was sold immediately. Most babies ended up in wealthy homes in America,
but I was sold to an organisation that trained sex slaves. At the age of ten, they
put the first coil around my neck. Everybody said how beautiful I looked and that
made me happy. People think they are hoops but it’s a coil. The tradition comes
from the Padaung of Burma...
“Two years ago, Madame purchased me from the organisation which had reared and
trained me. She paid quite a lot of money, I believe. My neck is eight inches long
now, but Madame wants it to be eleven inches in the next five years. I don’t think
it’s possible. It’ll probably kill me.”
Riccardo looked concerned. “What happens if the coil is removed? Is it true you
would die?” he asked, admitting he knew little of the practice.
As she shook her head her large hoop earrings chimed softly against her bronze
encased neck. “No, but it would be a terrible strain. My neck muscles are very
weak. It’s better I stay like this. I’m used to it. I like it!”
Riccardo was more than a little aroused by Lucinda and her lifetime of bondage. Her
charm was the equal of her looks - an attractive well-proportioned face with a
slightly flat retrousse nose. He liked her dark brown hair too: Short but feminine,
cut so as not obscure her neck’s brass coil. But he was confused. Apart from her
neck she gave no other indication of being a slave. He’d seen her coming and going
as she pleased. In fact, she seemed not to have a care in the world.
“I’m not a slave,” Lucinda said defensively. “I’m owned by Madame, but that doesn’t
mean I’m a slave does it? I’m a possession, a curiosity, an ornament, she says. I’m
fully trained in oral and anal sex and in orgasm control and the erotic torment of
female slaves. I’m also an expert, they say, in hair and makeup. If you want to
have sex with me, you can at tonight’s Bacchanal. I’ll be tied up and available to
any man who wants me.”
That category of man would certainly include Riccardo. “So you do get tied up
sometimes then?”
“Of course.” Lucinda replied. “Quite often, and always for sex, obviously.”
Riccardo smiled. He was enjoying this conversation. “Ever had sex without being
tied up?” he asked.
Lucinda shrugged her shoulders. “No. never! I don’t think I’d like it so much
without something to tug against.” She leant forward, as if to confide in Riccardo.
“You know what I like the most?”
He shook his head, giving the negative response she required.
“...being chained to the four corners of a bed. Not too tight and not too loose.”
“Tight enough to tug against?” Riccardo offered.
“Exactly!” Lucinda said with a broad smile. “And I like it when a man kisses me...
everywhere! Lots of tender kisses. And I like it when the weight of his chest is
crushing my breasts... and when he kisses my lips.”
Riccardo felt his penis swell within the infernal plastic tube he’d worn since his
arrival on the island. Tonight, being Friday, it would be removed. His male
colleagues had told him that weekends were fun, but for him it had become a
physical need rather than mere fun. Lucinda’s comments weren’t helping!
A distant rumble and whine of the railway tracks attracted Riccardo’s attention.
The Ponygirl Express was approaching. He looked at his watch, confirming they were
right on schedule, as they always were. Jessica was still part of the foursome,
Riccardo observed. His pledge to keep an eye on her was proving easy to keep. Two
men disembarked from the Ponygirl Express, a woman got on, made herself
comfortable, and pressed the green ‘go’ button. If she cared to look closely she
might have seen the twitchng of four leather-encased bodies as a low voltage shock
was delivered into each ponygirl’s rectum.
Smoothly and silently, Jessica and her team started to move; perfectly harnessed
and perfectly trained to do their job. He was beginning to appreciate the
impersonal and anonymous beauty of it.
Riccardo’s gaze moved to his new ponygirl pair standing in harness just a few yards
away behind Lucinda’s back. The ponygirls, encased in their tight leatherbodies and
hoods, were strong but poorly trained and unmotivated. Their hearts weren’t in it,
Riccardo concluded. They slouched and fidgeted, pulling against their harnessing in
a most unflattering fashion. It might be understandable but it was certainly not
acceptable. It reflected badly on Riccardo as a pony driver.
A couple of weeks of rigorous training, together with praise and encouragement
would transform them. At least that was Riccardo’s hope. They already understood
punishment, the sting of the whip and the jolt of the anal prods, but that wasn’t
enough. They had to have the desire to be the best they could be. They should want
to please their driver more than they care about their own comfort. He could make
them better ponygirls, perhaps even bringing them up to competition standard. But
first he needed to get to know them better, to learn how their ponygirl minds
worked, what motivated and stimulated them, as well as what scared them. He was
glad of the challenge for the month or two he expected to be away from Rabbit
Island.
Lucinda knew what Riccardo was looking at over her shoulder but she showed little
interest. To her, ponygirls were merely a form of transport. She’d grown up around
them. “Have you ever driven a car?” She asked Riccardo with child-like excitement.
The question caught him off guard. He returned his attention to his charming
companion. “Many times,” he replied.
“I haven’t. I’ve been in the back of a van once, but I was in a cage so I couldn’t
see anything,” Lucinda said matter-of-factly, blissfully unaware of how bizarre her
statement was.
They paused their conversation to watch a maid clearing cups from the neighbouring
table. The woman wore an exaggerated French maid’s black and white outfit, her
waist impossibly nipped in, her breasts squeezed and thrust upwards into a balcony
of flesh that could have supported one of the coffee cups.
Lucinda had mischief in her eyes. She called the waitress over to their table
determined to torment Riccardo's libido even further. The waitress was beautifully
made up, her black hair tied in a bun behind her. Riccardo caught sight of her long
painted fingernails (which was something Riccardo appreciated but found somewhat
lacking on Rabbit Island.) Lucinda lifted the waitress’s skirt to show off her bare
sex, framed by black garters and stocking tops.
Riccardo eyed the delights of the waitress’s neatly trimmed bush and protruding
labia. Lucinda ran her finger suggestively between them, trying perhaps to
embarrass her. The waitress remained impassive. Lucinda seemed disappointed, waving
her away to continue with her table duties.
“She used to be a man!” Lucinda whispered, with a childish delight in revealing a
secret.
Riccardo shrugged. Transsexuals weren’t that unusual these days. Perhaps Lucinda
wasn’t aware of that?
“Madame was in a restaurant in New York last year. He was a waiter. Apparently he
said something that caused Madame great offence. It was a terrible insult, they
said. So she had him kidnapped...
“They started to prepare him for his new life as a waitress. First they cut his
vocal cords so now she can only whisper. They removed his lower ribs so the corset
narrows his waist. He was put on a course of oestrogen and started to grow breasts,
although most of the breasts are implants. After a year training him to be a maid,
they did the operation. Then his male genitals were removed, but they didn’t create
a proper vagina. They just made it look that way from the outside...
“So she can’t have sex any more except in the anus. The men don’t want her, but
Brenda likes to use a strap-on with her. I watched them once. The waitress hated
it, and cried the whole time, but Brenda reckons she enjoys it really!”
Riccardo laughed nervously. “So that’s what happens if a man gets on the wrong side
of Madame Cavallo? That’s how she gets her revenge?”
“It’s one of the ways!” Lucinda said smugly.
Riccardo quickly slurped the dregs of his coffee and stood up. He really needed to
get back to work! They exchanged a smiling goodbye, knowing their next encounter
would be in the tumultuous atmosphere of the evening’s Bacchanal.
DOG TIRED

Lucinda continued to sip her coffee, thinking dreamily of Riccardo, who she thought
very handsome. She smiled on hearing his shout of ‘hyaaa!’ as he whipped his
ponygirls into motion. She tingled at the thought of his whip landing upon her...
perhaps that very evening.

Some fifty yards in front of Lucinda was the so-called bitch training area. It was
her job to fix the bitches’ faces so they looked their best on the video cameras
that recorded their humiliation on the bitch frame. She watched as a handler led
one of the bitches, crawling like a dog, back to the retaining wall. It was the
bitch with the purple hair, Lucinda observed, a feisty bright-eyed girl that she
felt strangely drawn to.
Kate was held on a short leash, which her handler tugged repeatedly, not so much to
control her but to keep her moving. After her third morning session of submission
on the bitch frame, her fight, her will to resist, had deserted her. Her head hung
downwards as they reached the shaded area beside a brick wall. She crawled onto the
padded mat which had become her home. The handler clipped her leash to the steel
ring on the brick wall then untied the leather around her head which held the bone
gag in her mouth. He wiped the gag dry of Kate’s spittle and hung it a hook on the
brick wall above her.
Yesterday she had fought with all her strength against being fixed to the bitch
frame. The black and blue bruising on her thighs from the handlers’ kicks testified
to the violence of the struggle, and to her inevitable defeat. Today she had gone
to the frame like a lamb. Crawling on her hands and knees, she simply walked onto
it knowing exactly where her hands and feet needed to be. She lifted her head and
placed it onto the chin rest, lowering it carefully onto the nasty spike that dug
into her flesh, dissuading any desire to move her head. The men busied themselves,
strapping her ankles, knees, wrists, and the straps pulled tight across her back.
Then the dog’s pelt was thrown over her, velcro fastening around her arms and
thighs. Finally there were those vicious serrated-edge nipple clamps, which pulled
her breasts to the ground like inverted cones. How she hated those clamps!
Merely being strapped to that frame wasn’t so bad for a girl who was familiar with
bondage in all its perverted variety. If a man had taken her in such a position she
might even have derived some pleasure from it. A man yes, but not a pack of dogs...
at least not until that third time!
In retrospect, it had been foolish. She thought it would make her feel better if,
while the dogs were rutting her, she took her mind off it by thinking of her more
pleasant exploits on Rabbit Island. The memories of some bittersweet torments
proved all too vivid. It took her mind off the canine assault rather too much. She
forgot about the cameras trained on her. Cameras that recorded the blissful smile
on her face as an orgasm rippled through her in a series of deep convulsions,
constrained by leather, metal and the weight of a lusty slobbering great dane upon
her back.
When the dogs were called off, Kate was left fixed on the bitch-frame for ten
minutes or so. The tears of defeat etched salty wet lines down her cheeks. She
hated herself, knowing that her shameful pleasure had been recorded. How they would
be amused by her display of bestial submission! Perhaps they might decide that she
preferred to remain in the company of dogs?
Kate lapped thirstily from her water bowl, balancing on her hands which had been
balled into paw-like fists inside leather mitts. It had been three days since she
had been able to stretch out her fingers. She sat back and pawed at the flat
leather crotch strap that dissected her labia. The semen of dogs trickled out,
sticking to her thighs just as it had for the last two days.
She would soon be asleep, dozing periodically through the day, like dogs usually
do. The four bitches had a routine: They were to stand to attention (on all fours,
of course) if a visitor arrived, so they took it in turns to act as the watchdog.
It was the watchdog’s duty to alert her dozing companions if anyone approached.
Kate, as the most recently returned from the frame, was allowed to sleep while her
neighbour kept a look out.

THE BANGKOK SLAVE TRADER
(Alex, Janie)
Alex’s taxi pulled up outside a nondescript warehouse in the middle of a bustling
industrial estate on the outskirts of Bangkok. It had to be the right place; the
written instructions and the hand-drawn map were clear. Alex asked the driver to
wait half an hour. He agreed, knowing that Americans were good tippers.
The building Alex entered was operating as a small but busy ironworks. Ornate
fences and security gates for the city’s well-to-do residents were its speciality.
One of the workers, dressed in leather apron and gloves, escorted Alex to the back
of the factory, then through several doors, leaving the drilling, banging and
welding further and further behind.
“Good morning Mister Alex!” a man greeted him, with a beaming smile, his arms wide
open as if expecting a hug.
Alex shook the Thai man’s hand warming. “Good morning, Charlie. It’s very nice to
see you. You’ve moved again?”
“Yes, Mister Alex. Always keep on move. Always very careful. Now you check out my
merchandise, I make nice green tea.”
The merchandise, as Charlie always referred to it, was stored in a row of five
cages in the centre of the almost empty warehouse. Each iron cage (made in the
adjoining factory) stood on its own wooden pallet, ready to be forklifted to a
customer at a moment’s notice.
Inside the first cage a dark-skinned woman knelt, hands shackled behind her, ankles
also in shackles, connected by a two-foot chain. She wore a leather collar with a
chain leash that wrapped around a bar at the top her cage. It kept her kneeling
upright, at attention and on display for visitors such as Alex. She glanced up at
him just long enough to see who or what he was, then looked at the floor of her
cage. It was not her fault she was here but she still felt a sense of shame.
“She housemaid. Man have debts and sell her. Good worker. Look! She clean floor
very good.”
The grey painted concrete floor did indeed look spotless, Alex observed. His
attention moved to the blonde girl in the next cage.
“She Swedish!” Charlie announced with reverence. He knew what a valuable
acquisition she was. He unbolted and swung open the front door of the cage,
unhooked the girl’s leash from the bars, pulled her out and coaxed her to stand up.
“Very excellent body,” said Charlie, stating the blindingly obvious. Alex hadn’t
come to buy, but it seemed polite to cast an expert eye over Charlie’s merchandise.
He was tempted to use another word. Perfect! She stood sideways to him so he could
admire her profile. His eyes traced the line from her brow to her neat nose and
elegant chin. Her breasts were fairly small but sagged not in the least, perfectly
supported by her healthy and youthful frame.
“Real blonde!” said Charlie, tugging hard on the girl’s pubic hair. She looked at
Alex, still harbouring the hope that he might be there to rescue her. Perhaps he
was just pretending to be a buyer? He seemed too nice, too sophisticated, to be a
criminal.
“She’s very quiet. Why’s that?” Alex asked.

“She gagged all yesterday. Too many noise. She not like gag. Now she quiet like
mouse.”

“Too much noise, not too many.” Alex corrected him. The girl smiled coyly at his
joking comment. Alex looked her in the eyes and asked Charlie: “Is she submissive?”
“Of course she submissive! Look!” Charlie tugged downwards on her leash. “Slave
girl don’t look at Master!”
Alex stood in front of her, close enough to embrace. His hands gripped her upper
arms as he whispered in her ear.
Charlie watched as the girl variously nodded and shook her head in answer to Alex’s
unaudible questions.
Alex’s enquiries were unsatisfactory. The girl seemed as vanilla as her hair.
“When’s the auction?”
“Friday. You gonna bid?”
“I’ll be back in the USA then, but I’ll follow it on the Internet. Perhaps I’ll
bid. Send me an e-mail.”
Charlie hustled the girl back into her cage. She knelt and backed into her iron-
barred home. He wrapped her leash around the bars above her. Unless another visitor
arrived she would spend the rest of the day in her enforced kneeling position. Only
when the factory had closed its doors would the leash be unhooked so she could lie
down.
Charlie ran a strict regime, honed from a decade in the business. He never damaged
the merchandise, in fact they were likely to leave him in better condition than
they arrived. A few yards away from the cages was his camp bed. His was a twenty-
four hour job. There was a box of vegetables and cases of bottled water. On a table
was a portable gas stove where he would cook supper for his girls. There was an
exercise bike to retain the fitness of his long-term residents, and a portable
television for the evenings - a welcome distraction for captor and captives alike.
They moved to the next cage and another Thai girl - clearly a teenager. Tears
stained her cheeks.
“Virgin. I check her. You like virgin?”
She looked up at Alex with her lustrous doe eyes, too innocent to be ashamed, too
naïve to fully comprehend the horrors that awaited her. It had been a couple of
years since Alex had taken a virgin and the prospect of having that soft and sweet
Asian girl laying bound and trembling in his bed appealed very much. Perhaps
another time, he promised himself.
“That is whore,” Charlie said with a dismissive wave at the next cage. He poured
the tea while Alex studied her. “Ten years in same whorehouse. Now she too old.
They give her to me free. Need drugs but I don’t give her. I told her drugs bad.
She go cold chicken.”
Alex reached into the cage to stroke her hair. To him, every woman had something of
interest, something unique about her. She trembled and sweated, fidgeting as if
desperate to move from her enforced kneeling position; a picture of misery her
fellow prisoners could not match. Her enslavement to opiates was far more harmful
than one of Charlie’s cages. Alex was inordinately proud of the health of the
Rabbit Island residents and if circumstances were different he might have
considered having the unwanted whore shipped to Rabbit Island. There was always
work to be done on the farm. He suspected Charlie would be glad to have her off his
hands as long as costs were covered. Alas, with Rabbit Island closed, he had to
leave her to an uncertain fate.
The last of the five cages was the reason for Alex’s visit. Janie looked up at him
with bright and alert eyes, moaning loudly into her ballgag as if she had something
urgent to say. She seemed more alert and alive than when he had interviewed her in
the hospital. She now realised that Alex was the instigator of her kidnapping and
caging, yet she was still glad to see him. She felt she could talk to him, or at
least she could if Charlie hadn’t gagged her.
“Why you want girl without arms?” Charlie asked Alex.
“She has information. I feared she might kill herself before I could get it. Any
problems taking her?”
“She walk near road as you say. Easy to take her in dark, but we don’t know how tie
up her. No arms see? Very funny!” Charlie chuckled at the memory.
With no memories of her past, Janie had little sense of normality. For all she
knew, being kidnapped and locked in a cage was something that happened to all
women.
“She very noisy! Talk a lot. Gag better but still noisy,” Charlie complained
wagging his finger at Janie.
Alex gave a sarcastic and joking apology. He knew Charlie could silence her
completely were it necessary.
“And other thing. She masturbate. Bad girl!”
Alex laughed. “What do you mean? How the hell can she masturbate?”
“I show you.”
Alex sipped his tea while Charlie went behind Janie’s cage. He untied a rope
running between the back bars and her ankle chain. He’d tied it to prevent her
bringing her feet in front. “Now you show Mister Alex your masturbate!”
Janie’s eyes went wide with horror. Charlie banged threateningly on the bars with
his trusty wooden cane. “Come, no arm girl. We waiting!”
With her knees splayed wide Janie bent her ankles inwards to her things. A further
shimmy on her buttocks brought her right heel hard against her sex. Her left heel
pushed against her right toes holding the right heel hard against her mound. She
had strong yet shapely ankles, Alex thought, well suited to the shiny silver cuffs
and links that encircled them.
“Then what do you do?” He asked. Being gagged, Janie guessed that a verbal
explanation wasn’t what they required. She would have to demonstrate while the two
men looked on. Her heel started rubbing up and down on her labia. Her face flushed
red with embarrassment as dribble from her ballgagged lips splattered on her feet.
She glanced sheepishly up to Alex - surely he didn’t expect her to do it right
there!
“Would it help if I squeezed your breasts?” Alex asked considerately.
After a pause of deliberation she nodded. She knew it would help a great deal.
“Charlie, get me a pair of nipple clamps.” said Alex, his eyes remaining fixed on
Janie.
Charlie dipped into his wooden box of tricks. “Hard, soft or toothbite?”
“We’ll see how she gets on with soft,” Alex replied. He squatted in front of the
cage and gestured with his finger for Janie to lean towards the bars. She obeyed to
the extent that her leashed collar allowed. Alex reached into the cage to touch her
breasts. Janie closed her eyes as he tenderly toyed with her nipples. At first she
didn’t feel the clamp, confusing its pressure with Alex’s fingers.
Alex took advantage of her submission, wrapping the chain around one of the
vertical bars and clamping the other nipple. It felt nice to be touched like that,
but he was pinching them too hard, Janie thought. Then she opened her eyes to see
Alex standing up. He’d tricked her! She panicked, leaning back, squirming from side
to side to try to release her breasts, but the collar and chain, the elasticity of
her breasts and the implacable grip of the clamp made it impossible.
“Try it now,” Alex said.
Janie’s slightest movement tugged on her clamped nipples, whilst bigger movements
made it seem like someone was pulling at her breasts. The chain linking the clamps
rattled and scraped across the vertical bars. She pulled back again, feeling the
pain and pleasure on her nipples. Soon her heel was rubbing up and down her labia.
Alex pulled up a wooden stool and sat in front of the cage. “Now be a good girl and
show me how you masturbate. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
Janie obeyed. She still thought of him as the doctor, a figure of authority. She
wanted so much for him to touch her again. Perhaps he would if she pleased him by
doing as he asked?
Alex was beginning to doubt if Janie could complete the act. Her legs ached. She
had to stop and stretch out her leg periodically, as if to prevent a cramp. He took
Charlie aside. “Every evening you must fix her like this and allow her to practice
masturbating. And you must tickle her too.”
Charlie was puzzled. “Tiku?”
“Like this!”
Alex was too quick for him, digging his fingers into the flesh beneath Charlie’s
ribs. Charlie jumped back to safe distance. He laughed, waving a karate chop hand
in Alex’s direction.
“Here. I’ll show you.” Alex said, bending down to Janie. He reached into the cage
with both hands. She was helpless as Alex’s cruel fingers assaulted her ribs and
belly for a minute or more. She struggled for breath behind the gag, making garbled
pleas for mercy that went unheeded.
By the time Alex relented, Janie was a dribbling wreck, exhausted, tickled into
submission, yet somehow she felt better than she had since... quite literally she
didn’t know when. As Alex explained to her that he would be away for a few weeks,
the thrill of his touch faded. Only the promise of his return saved her from
despair.
“Now, that’s a true submissive!” Alex explained to Charlie as they walked away from
the cages.
“You still have New York girls I take from Bangkok airport last year?” Charlie
asked as he escorted Alex out of the factory.
Alex had to think for a moment, then his stomach sank. Nancy! Her escape from
Rabbit Island was part of the reason for the Island’s closure, though nobody knew
what had happened to her. And what about Jessica? At least she was safe and secure.
He had confidence that Riccardo would be watching over Rabbit Island’s valuable
possessions. He didn’t thank Charlie for the reminder of the chaos on Rabbit
Island. So many friends and loyal slaves temporarily dispersed around the world.
The next three weeks of business commitments in America would seem like a lifetime.
On Alex’s instructions the taxi stopped at a private hospital. Ray, the pony
driver, was recovering from the accident that had left him needing surgery on a
fractured skull. He had told Alex the previous day that he didn’t intend to return
to Rabbit Island. It seemed a good time to make the break, he explained. Alex
understood. He was the first to pronounce that there was more to life than living
on a small island in the South Pacific. He offered to use his wide connections to
help Ray obtain a similar position in Europe, recognising the importance of keeping
good people within the fold. Secrecy and discretion were everything in the world of
luxury sexual slavery! Skilled and reliable pony drivers weren’t easy to come by.
Alex pondered whether his associate in London might be interested in exchanging a
member of his staff.
The men said their goodbyes with promises to talk by phone. Alex allowed his
hospital visitor’s smile to droop as he returned to his taxi. Waiting beside the
taxi were two policemen casually talking to the driver, all three smoking
cigarettes. One of the policemen quickly stubbed his out underfoot.
“Dr. Alex Kundera?”
“That’s me.” Alex said coolly.
“We need to ask you some questions. Will you please come with us? It will not take
long.”
Alex shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “Sure. No problem!”
                                 End of Chapter 17
                     coming soon...the Bacchanal, crucifixion

   (Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Comments,
             criticisms, suggestions and reviews are always welcome.)
                             Chapter 18. The Bacchanal
               (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)

The story so far:
(Ch. 14) Rabbit Island is evacuated. Bundled and Shipped.
(Ch. 15) Riccardo learns about self control. Jessica and Kate are processed on La
Plata.
(Ch. 16) Jessica and the Ponygirl Express. Kate and the bitch-frame. Master Alex
visits the armless girl.
(Ch. 17) Caged. The Bangkok slave trader. La Plata history lesson.

RICCARDO’S RELEASE
(Riccardo, Brenda)

Riccardo had almost become lost in the labyrinthian corridors of La Plata’s Town
Hall before finally stumbling upon the room to which he had been directed. Waiting
inside was Brenda, two hundred pounds of pure dyke, wearing her usual ill-fitting
dungarees and a white tee shirt. Accompanying Brenda was a skinny girl with short
hair and glasses. She also favoured dungarees. It so happened that their sartorial
preference was also their official uniform.
Madame Cavallo liked uniforms. She even called the tight leather coverings of the
ponygirls their ‘uniform’. Luckily for Riccardo, the dress code for pony drivers
was just a black polo shirt, long khaki shorts and a baseball-style cap complete
with a La Plata embroidered badge.
He had also been issued with a multi-function belt, which he quite liked. It
contained: a combination flashlight and nightstick. A compact first aid kit. A
small tazer gun. A deluxe Swiss army knife, complete with that thing for taking
stones out of ponygirls’ hooves. Handcuffs, even though he rarely came across any
females not already secured. A short whip, suitable for small admonishments. He’d
used it frequently on his ponygirls in the last few days.
There was one other item of uniform. He most definitely didn’t like it: The cock
restraint! The clear perspex penis tube curtailed erections and shielded his penis
from manual manipulations. It had successfully prevented him from obtaining any
form of sexual relief for the last five days. Riccardo’s testicles felt full to
bursting, and the perspex loop at their root had become more and more restrictive
and uncomfortable.
The visit to Brenda would solve his problem. It was her job on Friday evenings to
remove the male chastity devices from the pony drivers and other male workers.
Brenda looked at him, her hands on her ample hips. She tutted. “Drop your pants,
stupid!”
Riccardo ignored the insult. He wasn’t going to react when she literally held the
key to his much anticipated release from chastity. He unbuckled his belt and let
his shorts and underwear fall to the floor around his feet.
This was Brenda’s second favourite part of the week. The feeling of power over men
was intoxicating even if she didn’t find it sexually stimulating. She handed the
skinny sidekick the key. Nervously, without looking up at him, the skinny one
unlocked the small padlock that connected the penis tube and base ring together.
Riccardo’s cock gave an involuntary twitch as the girl’s slender fingers fumbled
with the key and the lock. She pulled the device clear before it could spurt at
her. Showing evident distaste she held the chastity device between thumb and
forefinger and placed it in a small tray labelled with Riccardo’s name.
“Sunday evening at seven, you return here for refitting,” Brenda instructed with
thinly disguised glee. That was, of course, her favourite part of the week.

THE BACCHANAL
(Kate)
The Main Hall was a bright and functional space slightly larger that a basketball
court. Judging by the myriad of coloured lines painted on the wooden floor it was
used for a variety of indoor sports.
As Riccardo entered the hall, this evening’s sport was all too apparent. It was
just as Peter had enthusiastically described to him in the preceding days.
Scattered around the floor, naked women waited. As each was thoroughly hogtied with
a vast amount of rope, that was all they could do. For up to two hours some of them
had been held in such contorted shapes, their physical comfort was far down the
list of priorities as other preparations for the Bacchanal were made.
Riccardo picked a circuitous path between the women. Some looked up at him,
dribbling from their ballgags, eyes in a pleading frown as if to say “rape me, beat
me, do anything but please untie me.” He recognised a few of the women but most
were new to him. Rachel, from Rabbit Island, was amongst them, almost
unrecognisable with her close-cropped blonde hair. Instinctively he looked around
for Kate, but didn’t spot her. Then, to his surprise and delight, he saw Lucinda.
Her roped hogtie was as strict as any other. Her open palms cradled her ankles,
elbows wedged together in such a way that it made her appear double-jointed. Ropes
encircled and harnessed her body, with several strands splitting her crotch. Her
copper wound neck prevented her from craning up at him as the other women did. He
pitied her, but he desired her more. He wasn’t exactly sure how the evening was
arranged but if he had a choice, then it would be Lucinda. He assumed every other
man felt the same way about her so was pessimistic about his chances.
He made his way to the far end of the hall where the large group of men was
engrossed in a particular task - an enjoyable one, yet a serious one, judging by
their good-humoured concentration.
“Riccardo. Come over here!” one of the men called out.
He saw what and who was the focus of their attention. Lying stretched out upon a
cross, tied to it at every possible point, was a woman’s body. Not just tied but
nailed as well. Her feet rested on a wooden support that obliged her knees to be
splayed open. Shiny nails pierced through the top of each foot and into the wood.
Blood trickled from each wound, though not as much as Riccardo expected. Looking at
her face, Riccardo was horrified to recognise Kate.
A moment after that recognition came the sharp ‘ching’ of a hammer hitting a nail.
It had gone through her right hand. A couple more taps fixed the nail firmly into
the wood.
Kate sobbed, pleading for the men not to do this to her. One man knelt with his
thighs on either side of her head. The victims tended to faint if they were allowed
to see what was happening. Riccardo was surprised that Kate wasn’t crying out in
agony, despite her obvious distress.
Somebody thrust the hammer into his hand. “The last one is yours. Call it an
initiation!”
Riccardo was in a daze, caught up in a testosterone-fuelled fervour. The
restriction on his sexual energies over the last week had emboldened him in a way
he couldn’t have imagined. The feel of the hammer and nail in his hands brought
about a startling arousal.
“Don’t worry, she won’t feel a thing,” the man reassured him. “She’s had a local
anaesthetic! I’ll hold the nail in the right place, and you hit it hard, but watch
out for my fingers!”
The man stretched out Kate’s fingers which were curled defiantly into her palm. Her
wrist and elbow were tightly bound with rope holding her arm fast to the wood.
Riccardo looked at the hand, so small and soft, a delicate feminine hand; such a
contrast to the nail pressing against it: bright stainless steel, five inches long,
with a point as sharp as a needle. It already indented the flesh between Kate’s
index and middle fingers, giving the impression that it could simply be pushed
through her flesh Kate whimpered in dreadful anticipation just as Riccardo made a
decisive blow bringing the hammer down squarely onto the nail’s head. It struck the
wood. He hit it twice more while blood oozed from the nail’s wound.
Having quickly satisfied themselves that Riccardo’s hammer blows had been
successful, the group of men stood clear. Somebody pulled Riccardo by the arm away
from Kate’s crucified body as the cross started to lift. The bottom was hinged to
the floor whilst the top was fixed to a rope and pulley descending from the
ceiling.
Slowly the cross was hauled upright. Kate’s body barely shifted when it reached the
vertical, such was the thoroughness of the ropework. From her vantage-point of
around ten feet high she had a full view of the hall, looking down on the fifteen
hogtied women. She was in a morphine-induced dream. Although nailed to a cross, she
couldn’t feel her wounds, only the ropes digging into her torso. These ropes took
her whole weight.
The hall lights dimmed to be replaced by coloured lighting that resembled a
discotheque. A rotating mirrored ball gave the darkened hall a shimmering movement.
Music, electronic and rhythmic played unobtrusively in the background, loud enough
to create atmosphere but not to disguise the noises of the hall’s occupants. The
simultaneous lights dimming and the music starting was the signal. The floor was
suddenly alive with activity. Men had swarmed upon the hogtied women in a frenzy,
whilst the women grunted, impatient for their impending release. Kate smiled softly
from above, thinking that her dream, perhaps her final dream, was taking place
beneath her.
After a week of denial, the men were desperate to relieve their pent up lust. As
soon as the first woman was released from her hogtie she was tied over an A-frame.
Another found herself crouching on a bitch-frame similar to the one Kate had
experienced during the preceding few days. Soon the wall frames and many other
fixings were occupied by the female participants. With little preamble or finesse
the men set upon them. Sometimes a queue formed for a girl in a position that took
their fancy. That was how Riccardo obtained his first relief. The thought of Kate
attached to the frame for the benefit of dogs had played relentlessly on his mind
for several days, now was his chance to act on that niggling urge. He knelt down
behind the girl, dropped his shorts, and crudely fucked the girl on the bitch-
frame.
The mood changed as the initial burst of activity subsided. At the side of the hall
was a well-stocked bar where beer, wine and spirits were freely available. Riccardo
gratefully took a bottle of German lager thrust into his hand by the barman. Having
completed the nailing initiation. Riccardo was treated as a very welcome new member
of their gang. He tried to act casual when he asked about Kate, or ‘the girl on the
cross’ as he described her. ‘She’ll be fine!” the answer came back from several
men.
Riccardo swigged the ice-cold beer and looked around the hall. Playtime was well
under way: the sound of whips cracking and the accompanying cries filled the air.
Men laughed, and women too. One woman was strung up by her arms and being subjected
to the shocks of a violet wand. Riccardo went, bottle in hand, to watch and perhaps
participate. He glanced up at Kate, but she didn’t notice him. Her eyes seemed
glazed, her expression one of drug-induced contentment. To his surprise, instead of
pity, he felt lust. Kate’s splayed knees meant her clean-shaven sex was
tantalisingly displayed an arm’s reach above him.
A ballgag might be visually appealing, but is not totally effective at silencing a
woman. Riccardo could swear somebody was calling his name, or at least its three
vowels. He’d almost forgot about Lucinda amidst the general debauchery. She was one
of several women still hogtied and apparently neglected. Riccardo sat on the floor
next to her and did what he wanted to do since he first met her, running his finger
up and down her copper neck bands. He had always had a thing for slender female
necks, whether bare, collared or covered. This particular neck was the longest and
most slender he would ever see... except that he would never see it. The thought of
Lucinda’s perpetual neck bondage was something he found to be deeply erotic.
Lucinda was effusive in her gratitude when Riccardo finally removed her gag. She
was glad it was him, she said, although Riccardo had long since learned not to be
swayed by such flattery. He wasn’t in a hurry to untie her ropes, not until he had
decided what to do next. In any case, he observed that she did not appear to be in
any discomfort. She explained that she’d been bound in hogties for many years, ever
since she was a young child. Riccardo winced at her words. He loved children in the
best sense of the word, and still harboured the hope that one day he might have a
family. The thought of abusing a child repulsed him.
After a tedious and frustrating ten minutes of untying knots (which they had
intentionally made difficult) Riccardo was able to lead the stiff-limbed Lucinda to
the device he had chosen for her - the iron spider. This was a simple wrought iron
device consisting of two fifteen-inch bars, crossed and welded together. At the
four ends of the bars were leather cuffs for wrists and ankles. It was commonly
used as a secure and safe hogtying device, but had a variety of other applications.
The one Riccardo enjoyed was already set up. The spider was dangling from the
ceiling by a heavy chain (its appearance in this fashion accounted for its name) so
that it hung three feet clear of the floor. Lucinda lay on her back and submitted
willingly as Riccardo fixed her wrists and ankles into the four leather cuffs. It
left her with her limbs pointing upwards. Comfortable enough, but open and
vulnerable, and ready for play!
Riccardo went to the bar to pick up another beer for himself and something for
Lucinda. The barman cordially recommended a ginger fig to go with the slipover
blindfold and a leather paddle. Riccardo watched as the barman ripped a node from a
hand of ginger. With rapid chops of a knife on a wooden cutting board, the ginger
was stripped of its skin and expertly shaped into a small butt-plug.
“Wash your hands after you insert it!” the barman advised Riccardo as he placed the
ginger plug on the tray with the beer, the paddle and the blindfold.
“Oh, no!” said Lucinda as Riccardo put down the tray beside her. She’d smelt the
ginger and knew all too well its purpose and effect. “I thought you were going
to...”
“...fuck you?” Riccardo offered. “No. I’m going to punish you for teasing me
earlier today. Perhaps after your paddling I may allow you some pleasure.” He
pushed the narrow ginger plug into her ass. Her sphincter gripped the narrow part,
holding it in position. Using his fingernails like claws Riccardo dug into her
buttocks. Lucinda squirmed in delicious agony, squeezing down on the plug.
Riccardo warmed to his task with the paddle. The equanimity and poise Lucinda
exhibited earlier when first fixed into the spider evaporated as the stinging heat
of the ginger took effect. The paddle struck on her buttocks and the backs of her
upturned thighs with a resounding ‘whomp’ that earned Riccardo the admiration of
those around him. He was entering into the spirit of the evening, enjoying the
social alcohol-lubricated conversation. Another man took control of Lucinda while
some of Riccardo’s newfound friends took him around the hall and introduced him to
the other staff. He was getting to like the place!
One of the men pointed up to the open gallery at the opposite end of the hall from
Kate’s cross. Madame Cavallo waved from her grandstand view and beckoned him to
visit her. Riccardo was shown to the narrow staircase that led to Cavallo’s eyrie.
The view was spectacular - quite literally. It was a spectacle laid on for
Cavallo’s pleasure. Kate was spot-lit from beneath, giving her an almost mystical
aura as light and dark accentuated her body’s shape. It took a minute for Riccardo
to fully absorb all the action taking place beneath him. He was shocked, yet
delighted, to have been part of such a show!
“Riccardo, my dear, come and sit down and chat to me!” Cavallo’s called out warmly.
She’d been impressed by his attitude in the last week, and even more with his
participation in the crucifixion and subsequent activities. “I think you’re already
one of the boys!” she ventured.
Madame Cavallo wasn’t alone in her private gallery. She had two visitors - an
elegantly dressed middle-aged couple, who were understandably more interested in
the action below than in Riccardo. Cavallo showed good manners in introducing them
all, but they were no more likely to remember Riccardo’s name than he would theirs.
There were seven wooden seats on the balcony. Needless to say Cavallo was in the
middle. The couple sat to her left so Riccardo sat down on her right. The chairs
were made of heavy maple, plain yet elegant in design. They did however have one
particular adornment that Riccardo couldn’t fail to spot: Kneeling in front of each
chair was a naked woman facing the chair’s occupant. They were each fixed to the
front of their seats by leather collars and six-inch chains. Riccardo hoisted his
leg carefully over the head of the woman and sat down, his thighs kept open by her
head and shoulders between them.
She was a redhead, and very pretty, Riccardo thought, with her hair gathered into a
cute topknot. He looked down to see that her wrists and ankles were loosely chained
behind her. The chains clinked a little as she adjusted her position between
Riccardo’s thighs. It was her front however that attracted most of his attention.
Her breasts were large, although that in itself wasn’t unusual given the island’s
lactation program. Yet it wasn’t even her breasts that caused such fascination, it
was her belly.
He looked in amazement at Madame Cavallo. “She’s pregnant!”
“Eight months,” Cavallo confirmed with a smile. “They’re all in the late stages of
pregnancy, that’s why they’re up here on oral duty. You don’t think I’d risk them
down there do you?”
Riccardo looked along the row of seven chairs. All of them, including the empty
ones, were fronted by heavily-pregnant women. The two women to Riccardo’s right
continued facing straight ahead at their vacant chairs as they had been trained,
though their eyes dared a sidelong look at him. They were jealous of Riccardo’s
redhead. Kneeling in chains in front of an unoccupied wooden chair was boring,
boring, boring.
“We make fifty thousand dollars a pop, if you’ll excuse the pun.” Cavallo boasted.
“Do you know I have more adoptive families waiting than I can satisfy. I have a
private clinic in Los Angeles that collects from only the very best male specimens,
handsome, healthy and intelligent. Here on La Plata we impregnate our breeders to
produce babies to order. Your one’s carrying her seventh.”
The redhead leaned her cheek against Riccardo’s inner thigh like a dog seeking
attention from its owner. Despite her long-term sexual slavery, there was an
elegance and intelligence in her face, while her body bloomed with good health. She
was the kind of woman any man would want to breed with. She was the mother of many
beautiful children she would never see.
The pregnant woman stationed at Cavallo’s chair had her head and shoulders covered
by Cavallo’s black taffeta evening dress. Judging by the little movements in the
fabric Madame Cavallo was receiving some intimate attention. “Don’t you just love
our Friday evening?” Cavallo rhetorically asked Riccardo. She looked at the
debauchery in full flow below them with a beaming smile. “Men are such cruel
brutes!”
The redhead had started nuzzling Riccardo’s penis with her nose. This wasn’t merely
for duty’s sake, she was enjoying it. After all, there was nothing else to amuse
her. An erection was growing beneath his shorts which only encouraged the redhead
further.
“Just pull her by her hair if you want more or less attention.” Cavallo advised,
giving Riccardo a dilemma. He wanted more attention, a lot more, but not while he
sat next to Madame Cavallo. He cursed his bad luck.
“The one on the cross is our new breeder,” Cavallo informed him, confirming
something Riccardo had already learned through the rumour mill, “just as soon we
get her ovulating again. That Rabbit Island contraceptive treatment is such a
hindrance. She hasn’t had a pregnancy before. The new breeders always need a lot
more care and attention than the experienced ones. I’m sure she’ll be fine once we
get her started. A pretty thing, isn’t she?”
Riccardo gazed the twenty yards across the hall to Kate, her body seemed on fire,
lit by the red lamps pointing up from the floor. He agreed with Cavallo. Even
nailed to a cross she was pretty. In fact, gazing at her from that vantage-point,
Riccardo lusted after her like never before.

SACRILEGE!
(Kate)

Having had her chat with her new boy, Cavallo allowed Riccardo to return to the
Bacchanal. The redhead had left him horny and ready for more action. There was
plenty to choose from. He walked past a woman who had been chained to a table, a
motorised fucking machine had been pumping a dildo into her for twenty minutes. The
long and relentless stroke had left her in the throws of yet another orgasm, this
time witnessed only by Riccardo. The other men had moved on to other activities
leaving the girl to her solitary mechanical rape.
Kate had been on the cross for two hours unaware that she was providing the visual
centrepiece to the evening’s festivities. Except for the dildo on a long stick that
a man would occasionally apply around and into her sex, she was mostly ignored. The
men concentrated on those females that could give them the satisfaction they
needed.
Even while the Bacchanal continued, the soft swirling lighting and electronic music
continuing to hold the mood, men began to lower the cross to the floor. The winch
slackened the cable and the cross slowly travelled the ninety degree angle until
Kate lay flat on the floor.
Riccardo and others looked down at her nailed and tied body. The two men
responsible for crucifixions appeared happy. She seemed in good shape. Riccardo
thought so too. He was filled with an overwhelming desire, physical and emotional,
towards Kate. If ever he saw another crucifixion it would not be Kate, nor would it
compare to her. The other men gave Riccardo the go-ahead he wanted. His pulse raced
as he bent down to caress her.
“Hello Riccardo,” Kate said in a weak and otherworldly voice. “They crucified me.”
She tried to look around, but all she could see were the strange coloured patterns
of lights on the ceiling. She was bewildered. “Am I dead?”
Riccardo tenderly stroked her face. “No Katie, you’re not dead. You’re going to be
fine. It’s just a ritual.”
“My hands and feet are hurting,” she croaked, her throat dry with thirst. She
sensed Riccardo moving closer as if to kiss her. She felt his firm warm hands upon
her breasts. “Are you going to fuck me?”
Riccardo nodded. “Yes I am.”
“That’ll be nice!” Kate replied, trying to smile. She closed her eyes. “I would
like that very much.”
He pulled down his shorts, stripped off his tee shirt and carefully climbed on top
of her. With her knees splayed open and feet nailed so the soles almost faced each
other, Kate could do nothing to resist his advance even if she had wanted to.
Riccardo let his weight rest upon her tightly tied belly and breasts, enjoying the
sensation of her nipples against his chest. He kissed her on the lips - not
something he often did. Kate mustered up the energy to respond, her lips straining
to reach his as if discovering that his mouth contained a restorative elixir. She
let out the sweetest sound as he penetrated her. Each tender thrust brought a
delightful little moan from her. Riccardo couldn’t help himself - his hands reached
out to find hers, his fingers touching the cruel nails that pierced them. He held
onto them, as if he too were crucified.

THE PONYGIRL PADLOCKS
Jessica lay back on her bed. She sighed with boredom, not tired enough to sleep.
Hanging from hooks on the wall was her tack - the leatherbody, the harness,
neckbraces and, of course, her ponyboots. She had cleaned until everything shone.
After four days of her attentions, the leatherbody was in better condition than
when she was first given it. At least the leather polishing occupied her time!
She’d heard about the Bacchanal, and knew it was the only place to be on a Friday
night. As a result, the stable block was eerily quiet as the men had all departed
for their evening of fun, and perhaps some of the ponygirls too, Jessica suspected.
She felt lonely and ignored. The hairline scab below her breast where Master Alex
carved his initial had almost disappeared. She picked at it, determined that it
should not heal and fade.
Then Jessica remembered something that had almost slipped her mind. The typed sheet
of paper with her cleaning instructions had a paperclip at the top. She retrieved
it and straightened out the first bend, leaving the remainder to act like a handle.
She dragged it across the three lines of the A, satisfied to see droplets of blood
had formed. It made her feel stronger, more in charge of her own body. She looked
down her naked body to the small padlocks between her legs. The first one passed
directly through two labia piercings. She’d worn it since her arrival on La Plata
nearly a week ago. The second padlock linked her labia lock to a five-foot length
of chain connecting her to the wall opposite.
Her heart thumped with anticipation as if it were a key in her hand rather than
merely a paperclip. She jiggled the paperclip into the keyhole, just toying with
it. To pass the time, she told herself. Where could she go even if she did manage
to pick the lock? It was a slave island, and when they were caught escaped slaves
were severely punished. Everyone knew that!
Jessica’s efforts were having a side-effect - she felt herself getting warm, her
pulse quickening, as her hands pressed and rubbed against her sex while she tried
in vain to pick the lock. Her fingers probed her moistening folds. It felt good. It
felt comforting, a brief respite from her loneliness. The lock would have to wait
as she trembled and panted towards a release of a different kind.

BANGKOK AIRPORT
Alex waited in the business lounge for his flight back to New York. Even at the
best of times there is a kind of desolation that comes from waiting in airport
lounges. One never gets used to it. Any sense of the exotic, or of adventure, had
disappeared decades ago. Now the waiting, in what purports to be luxurious
surroundings, brings on a bout of self-examination that an eminent psychologist
like Alex Kundera should not indulge in.
The police hadn’t detained Alex for long. They informed him that their
investigation of the disappearance of armless girl (as they persisted in calling
Janie) had led nowhere. Several times they apologized that his research visit had
been so sadly curtailed. Alex graciously conceded that they were not at fault. They
had done all they could to discover Janie’s whereabouts. They would, of course,
notify him when they found her. Their meaning was apparent: given her well-
documented suicidal state they fully expected to find a dead body.
Alex sipped his brandy and dug into his breast pocket for the letter the police
gave him. It was a miracle it had reached him, the policeman said, and a testament
to the efficiency of their organisation, he implied.
He opened the letter, and was surprised by its crude handwriting. Barely legible
and evidently written by someone with a limited grasp of English, its purpose was
nevertheless clear. It was a ransom note for Nancy. Contrary to every expectation
she had not made the safety of the American consulate after her escape. Alex
pondered the significance of the note. The only reason he would be the recipient
was if there was an expectation that he was willing to pay to Nancy her back to
Rabbit Island. That could only have come at her instigation. In which case, from
what he knew of Nancy, it had to be a last resort.
He pocketed the letter and gathered his possessions, glad that he had didn't have
checked-in baggage. At the customer services desk he asked to be removed from his
flight.
                                 End of chapter 18

                          coming soon...the breeding shed

 (Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any comments,
                 criticisms, suggestions and reviews are welcome.)
                            Chapter 19. The Breeding Shed
                 (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)


The story so far:
(Ch. 16) Jessica and the Ponygirl Express. Kate and the bitch-frame. Master Alex visits
the armless girl.
(Ch. 17) The giraffe girl.History of La Plata. Alex visits the slave trader in Bangkok.
(Ch. 18) The Bacchanal. Crucifixion
Three weeks had elapsed since Kate’s crucifixion. Underneath gauze bandages on her
hands and feet her wounds were healing well; but the memory of that night on the cross
- when she truly thought she would die - was seared into her.
Her breasts had grown larger during those three weeks, much larger, filling out skimpy
white lace dress she wore. It was the cowgirls’ uniform: a pretty sleeveless lacy white
dress with an obscenely short hemline that never quite covered her buttocks. No other
clothing was permitted or required, unless one counts the heavy leather belt slung
loosely around her waist. The natural tan of the leather offset the pure white of her
dress peculiarly well, accentuating her hips in a manner befitting an occupant of the
breeding shed. The belt also served as the securing point for her prisoner’s chains.
Handcuffs were linked by a long chain to her ankle shackles, the chain passing through
a heavy metal ring on the back of her belt. She’d been secured that way since her
arrival.
For most of the day she remained fixed to a milking frame. It was an efficient method
of keeping Kate and the others under control, or ‘out of trouble’ as the dairy workers
would put it.
The frame did at least give its occupant degree of comfort. Its well-padded bars
supported Kate from belly to neck, holding her torso parallel to the ground, breasts
hanging downwards, within the loose dress. Her legs were in a kneeling position, held
slightly apart by crude metal fixings around her ankles, just in case her existing
ankle shackles weren’t enough of a restriction. Her neck was surrounded by a steel loop
on the frame which condemned her to remain looking down at the floor. Looking up, or to
her side, was a strain that could only be endured for a few moments.
Alongside Kate there were other women in the same predicament. Nineteen others, Kate
had counted. She had become part of an industry, a human factory farm. Whatever those
twice-daily injection contained, they were achieving their purpose. The skin of her
breasts was stretched taut, barely able to grow quickly enough to accommodate the
growth within them.
The first expressing of the day always came as a welcome relief. The equipment used was
heavy duty, and more closely resembled something from a cattle shed than the
lightweight devices used on Rabbit Island. The two attendants, part of Brenda’s
dungaree-clad team of dykes, went about their chores with a breezy cheerfulness, though
engaging with Kate and their other breeders on only a perfunctory level, as one might a
farm animal. With twenty pairs of breasts to attend to, plus the inseminations,
spankings, the feeding and the exercise sessions, Brenda’s girls had busy schedule.
One of them bent down in front of Kate, briefly stroking her short cropped hair, and
running her finger’s over the straps fitted around Kate’s head. “Silly cow! If you kept
your mouth closed we wouldn’t have to keep you gagged like this,” she explained with
mock sympathy. Kate made a discontented grunt of a reply from behind the ballgag prised
between her teeth. Her outburst yesterday meant she would wear the gag all day today.
Secured and gagged thus, Kate was hopeful that she could stay out of trouble today.
The bullet-shaped milking devices sucked up Kate’s nipples as soon as the dairy girl
offered them up to her breasts. Kate trembled as she felt the familiar vibrations as
her breasts were being drained. She hated it, yet was glad of the relief it gave her.
She feared what would happen if they did not milk her twice a day, concerned that she
might explode.
After the milking came the feeding. Kate’s gag was removed solely for that purpose. A
porridge-like substance was spooned into her mouth. Kate barely had time to swallow
before the next spoonful arrived, but she hungrily devoured all that was offered and
would have eaten more had it been available. During her time in the breeding shed she
had developed a voracious appetite.
Kate’s last mouthful was that infernal red rubber ball rammed back into her mouth. The
dairy girl buckled her up once again. Kate tugged restlessly against her chains while
the rest of the breeding herd was fed. She was already anticipating the intense
sensations of the inseminator, which always followed the feeding.

THE INSEMINATOR
Rachel’s groans, of both pain and pleasure, filled Kate with an ambiguous anticipation
of what she would soon be experiencing. Having a fellow Rabbit Islander alongside was a
real comfort to Kate, even though she would not have wished such a predicament on
anybody - least of all Rachel. While Rachel’s inseminator was working its devilish
torment the dairy workers began rigging up Kate for her own daily dose. In this fashion
the two inseminator machines were leapfrogged down the line of cowgirls, delivering ten
or fifteen minutes of vibrating torment to each victim.
Billy, one of the dairy girls, hauled the heavy base of the inseminator into position
between Kate’s thighs. The large dildo mounted on the vertical stand slipped easily
between her labia, which had been shamefully moistened by the sound of Rachel’s
continuing moans.
“Good girl!” the dungaree-clad dairy girl said condescendingly, “that’s what we like,
wet and ready!”
Kate winced as the monstrous phallus was rammed into her sex as if she were just a farm
animal.
The ten-minute cycle of vibrations, pulses and pumping was having the usual effect on
Kate, except today was even more intense than usual. She could never figure out why the
ballgag and the straps around her head would make it happen; yet it always heightened
her sexual response. She bit down on the ball, her teary eyes closed as she braced
herself for the inevitable shuddering conclusion. The gag, for all its severity, could
do little to muffle her shame.
The inseminator didn’t so much give her an orgasm as wrench one from her.
Billy pulled out the inseminator and carried it to the next-but-one prisoner. This
breeder had come into season and that entailed a little more preparation. Billy
inserted a plastic vial of semen into the rear of the inseminator’s phallus. It was a
high quality washed sperm, from a tall, brainy and handsome hunk from Holland - not
that Billy cared for men in the slightest.
The inseminator rarely failed. This breeder would soon be carrying her fifth.

KAREN THE SCRUBBER
It had taken more than a week for Kate to figure out who was scrubbing the floor of the
breeding shed every day. With only her eyes exposed beneath her lycra hood the figure
was hard to recognise. Through the cutout oval in the front of the hood, her eyes
looked vaguely familiar, but the dramatic black makeup served as a kind of camouflage.
Why go to such lengths on just a cleaner, Kate wondered, perhaps to better accentuate
the emotions felt by the cleaner, to better portray the hopelessness of her bondage? An
observer was in no doubt that there was a real woman trapped without the cleaner’s
lowly garb, and a pretty one too, to judge by her eyes.
Aside from the oval through which she viewed the world, the rest of Karen’s body was
covered in black lycra and leather, right to her fingertips. Her legs were strapped
into a kneeling position and then completely encased in a leather bag that gathered and
locked around her waist. The ‘kneeling bag’ provided her with a lap upon which she kept
her cleaning solutions and rags. Her nipples had been pierced and ringed, and these
protruded through holes in her lycra body covering. A short chain connected her
nipples, providing her with something to hang her cleaning cloths from. The bottom of
the kneeling bag was lined with a soft cloth so that as she shuffled around on the
wooden floor she polished it as well.
Whenever Brenda’s girls were a safe distance away Karen and Kate would ‘talk’, at least
when Kate wasn’t gagged. Karen’s mouth was always fully plugged beneath her lycra hood,
so her end of the conversation consisted of shakes of the head for yes and no, and
grunts of exclamation. Her eyes and hands were very expressive.
That was how Kate learned of Jessica’s fate, and how she had joined a team of four on a
railway. It had taken several days of snatched moments for Karen to convey that
information. As for Mandy’s whereabouts, Karen’s mime was much easier: She was
scrubbing floors somewhere in the direction her hands pointed in.
A scrubber was not as prized as a breeder, so Karen didn’t receive the attention of the
inseminator - of which she was quite jealous - but at least in her capacity as a
cleaner she saw more of the island’s buildings than many of its residents.
Karen was done, leaving the floor scrubbed clean and the wood and metal fixings
smelling of polish. Kate smiled when she saw Karen gliding past on her low wheeled
trolley, being pulled along and onto be taken to her next cleaning assignment as if she
were nothing more than a piece of cleaning equipment.
After Karen was wheeled for the cattle shed Kate’s daily routine resumed.

RICCARDO’S CHECKLIST
Riccardo’s mind often went back to the day, several weeks ago when he boarded the
Silver Lady. He wasn’t forced to leave Rabbit Island in that way, he chose to. The
reasons why he decided to go to Cavallo’s infamous island had been playing on his mind.
He thought he had left behind feeling of obligation, commitment and a sense of duty
long ago, in the days when he lived in what he referred to as the ‘old world’. When a
man joins the society to which Rabbit Island belongs, he must cast aside traditional
ideas of morality. Any attempt to rationalize the kidnap and systematic abuse of
innocent women is futile. Not even Master Alex does it, although he had a tendency to
shrug off such things with the comment that worse things happen in the world. People
are brutalized, murdered or die horrible deaths in their millions every year. His
interest in the welfare and happiness of Rabbit Island’s bunnies was not borne out of
compassion but merely to prove a point. People do not have a divine right to happiness,
or freedom, or prosperity, or anything else at all. He sometimes talked of Rabbit
Island as a way of punishing the prosperous west for its arrogance... or at least some
of their more attractive and submissive representatives.
It was hard to say who was doing it intentionally, but Riccardo and tall-necked Lucinda
more often than not, would arrive at the cafe for the morning cappuccino at the same
time. They were both creatures of habit, so much so that Isabel - the waitress who used
to be a man - brought their refreshments without waiting for their orders. Riccardo was
fascinated by the waitress, and would have liked to know more about how a man would
feel about having every facet of his manhood removed. It was a uniquely cruel
treatment. Lucinda liked to tease Isobel. Today she asked if she had a boyfriend yet.
Isabel shook her head, blushing slightly.
Lucinda screwed up her pretty nose. “You’re not a lesbian, are you?”
Isabel nodded reluctantly. The operation and transformation had not changed the
orientation of her mind, which was still that of a heterosexual male, one that was
besotted with Lucinda, in spite of her teasing.
“You’re a woman now, you should be fucked only by men!” Lucinda reiterated with a wag
of her finger.
Isabel’s chastened departure left Lucinda and Riccardo chuckling and smiling at each
other. Considering how little they had in common, they got on surprisingly well,
enjoying the other’s company even when they had nothing to say, often sitting in
contented silence for several minutes. Conversation, when it arrived, usually involved
Lucinda complimenting Riccardo on the great improvement shown by his ponygirl pair. It
might have been flattery but it was also fact. They waited patiently nearby, proud,
erect and motionless, seemingly eager to please their master. Lucinda discovered that
Riccardo (and indeed all pony drivers!) liked talking about their ponygirls almost as
much as they like handling them.
The Ponygirl Express was approaching in the distance. Riccardo and Lucinda turned to
watch, as they usually did. They were bang on time, eight minutes before eleven
o’clock. They kept better time than did his unreliable old watch.
Right before his eyes, he saw the four ponygirls falter just as they reached the upward
slope, it looked like one of them had stumbled, upsetting the rhythm of the whole team.
It was to prove a catastrophic mistake. Perhaps if the carriage hadn’t been fully laden
with four men and sundry boxes they might have regained their momentum.
“They’re not going to make it,” Lucinda commented grimly. The ponygirl team ran out of
momentum and came to a humiliating stop ten metres before the top of slope. They were
stationary for a few wretched seconds before they began rolling back down the track.
The ponygirls stumbled, desperate to keep their footing as the great weight of the
carriage pulled them backwards at an ever-increasing speed. The men on board shouted
out in exasperation, gesticulating wildly with their hands as if the ponygirls’ failure
had gravely insulted them. It came to a standstill at the tracks lowest point some two
hundred metres away.
Riccardo hurriedly took his leave of Lucinda, mounted his pony trap, and set off along
the dirt track that ran parallel to the railway. Just as his ponygirls were making a
nice pace along the gentle downward slope, he tugged hard on their reins. They halted
with a precision that came from Riccardo’s training. He noticed a sledgehammer laying
on the track, just at the spot where he noticed that first stumble. It had to be the
cause, he thought, moving it away from the track.
The passengers - factory and mine technicians - were in a foul mood, muttering
melodramatically that they might have been killed as the carriage rolled backwards. One
of them pressed repeatedly on the button that sent electric shocks into the anus of
each ponygirl. Such was their pain that they could barely stand upright in their
harnesses when Riccardo arrived.
“What are we supposed to do now?” One of the men asked Riccardo. With his being a pony
driver they assumed he would know, and by association, held him partly to blame.
“You walk!” Riccardo said bluntly. “It’s no more than two hundred metres. The ponygirls
won’t get back up the slope with your weight on board.”
The four men dismounted, muttering with discontent as they made their way on foot to
the halting point.
Riccardo inspected the four panting ponygirls. Clad in black from head to toe they
looked so alike that he had remind himself that one of them was Jessica. Her mouth was
prised open by the bit, keeping her glossy red lips and perfect white teeth apart. It
was a very kissable mouth even though she could hardly return a kiss when fixed like
that. He didn’t need to study it for long; it was the same permanent fitment that his
own ponygirls wore.
Jessica’s neck was so rigidly held and her body strapped so securely to the shafts she
didn’t even attempt to turn to look at him. But she and her fellow ponygirls were
angry, that much was obvious. The unwarranted shocks one of the passengers had
delivered were still reverberating through them, leaving them squirming and struggling
within the tight strapping of their leatherbodies. Even though pony drivers worked hard
to train ponygirls out of such behaviour Riccardo still found a ponygirl wriggling
within her straps to be a beguiling sight. Enough to remind him of the cursed cock
restraint he wore.
Jessica and her team were eager to be running again, fearing the punishment that their
lateness would bring, but Riccardo made them wait until he felt they had rested
sufficiently. Then he beckoned them to start, and watched as they trotted past, and up
to their stopping point without incident. He observed that Jessica was limping, and
made a mental note to check on her later.

PADDLED AND BAGGED
“Mmmph!” complained Kate as the paddle hit her buttocks for the twentieth time. Billy
was never happy until she had Kate in tears, with her rump red, stinging and sore.
Still chained and fixed into her milking frame Kate could do nothing to avoid the
repeating blows, even more than on normal days. Billy’s explanation that paddling was
good for her blood’s circulation didn’t quite wash with her, though it was true she
could feel herself flushing a bright red as her blood filled the capillaries near the
skin.
Once she had been soundly paddled it was time for Kate’s afternoon hood. It was the
same every afternoon for all the breeders: a couple of quiet hours with a black cotton
bag loosely covering their heads. During that period of darkened solitude Kate would
ponder her situation. If Rabbit Island didn’t come to collect her soon, she would
become pregnant... and Rabbit Island had little use for a pregnant woman, so she might
have to stay on La Plata, forever a breeder, or at least until she was no longer
fertile.
Escape seemed impossible. She was perpetually chained and watched over by Billy and the
other dykes in dungarees. It was only a matter of time that she would conceive via that
monstrous inseminator once her cycle resumed. Then her fate would be sealed. Kate’s
fingers traced down the crack of her buttocks as they often did. Coming into contact
with her pussy lips, her fingertips could feel the scar, a protrusion of new skin where
the stitches had been. Beneath it lay a small handcuff key which she had secreted and
stitched within her flesh several months ago. It was literally itching to be used, like
the proverbial ‘break glass in case of emergency’ key. It was a once-only opportunity,
and she wasn’t even sure the key would fit the cuffs she now wore.
Kate’s darkened fumbling was interrupted when someone slapped her hand.
“Don’t play with yourself!” the nurse scolded.
It must be Wednesday, Kate realised. This was the day when she gave blood. The nurse
wrapped a rubber tourniquet around her bicep. A few moments later Kate felt the cool of
the antiseptic swab and the prick of the needle.
The forced blood donation program was another of Madame Cavallo’s innovations. She
insisted that her slaves’ bodies were always productive; that they be utilised as
livestock. The blood donation program ensured that a vital supply of blood was
available in case of a medical emergency. With the occasional caesarean birth in the
breeding program it was a prudent measure.

EXERCISE FOR BREEDERS
Kate awoke with a start as the hood was suddenly yanked off her head. She had be
snoozing as she usually did in the afternoon, and more so than usual after giving
blood. Daylight invaded through her eyelids.
The latches that held her to the frame were released with a rude iron clatter, then
Billy’s hands in her armpits helped her to her feet. Soon all twenty breeders were
roused, their eyes adjusting to the afternoon sunlight, standing ready, if not fully
awake, to be led outside to their daily exercise session.
Kate tried in vain to straighten her white mini-dress as she walked. The hem never
seemed long enough to fully cover her buttocks. There always seemed to be a slight
breeze against her sex. The shed filled with the sound of jingling chains as the
breeding females shuffled out into the humid late afternoon air.
Two snarling and yapping dogs were waiting for them outside, straining at their
leashes. Their matching handlers tugged on the leashes to bring the dogs under control
as the breeders scurried past. Kate and Rachel were at the rear, glancing nervously
over their shoulders.
Like a bizarre gaggle of geese, the breeders moved along as fast as their hobble chains
would allow. Behind them, the two border collies harried them, eager to bite at the
bare heels of anyone that fell behind. They took the same route every day, a circuit of
the large grassy area outside the breeding shed. Every day they passed the bitch-frame
where Kate had been subjected to her bestial assault some weeks previous. She warily
glanced backwards at the snarling dogs fearing that they had more in mind than a nip of
her ankles.
Fifteen minutes of quick-step shuffling, having managed to avoid the snapping jaws of
the sheep dogs for another day, the breeders were allows to kneel or sit down on the
grass.
This was their best time of the day; they could talk freely whilst enjoying the air and
the sunlight. Those who were pregnant had their hands cuffed in front of them, and once
sitting on the ground had enough slack chain at their wrists to feel almost free. For
those who weren’t carrying - just a few of them including Kate and Rachel - there was
no such luxury. And for those that hadn’t learned to keep their mouth shut there was
the harnessed ball-gag, every bit as humiliating as it was uncomfortable. Seeing Kate
gagged yet again, the other breeders had her marked out as a fool, unable to learn her
lesson.
Rachel kissed Kate on the cheek, giving her a sympathetic frown. “Promise me you’ll
stay out of trouble and keep your mouth shut in future? How can I laugh at your stupid
jokes if you’re gagged?”
Eight hours wearing her ballgag left Kate feeling sorry for herself, particularly when
Rachel deserted her to make small talk with the other breeders. Kate’s attention
wandered to the distant track where a pair of ponygirls was steadily approaching
through the afternoon haze, although it was the driver that drew her attention. Kate’s
strange whining noises, like a dog expectantly waiting for its owner, caught Rachel’s
attention.
“Hey, it’s Riccardo!” Rachel said, breaking out into a broad grin, her shoulder bumping
excitedly into Kate’s. Her ballgagged companion was busily using her mind powers to
ensure that he stopped. It worked, or at least that was how Kate felt.
Riccardo jumped down from the trap looking the epitome of virile health. His hairy
tanned legs bounded over to them, and Kate suddenly wondered if she wanted to see him
after all.
“Hello Riccardo, Sir,” said Rachel.
“Mmmph!” said Kate.
“How’s life in the breeding shed?” Riccardo asked, while his eyes were transfixed by
their bulgin“Have they made you pregnant yet?”
“Not yet.” Rachel nodded in the direction of the other breeders. “When you see our
hands chained in front like they are, you know it’s too late.”
Riccardo looked towards the others and thought it a wonderful sight; there was even a
distinctive and arousing aroma to them. With their protruding bellies they were the
ultimate slaves, the facility of their womanhood utterly under the control of others.
While Kate leant against his leg, Rachel asked the Riccardo the question that had been
preoccupying them:
“If we become pregnant, Riccardo Sir, will we still be allowed to go back to Rabbit
Island?”
“They’ll probably make you have an abortion if you’re not too far along.” Riccardo
guessed, “but most likely you’ll be required to stay here. I expect Cavallo will want
to buy you.”
Rachel frowned. It was the outcome she and Kate most feared. While they talked
Riccardo’s fingers were toying absently with Kate’s hair and head straps. Not that she
minded... quite the contrary in fact.
Rachel glanced over at Riccardo’s pony trap. “Your ponygirls are looking good, Sir.”
Rachel said. Such comments, complimenting a driver on his ponygirls were seldom out of
place. Even slave girls could say it.
“It’s amazing what a little tender loving care, and a lot of discipline can accomplish.
Madame Cavallo might soon take them into her private stable, and then I’ll get two more
to train.” Riccardo explained. “Besides, training is more fun than just being used as a
courier service. You see behind the two seats? That’s my cargo. I have to take her up
to the processing plant.”
For the first time Kate and Rachel noticed the live cargo that Riccardo carried.
“It’s called a cigar. They tie her hands, and then place her in a lace-up leather bag.
It’s laced behind her from ankles to neck, and is so tight she can hardly wiggle. It’s
a La Plata speciality apparently. Sometimes they keep slaves in cigars for days at a
time.
“Easy to handle.” Rachel observed with gentle sarcasm.
“Very easy. You can’t get into much trouble when you’re laced up in a cigar, although
Kate would probably find a way!”
They both laughed at Kate’s expense, but she didn’t care just as long as Riccardo’s
fingers continued to ruffle through her hair as she rubbed her face against his thigh.
“How’s Jessica doing?” Rachel asked hesitantly, chancing her luck while Riccardo was in
a good mood.
“I think she hurt herself today. She tripped on something,” he replied. Caught off
guard by the question, the truth came out before he could help himself. “I’ll try to
see how she is later tonight.”
Riccardo returned to his ponygirls, inspecting them meticulously before mounting the
trap and lightly whipping them into motion. It was one of those rare occasions when
Kate wanted to be a ponygirl.

JESSICA HAS A VISITOR
Jessica had expected to be punished along with her three fellow ponygirls, and sure
enough, when they finished their duties on the railway they were taken to the
punishment column. The square stone column held a ponygirl on all sides, each of them
with her hands shackled high above her head. They waited, almost ignored, for nearly an
hour. They were assuming it was a ploy to increase their dread of the brutal caning
that would surely be dealt to them.
The caning never arrived. Instead they were hosed with cold water and dried with coarse
towels. Then they were moved to their respective stalls for yet another evening of
tedious, solitary leather cleaning.
Jessica lavished attention on her leather garments, throughout the evening. To her it
was a matter of pride that her leather garments were immaculate, particularly the pony
boots which had travelled with her from Rabbit Island. She never let the chore get to
her; in fact she thought it kept her sane.
Riccardo crept softly down the long row of stalls with a quiet nod of acknowledgement
to his two ponygirls as he passed them without breaking stride. Each smiled for a brief
moment hoping that he had come to see them, but tonight it was another pony that was
occupying his thoughts.
“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked Jessica in barely a whisper. She didn’t reply but
her vague body language did enough to grant her assent. Riccardo sat down tentatively
on the edge of her narrow bunk. He watched in fascination as she finished off her
polishing, though perhaps she might have continued for longer had he not arrived. The
wall opposite the bunk, barely an arm’s length away, held some of her tack, with the
remainder including the leatherbody, placed neatly in a box that slipped under the
bunk. The most visually striking items on the wall, and the most emotionally
significant, were the two pony tails. The dark brown one was made from her own hair;
the other, an exceptionally fine blonde tail, had been taken from Rachel. The latter
was a reserve, just in case Jessica should join a blonde ponygirl team.
“How’s the foot?” Riccardo inquired.
Jessica looked down at her left foot - swollen and obviously black and blue, even in
the dim light. “It hurts. They say it’s a twist and gave me a painkiller but I think it
could be broken.” Her tone was measured and distant like her gaze, but humble, forever
aware that Riccardo was on the other side - a Master to her slave. In her compact
accommodation she had no choice but to sit on the bed alongside him. Her left hand held
the chain that connected her sex to the opposite wall. The padlock passing through two
piercings in her labia, hadn’t been removed since her arrival. The second padlock
connecting the chain to her labial padlock was heavier, much heavier than it needed to
be; designed not just to secure her but also to torment her. She noticed Riccardo
looking at it, which was hardly surprising. The dull chink of the two padlocks and the
chain constantly drew attention to her humiliating bondage.
“Is it true about the men here?” Jessica asked, with a wry a smile on her lips. “I’ve
heard rumours.”
“Is what true?”
Jessica pointed a tentative finger at Riccardo’s crotch. He didn’t answer but allowed
her hand to come closer until her fingers pressed at his fly. She pushed harder on the
fabric of his shorts and felt the rigid covering of his flaccid penis.
“It IS true!” She said with a kind of awe, forgetting herself for a moment and speaking
much louder than their previously whispered conversation. It was a strange consolation
to know that the men on the island didn’t have things all their own way.
“You’re quite safe with me tonight,” Riccardo joked with a hint of frustration. “Not
that we’re allowed to fuck our ponies on Rabbit Island anyhow.”
Jessica had almost forgotten about that. She gave a sardonic laugh. “So I’m still your
ponygirl then?”
Her mocking tone didn’t quite come off. Riccardo put an arm around her and pulled her
close to him, in lieu of an answer. Tears welled in her eyes until there was nowhere
for them to go but down her cheeks. He kissed her stubbly hair as she cried softly on
his chest.
                                   End of Chapter 19

coming soon... escape!
(Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any comments,
criticisms, suggestions and reviews are welcome.)
                 Chapter 20. Checking out of the Breeding Program
              (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)


The story so far:
(Ch. 16) Jessica and the Ponygirl Express. Kate and the bitch-frame. Master Alex
visits the armless girl.
(Ch. 17) The giraffe girl. A brief history of La Plata. Alex visits the slave
trader in Bangkok.
(Ch. 18) The Bacchanal.
(Ch. 19) The Breeding Shed.

BRENDA’S PIGS
“Up you get!” said Billy to Kate, not long after her morning milking.
The frame’s clamps were unclipped, releasing Kate from its iron grip. Billy helped
her to her feet. It wasn’t the exercise period, which could only mean a trip to
the surgery for a medical. She knew they were becoming increasingly frustrated
that Kate’s periods showed no sign of restarting.
Brenda and Billy frog-marched Kate from the breeding shed.
“Where are we going?” Kate asked, skipping along awkwardly in her ankle restraints
in order to keep up with her escorts. They’d walked straight past the surgery.
“You’re going to assist with our breeding program,” Brenda explained. “Just
because you can’t get pregnant doesn’t mean you can’t help in other ways.”
Other ways? Kate was alarmed. She was already giving milk and blood. What other
fluids could she give?
They entered a building that Kate hadn’t been in before. (Breeders didn’t get to
travel much.) The utilitarian brickwork and lack of any decorative features
betrayed its purpose. This was a place for prisoners.
Kate’s mouth gaped open in shock and fear. “Oh... my... god!”
Brenda laughed, and flourished her open palm around the room as if to show it off.
“This is where we collect our precious semen, and today you’re going to help us.”
In each of the four corners of the small windowless room was a man kneeling on a
frame not unlike her own so-called breeding frame. Their wrists were secured in
heavy leather cuffs fitted to the front legs of the frame. It wasn’t their naked
bodies that shocked Kate, it was the tight leather hoods they wore. Small holes
were provided for the eyes and nostrils whilst the mouth was closed with a heavy
steel zip.
Billy unlocked the chains from Kate's wrists - something which wasn’t even done
during her medicals. Kate lifted her aching arms so the dress could be removed.
One man made a deep guttural growl at the sight of her revealed nakedness. Her
hands weren’t free for long. Billy lashed them together behind her with a soft
white rope and pushed her to the floor. Then her ankle shackles were removed to be
replaced by more white rope around her crossed ankles.
“Not too tight,” Brenda instructed Billy, “if the ankles and wrists are too close
she can’t wriggle as much. The pigs like to watch the bitch rolling around while
she’s beaten!”
Thus was Kate fixed into a medium hog-tie. She lay on the ample cushioning of her
breasts, her fingers idly bending and straining in search of loose knots while
Billy’s and Brenda’s Doc Martens busily passed back and forth in front of her nose
as they made their preparations.
“Hold this!” Brenda commanded, pushing the shaft of a riding crop to Kate’s lips.
Kate took it gingerly between her teeth at its middle point. “And don’t you DARE
drop it while I’m getting the pigs sorted out.”
Brenda flicked a switch on the wall and Kate’s viewpoint began to change. She was
on a slowly revolving segment of the floor, turning at about the speed of a second
hand on a clock; slow enough for each man to get a complete look at her. In turn
Kate observed at the so-called pigs, but there seemed little to distinguish any of
the four unfortunates.
While Kate and her immobile body counted the minutes Brenda busied herself behind
each man, fitting his penis with a condom-like receptacle and pushing it through a
padded circular hole that would provide the necessary friction, in lieu of a
vagina or a hand.
“Hey, you little slut. You’re welcome to come again. They like you!” Brenda
cheerfully called out from behind the last of the four men. “The pigs all had nice
hard cocks so I didn’t have to massage anyone today.”
Holding the riding crop firmly between her teeth Kate grunted to acknowledge the
comment, just in case Brenda felt the urge to repeat herself.
This was exactly the kind of thing Brenda quit her career in her mid-thirties to
do. Dominate and brutalise other women in the way that she enjoyed. Her notorious
sadism eventually had her frozen out of the lesbian club scene throughout the
length of the East coast. Here on La Plata though her penchant for erotic
brutalisation had found its true home. She despised attractive young blondes like
Kate, that’s why they were her favourite subjects for punishment. They deserved
it.
Brenda took hold of the riding crop. “Kiss it!” she commanded.
“That’s right. You love to be beaten with a crop don’t you? A little bird told me
you can orgasm just from a flogging alone. You’re a sick woman Kate, and these
pigs are sick too. You deserve each other.”
Kate lowered her forehead to the floor and braced herself for the onslaught. At
first the blows were measured, as if Brenda was finding her distance to Kate’s
body and gauging her victim’s reactions. Gradually the swats increased in
frequency, working on each part of Kate’s flesh until the skin was one large red
blotch.
Hundreds of swats later Brenda had demonstrated her expertise with the crop. If a
hog-tied body could dance, then Kate was doing the twist. No matter how she turned
and squirmed Brenda always had some tender flesh to aim for. Her Doc Marten boot
dug into Kate’s ribs, indicating she should roll over to expose her belly, then a
whole new area of pale flesh was revealed to be in need of colouring.
Brenda chuckled. “That’s right girl, let’s get those juicy nipples of yours nice
and red.” The leather flap of the crop beat double time all over Kate’s breasts.
All Kate could do was pant and grimace and make the occasional ‘owww!’ when it
became too much.
All the while during Kate’s assault the four wooden frames creaked in rhythm
until, one by one, the noise ceased as each man gave a desperate grunt and made
his deposit. When all four frames has stopped creaking the riding crop was tossed
to the floor beside her, its purpose apparently fulfilled. Kate lay exhausted, her
skin burning tingling all over.
Brenda’s attention returned to her pigs, carefully collecting, storing and
labelling their donations. She seemed very satisfied as she left the room taking
the precious white liquid to the surgery.
Kate was alone with the four men feeling unaccountably nervous in spite of their
heavy binding. While the turntable continued its slow revolution Kate rested and
recovered, her simple rope hogtie bothering her much less than the stares of
desperate men. They seemed like monsters, secured for her protection and their
own. If they could break free of their restraints she feared they might rip her
apart in a violent sexual frenzy. Those stares were even worse than she
encountered while working in the Middle East.
Twenty minutes later, Brenda and Billy returned. Kate never thought a time would
come when she’d be glad to see them. She was hoping to feel the familiarity of her
breeder chains, but they had other plans for her.
There was no mistaking the jumble of straps in Billy’s hand. Kate knew from its
phallic protrusions that it was destined for her.
“Now it’s time for your treat,” Brenda announced with her ‘cruel mother’ tone of
voice. “Billy will fit you up with our three-way belt while I get the pigs
prepared for their encore.”
Kate lay on her side in a surly pouting silence, opening her knees so Billy could
pass the belt around her waist and between her legs. There was a small dildo for
each orifice. Kate winced as the sleek intruders were pushed into her, deciding
not to complain about the lack of lubrication. The third item of the three way
belt was positioned snugly over her clitoris. Billy took much more care over this
one. Once in position it seemed to suck onto her clit, as if taking charge of it.
Billy buckled up the neat leather straps of the belt.
The hungry stares of the four men seemed to drill into Kate, their lust unabated.
She could see the whites of their eyes flickering, taking in the full splendour of
her naked body. Her oversized breasts were calling out to them, as if they yearned
to feel a man’s strong fingers gripping them like an eagle’s talons. Kate was no
longer a person, but simply an erotic bundle of soft squirming flesh - an
effective prop to aid in the production of semen.
Brenda slapped her hands together, as if removing dust, indicating her pigs were
ready for their second round. Billy flicked the switch that signalled the
beginning of Kate’s further torment. Never had she wanted an orgasm less, yet she
knew the intimate contact of the three way belt would make it inevitable.
This time, while Kate’s turntable slowly revolved, Brenda and Billy stood at the
edge of the room laughing and joking, enjoying the humiliation of the male and
female victims under their control - all of them well on their way to orgasm.
Brenda was right. The men certainly were aroused by the sight of a naked and
helpless woman racked with pain and sexual torment. And Kate for her part, knew
that the tightness of the rope around her wrists and ankles, and that futile tug
of her limbs would have the same effect as it had since her self-bondage efforts
in her early teens.
The buzz between her legs grew gradually stronger. It made a nice change from the
brutal industrial thump of the inseminator in the breeding shed, but the insistent
buzzing of the three way belt was just a potent and was beginning to driver her
crazy. The intolerable itch could only be relieved one way, and that was by
yielding to it. She closed her eyes and hummed along with the vibrations that
engulfed her from breasts to belly to thighs.
Kate tried to keep quiet, but it wasn’t easy for one unfailingly vocal during her
lovemaking. Regular lovers and Masters on Rabbit Island would take the precaution
of gagging her. She often appreciated the modesty a gag provided.
Her four man audience, with Brenda and Billy exchanging saliva in the background,
enjoyed the full range of Kate’s stream-of-consciousness expletive-laden
commentary that led after several minutes of blue air to her back-aching, limb-
straining orgasm.
Brenda and Billy continued their lewd embrace unabated - blue dungarees, ample
flesh and white tee shirts entwined - while Kate sobbed with relief and the
conscripted semen donors slumped exhausted and sated onto their frames. Kate felt
as embarrassed for the men as she was for herself. It gave her no pleasure,
certainly not sexual, to see men treated that way.
When they eventually unravelled themselves, Brenda attended to her pigs, while
Billy, her apprentice, followed in close attendance. She was there to learn.
Kate was ignored now her job was done. There’s only so much fun a woman can have
in a hogtie, particularly after the pleasure of sinew stretching orgasms has
receded. They could at least have switched off her turntable, Kate grumbled to
herself. She was getting dizzy.
“You were a nurse, weren’t you Katie?” Brenda called out as she continued to stow
away the precious sperm.
Kate bit her tongue at being addressed so familiarly by someone she despised. “I
still am!” She replied indignantly.
Brenda held up an elegantly curved steel implement.“Ever seen one of these
before?”
Kate strained to see as her turntable spun her away from the object Brenda held.
She shook her head. No, she didn’t recognise it, but she sensed where the
implement might be heading.
Brenda and Billy were positioned behind one of the men, with Billy following
Brenda’s every instruction as a diligent student. “That’s right Billy, stick it
all the way into him... now rock it slowly back and forth.”
A strange peace descended on the room before Brenda finally piped up. “We’re
milking his prostate. That’s what we do if a pig doesn’t come a second time.
Extracting the last of his fluid means that next time he donates, everything is
fresh. Once he is drained he won’t be thinking much about sex for a few days!”
A world where men didn’t think about sex was Brenda’s idea of heaven, even though
they were unlikely to ever be thinking about sex with her.
Billy released Kate from the three-way belt and the hogtie. She was soon dressed
again, in her flimsy dress that created more breezes than it stopped, and the
heavy leather retaining belt resting on her hips. Only when the transport chains
were snicked onto her wrists and ankles did Kate feel properly attired. It meant
she’d soon be back in the secure surroundings of the breeding shed.

CAVALLO AND THE DOCTOR
“So it’s all arranged then?” Cavallo asked the doctor, having strolled unannounced
into his consulting room.
“Everything is in hand Madame, just as you requested. The surgeon and the
anaesthetist will arrive here in four days.” The doctor was becoming exasperated
at having to repeat himself to his excited employer. “We’re all ready. The
ponygirl has been moved to the isolation area.”
Cavallo looked heavenward with a broad, smug grin. “It’s so fitting don’t you
think, that one of Rabbit Island’s ponygirls should replace the one I lost on
their island. With her ankle in plaster for six weeks it’s such an ideal time to
perform the operation. Almost like it was meant to be.”
The doctor could not argue with Cavallo’s fiendish logic. It was inevitable that
another armless ponygirl would have to be found or created to join up with the
exising three. He hoped that last year, when Cavallo secured her long-held
ambition to run a pair of ‘true ponies’ that that would be the end of it. Instead
it was merely the beginning.
It still rankled with the doctor about one of the previous amputees who didn’t
make the grade. She never would. It was a senseless and cruel waste to carry out
the amputations on one that had never proved herself as a ponygirl.
He disapproved of Cavallo’s Machiavellian plan to further experiment on the girl
with that memory erasing procedure, but perhaps in a strange way it was a mercy.
The girl’s memory loss proved far more effective than they could have hoped for.
So much so that Cavallo decided in a moment of sheer folly and vanity that the
girl should be released from her duties on La Plata; released into the outside
world.
That was how Janie came to be found wandering dazed and weak on a beach in Koh
Samui. Janie’s release had triggered a series of events that led to Rabbit Island
leaving some of the best slaves in her care. That made Cavallo more confident than
ever, emboldened by the success of her plans.
“Have you done the fertility tests on that pony driver yet?” Cavallo demanded of
the nurse as she entered the room.
“A high sperm count and disease free,” the nurse reported after consulting her
clipboard.
“Excellent!” Cavallo proclaimed, her nostrils flared as she breathed in the scent
of triumph. “Just as I hoped. That interfering Spaniard can stay in the donor shed
for a week or two. I believe we have to fill a breeding order for some latin blood
and I must admit he is healthy and good-looking. Perhaps now he can contribute
something instead of always complaining about the way we treat ponygirls.”
Cavallo was seething under the surface as she thought back to the incident a
couple of days ago when Riccardo insulted her. Perhaps it was a bit insensitive -
foolhardy in retrospect - to make the connection between her name and the length
of her nose.

BREEDING TIME
Four days had passed since her trip to the sperm donors’ room and Kate was
increasingly concerned by the absence of Riccardo and Jessica. Riccardo and his
pony pair, invariably seen during the afternoon exercise session, had vanished.
Not even replaced by anybody else. Another ponygirl had replaced Jessica, so the
rumour mill in the breeding shed had it. It was a reasonable assumption.
Kate was in her usual position at that time of the morning, fixed to her frame,
the breast pumps relieving her of the ever-increasing yield. It was a time for
meditation, a moment to be absorbed in her self. But this morning, at that most
unwelcome time, she had a visitor. It was the feet that Kate noticed first. Not
that there was anything unusual in that - her face-downwards position in the frame
ensured it.
They were a young woman’s feet, clad in worn leather roman sandals, the toenails
painted a deep red, with several metal bangles around each ankle. Quite pretty
feet, Kate thought. While she was musing on how and if those close fitting bangles
could be ever removed from the ankles a hand gripped her hair and lifted her head
upwards.
“Are you Kate?”
Kate’s neck was straining backwards against the retaining hoop, making it
difficult to catch her breath. “Yes,” she gasped. “You’re choking me.”
Lucinda didn’t apologise. She retained her grip so they could still face each
other.
Kate knew about Lucinda - a slave since birth, a child in a woman’s body. She was
tortured and abused at the Bacchanal along with Kate and the others, but at other
times she seemed to roam unhindered - free range to Kate’s battery hen. Even now,
in the breeding shed, Billy watched warily from a distance, almost fearful of
approaching Lucinda, such was the ambiguity of her status.
“Riccardo’s in prison. He asked me to see you. He needs your help.” Lucinda
whispered.
That was too much for Kate. Fixed to a frame while her breasts were being
mechanically drained with a giraffe-necked girl asking for her help. “Let me just
finish what I’m doing and I’ll come right over and sort it out.”
Lucinda looked confused. “You will?”
“No. I won’t. I was being sarcastic. I’m a prisoner myself, in case you hadn’t
noticed.” Kate jingled her chains for effect. “Why’s he in prison? He’s a pony
driver. A Master.”
Lucinda sighed. “Something about a ponygirl. He had an argument with Madame. She
wanted to amputate to make another true ponygirl, and he said something about
being better to amputate her nose. I thought that was actually quite rude. Anyhow,
I think ponygirls look better without arms. Much sleeker, and more obedient too.”
“Actually I don’t!” Kate said tersely. It was all she could do to keep calm when
dealing with this strangely immature woman, still maintaining a tight grip of her
hair. She had to ask the question: “Which ponygirl?”
“The one with the broken ankle. I don’t recall her name. Just a ponygirl!” Lucinda
said in an offhand manner as if asked what she had for breakfast. In her limited
world, Lucinda knew little about friendship until Riccardo arrived and couldn’t
conceive that anyone might have a friendship with a ponygirl. To her they were
animals that looked like women, an everyday means of transport.
Kate’s eyes moistened. “When?”
“Later today. I think Riccardo will be released soon after the ponygirl’s
operation. I don’t know why he’s making such a fuss. Anyway, I’ve told you, just
as he asked me. So I’m going now. Bye.”
With that, Lucinda finally released her grip on Kate’s hair, allowing Kate’s head
to drop physically as it had metaphorically. Lucinda strolled carefree along the
aisle of the breeding shed, chatting with a few of the more familiar breeders as
she went.
Kate was deep in thought, while Rachel alongside her could only muster a quiet “Oh
my God!”
The milking was almost complete as Billy arrived to give Kate’s breasts a firm and
finally squeeze. “Well done girl. Good yield!” Billy said cheerily. It was
important to give the breeders encouragement and to make them feel appreciated,
but Kate barely heard the remarks.
Breakfast followed milking. It was demeaning to be so crudely fed when fixed to a
breeding frame but Kate usually wolfed down the porridge-like mush that arrived in
large spoonfuls. Normally she would still have her mouth gaping open for more as
the feeding pot went down the line. Today her mouth stayed closed after the second
mouthful, too nervous to eat.

KATE’S INSEMINATION
There seemed to be an awful lot happening with the inseminator. Brenda and Billy
were fussing around behind her for several minutes, preparing something. Usually
they just rammed it into her (wet or dry it didn’t matter) and switched on that
monstrous motor.
Brenda slapped Kate’s buttocks. “There we are. All loaded and ready to fire.”
Kate felt the same familiar heavily ribbed phallus pushing into her sex, but today
was different. She knew enough about her body to be aware that this was the day
they had been waiting for - and the day she dreaded - when she would become an
official breeder. It was turning into a very bad day.
The inseminator was pumping and vibrating with its unrelenting, yet undeniably
stimulating rhythm that no man could match. Despite Kate’s best mental efforts to
resist, the effect was the same as ever. Her pulse raced, her skin became clammy,
a bead of perspiration trickled down to the tip of her nose and splashed onto the
floor. “No!” she cried out repeatedly, as if mental power alone could save her.
When the inseminator made its last long thrusts following shortly after Kate’s
orgasm, her desperate cry of “No” became a lament... for herself, and for Jessica
too.

KAREN GETS BUSY
“You see those little specks? Make sure you scrape them all off, otherwise the
varnish won’t be smooth.”
Karen looked up at her minder to acknowledge that she understood. Their eyes
lingered on each other for a moment. The man smiled. She had nice eyes, he’d told
her recently. It was true, she had big passionate eyes that responded brilliantly
to the daily makeup session before she started cleaning duties. This man, her
supervisor, despite his beatings and bullying, had something resembling affection
for her. Karen was sure of it. She was in her regular cleaning position, kneeling
on her shins, her legs strapped together and encased in a leather bag with a soft
underside that enabled her to slide along the floor as she cleaned.
The supervisor left Karen to her task, scraping the breeding shed’s wooden floor
of all lumps and accumulated stuck-on detritus, prior to its revarnishing. It was
going to be a long and boring day... or so she thought.
“Pssst!”
Karen heard the sound but continued to rub the small wire brush into the angle
where the floor met the wall.
“Psst! Karen.”
With barely a twitch of a latex covered finger Karen subtly acknowledged Kate’s
call, then she resumed her scrubbing. After a minute had elapsed she shuffled over
to Kate’s side of the walkway and carried on with her menial task. Billy and the
other breeding shed workers kept a suspicious eye on her from the other end of the
shed.
“Karen. Listen to me,” Kate muttered with a sotto voce urgency. “Later this
afternoon they’re going to operate on Jessica. They’re going to...”
Karen nodded to save Kate from completing her dreadful statement. She had already
heard the news.
“Do you remember when you first arrived on Rabbit Island? We took the keys from
the pony driver, and I unlocked myself and took him back to the lodge?”
Karen nodded impatiently. Of course she remembered, but what did that have to do
with Jessica’s predicament?
“I still have one of the keys! I’m going to use it this afternoon. I want you to
help if you can.”
Kate’s urgent tone caused her to speak louder than she ought. Billy came stomping
down the aisle. She kicked Karen to one side, then slapped Kate sharply on the
side of her head. “I told you to keep quiet! If you can’t keep quiet you wear the
gag!” Kate’s gag harness hung on a hook at the front of her frame, ready for
instant fittings.
The red rubber ball pushed against Kate’s clenched teeth for a moment. She been
conditioned to open and grasp the ball fully the moment it was offered. Any
resistance would only bring punishment. Billy quickly buckled up the straps,
behind and over Kate’s head, and then a third one under her chin. With each strap
Billy pulled hard until she found a extra hole, causing the straps to bite into
Kate’s face, and pulling the ball so deep into her mouth that she almost choked.
Billy stormed away, greatly annoyed by the interruption. It seemed affected,
showing off to Brenda that she was capable of keeping order in the breeding shed.
“She stitched the key into her flesh,” Rachel said, taking up where Kate had left
off, but before she could say anything else, Billy was jogging down the aisle
again, a ballgag in hand.
“So? You want to be gagged like your friend do you?” Billy mocked. “Perhaps you’ll
give me some peace now!”
The gags came just in time for the afternoon nap. Dark cotton sacks were placed
over the heads of Rachel, Kate and all the other breeders. Gradually the shed
quietened as activities and conversation ceased. This was the time of day when
Brenda and Billy took an extended lunch break.
Soon the only sound to be heard was Karen scraping away at the stains on the
floor. Cleaners didn’t get lunch. It was too much trouble to remove their head
coverings and gags. And because Karen and other cleaners sat or knelt down all day
they weren’t deemed to need a rest either.
While Karen scraped and chipped at the floor, Kate’s fingers arched into the crack
of her buttocks, tugging to the full extent her chains allowed. She felt the
scarred lump just behind her labia with her fingertip and tried to dig her finger
into it. Without the edge of a fingernail the skin could not be broken. The key
that she had so skilfully secreted and kept a secret for so long had buried itself
too deep. She would have willingly ripped open her soft flesh, but it absorbed and
deflected the blunt attack of her finger. Sobs of self-pity and despair welled up
inside her, until tears streamed down her face. The darkness of the hood hiding
her shame.
Kate was startled by a hand gripping her thigh. She hadn’t noticed anyone creep up
behind her. Expecting to hear the taunts of Billy, she instead felt a sharp pain
as something coarse and metallic cut into the flesh at the very place her
fingertip had been. The flesh was being cut with a rapid sawing action. Kate could
feel warm blood trickling down her thigh, until a rag wiped against it.
Metal struck metal amidst the flesh and blood. Karen’s latex covered fingers
squeezed Kate's flesh as if to remove a large splinter. The round head of the key
emerged slowly from Kate’s bloody flesh until Karen was able to grasp it. Kate
attempted to offer up her chained wrists to the key just in case Karen didn’t know
what to do with it. Karen’s hands gripped Kate’s as she struggled to push the key
into the hole. It seemed to take an eternity. It was difficult for Karen to grip
the key with latex-covered, blood-smeared gloves.
Pushing the key into the lock was difficult, but opening it was impossible. The
key didn’t fit. Karen slapped angrily at Kate’s thigh in frustration. All she
could do was try to stem the bleeding and clear up the spills in the vain hope
that nobody would notice.
Karen shuffled around to the front aisle again, having given up on stemming the
blood that flowed freely in a neat red line down to Kate’s knee. She pulled off
Kate’s hood in order to apologise face-to-face. It might be her last chance she
feared, sensing where this failed stunt would leave them. She stroked Kate’s tear-
stained leather-strapped face with her hand. They had done their best. It
obviously wasn’t meant to be.
Heavy footsteps were approaching on the other side of the door: Brenda or Billy’s
Doc Martens! They all knew the sound well enough. Instead of replacing Kate’s hood
Karen scooted along the floor for several yards, as if to detach herself from
Kate’s predicament.
“What the... how the...” Billy gasped upon noticing Kate’s hood lying on the
floor. Kate shrugged her shoulders and tried to look innocent, although the
ballgag straps cutting into her head rendered any expression meaningless, or
simply comical. Billy bent down to pick up the hood. She’d get to the bottom of
what happened when Kate was ungagged later in the day.
Karen was too quick, gathering Billy’s legs together at the knees and toppling her
over. The element of surprise had worked in her favour and she had the initiative.
A prizefighter’s blow with her fist hit Billy in the mouth, drawing blood and
cutting the latex on her knuckles. She grasped Billy’s head in her hands. After
three sickening thuds from the back of Billy’s head against floor the one-sided
fight was over. The shed went very quiet.
Billy’s toolbelt held the object of their desire, a set of keys which Karen
jingled triumphantly a few inches in front of Kate’s nose. She undid Kate’s gag
straps before shuffling hurriedly around the back to unlock her chains.
“You’re scary. Do you know that?” said Kate as she stood up, rubbing the handcuff
grooves in her wrists. She pulled her flimsy white dress over her head and stood
naked, and for the first time in recent memory, totally unencumbered by clothing,
shackles or the domineering stares of those who enslaved her.
They undressed Billy’s unconscious body, Karen diligently mopping up the spills
from the mouth and head wounds while Kate peeled off the dungarees.
When one of the other breeders asked what was happening, Kate’s threat to kill her
brought the enquiry to a swift end. The docility of her breeding companions
continued to appal her.
So far so good, thought Kate as she adjusted the bib of the loose fitting. It was
good, but scary.
More footsteps approached, softer ones than before. Now there were two of them to
tackle the next person to walk into the room, though Kate sensed Karen was ready
to perform the same trick as before.
The nurse entered. It was blood donation day, as Kate would have remembered had
she not been so distracted by the other events of the day. Kate’s and the nurses
eyes met, both with reason to be nervous.
“Wait a minute! You’re not...” said the nurse, her voice fading away as she
slumped lifeless to the ground. Billy’s tazer rod was a highly effective tool
Karen discovered. A mere touch to the nurse’s thigh was all that was needed. Kate
foll owed up with a sedative jab into the nurse’s buttock. This assault was
bloodless, if no less ruthless.
Kate hurriedly stripped herself of the dungarees, positively hopping with
adrenalin. She began undressing the unconscious nurse, the white outfit would be
much more suitable than the dungarees. She pulled off Rachel’s hood. “Sorry
Rachel, we need your place.” Karen shuffled behind Rachel and unlocked her
shackles.
If it wasn’t so serious they might have smiled. Kate had assumed her rightful role
as a nurse, at least in appearance. She was immediately comfortable in the nurse’s
tight dress, even though she had begun to like Rabbit Island’s absurdly revealing
apron. Kate figured that Rachel, hailing from Texas, would feel equally at home in
a tee shirt and dungarees!
It took the combined efforts of the three of them to get the slumped bodies of
Billy and the nurse secured into their breeding frames. Once they were dressed,
chained, gagged and hooded they looked just like the other breeders. Except these
two were the only ones that weren’t trembling.
There was a medicine cabinet on the wall which Kate knew very well. In particular
she knew of its sedating hypodermics, which were ready to incapacitate an unruly
inmate within seconds. Kate plunged a needle into Billy’s ample and the nurse’s
rather shapely naked rumps. From her own bitter experience she was confident that
they would remain subdued for at least two hours.
Rachel was trying every key in her attempt to release Karen from her kneeling
bondage. It seemed so cruel that Karen should remain in her bondage after her
heroic effort. Only the cleaning department held her keys.
“Where’s the surgery?” Kate asked Karen.
Karen pointed to the door at the far end of the shed, then she pointed at herself.
She knew the way, she attempted to say in her heavily gagged tones. The dramatic
flaring of her eyes said that she was coming with them, pointing at the nearby
trolley, her means of transport from one building to another. If they could pull
her along she would take them there. With a practiced little jump she mounted the
three-inch step onto her trolley, then pointed at Rachel. As the dyke impersonator
it was Rachel’s job to pull the trolley to the cleaner’s next assignment. Kate had
only to behave like a nurse. What could be easier?
They walked towards the door with Rachel pulling Karen’s squeaking trailer behind
her. Kate placed her hand on the door handle and looked to her companions. Rachel
was trembling, she was very bad casting as a butch dyke in dungarees. Karen was
calmer, but still locked and latexed in her kneeling position, obliged to travel
on her low-loading trailer. It wasn’t exactly the A team.
“Ready?” Kate asked.
Rachel and Karen barely nodded.
Kate gritted her teeth, whispered up a prayer, and slowly pushed open the door.
“Then let’s go.”
                                End of Chapter 20

                 coming soon... the operation doesn’t go to plan

 (Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any comments,
                criticisms, suggestions and reviews are welcome.)
                             Chapter 21. The Operation
               (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)


The story so far:
(Ch. 17) Lucinda, the giraffe girl. A brief history of La Plata. Alex visits the
slave trader in Bangkok.
(Ch. 18) The Bacchanal.
(Ch. 19) The Breeding Shed.
(Ch. 20) Checking out of the Breeding Shed

THE OPERATING TABLE
“You and I look quite alike, you know,” said Madame Cavallo as she teased one of
Jessica’s ringed nipples with her finger.
Jessica’s hands clenched as she tugged against the leather wrist cuffs that fixed
them to the operating table. With her ankles similarly fixed, twelve inches apart,
she was as helpless to resist Cavallo’s advances as she was to close her ears to
the verbal torment.
“Oh yes, quite similar... except I’m perhaps a couple of years older and you are
slightly prettier, I must admit. How old are you now Jessica?”
“Twenty-four,” Jessica said, before realizing she hadn’t taken her year on Rabbit
Island into account. She wasn’t aware of exactly when her birthday had occurred.
“No. Twenty-five.”
“Did you know I went to medical school?”
Jessica shook her head, eying Cavallo warily. Cavallo was standing over her in a
white surgeon’s smock, which suited her rather too well.
“In Boston actually. I loved it there. It’s such a beautiful city. I made good
friends, had a lot of fun and a lot of sex. It wasn’t just the socialising. I
studied hard and was particularly interested in surgery. I watched many operations
and even assisted in a few...
“But I had to quit after only two years because my father died. Suddenly I was
responsible for a business empire on three continents and a fortune of two hundred
million dollars. I sold off a few companies I wasn’t interested in and came back
here, to my childhood home. Now I take care of the family business from here...
“You’re sexually submissive, aren’t you Jessica? You like to be dominated and you
are turned on by bondage. True?”
Jessica shook her head in denial, praying that Cavallo would stop playing with her
nipple like that.
“You are! And that’s why you’re in this position now. Rabbit Island chose you for
those qualities, and they were right. I’ve seen how you behave around men. Like
when Master Alex took you to that ballroom one evening and you sat at his feet,
wearing his chains. You loved it. Admit it!” Cavallo almost became angry as she
sought out a meaningless confession.
“Is this about Master Alex?” Jessica ventured.
Cavallo laughed extravagantly, mocking Jessica for thinking such nonsense. “Of
course it isn’t, you silly pony. It’s about my avocation, adapting the human body
for sexual slavery, and about your suitability to become my next true ponygirl. I
use the word ‘true’ because a ponygirl, like any other true slave, should be
modified to suit her function. A ponygirl has no need for arms. They are an
unnecessary hindrance, create extra work for handlers and look unsightly. From now
on we’ll take care of everything for you. All you have to do is run, obey
instructions and look beautiful. I’m confident you can do all three. In return
we’ll feed you, dress you and bathe you. Everyone will admire your beauty. I almost
envy you...
“Envy me? You’re crazy.” Jessica muttered, continuing to tug against her wrist
straps, not because of any hope of escaping, but to show she would not submit
willingly.
“I’m not crazy, just lucky enough to know the thrill of true power is. I’ll bet
millions of people fantasize about owning an island like this one and be able to
fully indulge their sexual tastes. They wouldn’t do it as well as I do. I was
brought up on this island and rode ponygirls years before I ever traveled in an
automobile. I was driving and whipping ponygirls by the age of ten and was helping
out in the breeding shed in my early teens. I performed my first caesarean at
fifteen and had been involved in a dozen or more births by the age of sixteen.”
“Father made sure I stayed a virgin until I was sixteen. He stitched up my vagina
himself. He knew I’d want sex the moment I was unstitched. How could I not be
affected by sexual activity around me? When the time came, on my sixteenth
birthday, he was confident that I had developed dominant sexual characteristics
just by the way I handled a whip...
“He was partially right. Who wouldn’t enjoy wielding a whip on a slave’s back once
taught how to do it properly? Have you ever whipped anyone, Jessica?”
“No!”
“But I bet you wanted to whip somebody?”
“Only you!”
Cavallo laughed. “Cute, but that’s one ambition you’ll never fulfil. Not even my
father whipped me. He feared I might develop a taste for it. He firmly believed our
childhood experiences formed our sexual orientations. For that reason he never
allowed me to be tied up. I was always curious about bondage though. Sometimes I
saw ecstasy on bound women’s faces when a man made love to them and I wanted to
experience it for myself...
“So, not long after my sixteenth birthday I asked a handler to chain me up and fuck
me like I’d seen him do to a slavegirl. He was happy to oblige and suggested the
hanging peach position. He wrapped leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles, fixed
them to either side of a spreader bar, and cranked it up. I’m sure you know what I
mean. When I was at the perfect height for him, with my legs spread high and wide,
he fucked me. That straining on my poor hurting limbs as my very first orgasm
washed over me was the best feeling ever.” She looked up towards the ceiling at the
blissful recollection. “but father had the man killed of course.”
Jessica was become flustered and confused by Cavallo’s revelations as she thought
back to her own similarly ecstatic moments. She was close to tears “Why are you
telling me all this?”
Cavallo took Jessica’s hand. “I want you to understand that I’m doing this
operation for you as well as me. You will be able to live the rest of your life as
an erotic fantasy, never to worry about the real world again.”
Jessica tried to wrench her hand from Cavallo’s but the wrist strap wouldn’t allow
it. “That’s not what I want! You have no right to do this to me. I belong to Rabbit
Island!”
“That’s true, you are their property... but like any other property you can be
bought and sold. I’ll pay for you of course. The same goes for your friend in the
breeding shed. The one with the big mouth. As soon as we confirm she is pregnant
she’ll also be having an operation.” Cavallo paused, as if waiting for Jessica’s
question.
“What kind of operation?”
“Her tongue will be removed.” Cavallo announced coolly. “We’ve performed this
little operation many times before. She’ll be more manageable and in the long run
she’ll be happier for it. But enough of her, she is of little importance compared
to you, my beautiful ponygirl. Now just try to relax. I promise you won’t feel any
pain either during the operation or afterwards.”
Cavallo gripped Jessica’s hand tightly, both knowing she would be the last person
that ever held it. “The surgeon will be here soon, but don’t worry, I’ll be here
throughout the operation.”
Right on cue they heard steps approaching from outside. Cavallo rearranged the
expression on her face, let go of Jessica’s hand and stood ready to greet the
surgeon and his team.
It was not a surgeon but a nurse who walked through the door. She looked vaguely
familiar to Cavallo but didn’t recognise the smile. Behind Kate was Rachel, looking
nervous but determined.
“Talk of the devil!” Cavallo said, impressed and amused by Kate’s audacity. “Your
operation isn’t ‘til tomorrow. You will be punished for this. Severely punished.”
Kate and Rachel weren’t listening. Rachel had the tazer pointing like a gun as she
stalked around one side of the operating table. Kate held a syringe in her hand as
she approached Cavallo on the other. Cavallo laughed wildly as if it were just a
childish game, her eyes darting between Kate to Rachel as she decided which one to
barge past. She was bigger and stronger than either. Fearing the tazer in Rachel’s
shaking hand she rushed headlong at Kate, her hands jabbed forward sending Kate
tumbling backwards to the floor.
Cavallo hadn’t seen the cleaner kneeling by the door, she seldom every notice them.
Karen tightly hugged Cavallo’s legs as she tried to pass. They reached a stalemate
- Cavallo unable to free herself from Karen’s grip, and Karen unable to topple her
in the way she’d done to others in the breeding shed. The tight-fitting leather
hood provided protection from Cavallo’s desperate blows onto her head.
Rachel approached tentatively with the tazer. Karen mmmphed her encouragement for
Rachel to use it as Cavallo continued beat her around the head. Rachel feared that
Karen would get as much of an electric shock as Cavallo if she applied the tazer
while they were so tightly joined.
Cavallo gave up hitting Karen’s head only so she could use her arms to fend off the
tazer prod. She was primed like a cobra, ready to strike it from Rachel’s trembling
hand as soon as it came within arms length. Such was her concentration that didn’t
noticed the needle in her buttock. She soon began to feel its effect. Kate stood up
just in time to catch the slumping Cavallo, easing her gently to the floor.
The room was suddenly quiet. All Kate could hear was her own palpitating heart as
she contemplated what she had done; not knowing if it was a triumph or the biggest
mistake she would ever make. Then she saw Jessica looking at her with a face the
picture of joy.
“You weren’t much help, just lying there while we did the fighting!” She joked,
then kissed Jessica lovingly on the mouth. “But no problem Jessi. Let’s get you out
of here!”
“To where?”
“Good question, Jessi. I haven’t thought that far ahead, but let’s bugger off
before the surgeon arrives.”
Kate and Rachel unstrapped Jessica’s wrists and ankles on their respective sides.
Jessica was confused. “Katie, how did you suddenly become a nurse?”
“Call it ambition!” Then Kate turned to Rachel. “Handcuff her!”
Rachel was confused. “What?”
“Handcuffs! They’re in a pouch on your belt.” Kate replied, slightly exasperated,
“Put them on Jessica and go back to the breeding shed... now...hurry! I’ll stay
here to cut poor old Karen out of her cleaner costume.”
Jessica trusted Kate implicitly, and being required to remain naked and cuffed
didn’t bother her much. She had grown too accustomed to it. Rachel led Jessica from
the surgery, grabbing her arm as forcefully as Brenda’s dykes might have.
Kate reached for one of the heavy surgical blades and looked down at Karen kneeling
in front of her. “You’re not bothered about a little blood are you?”
Karen shook her head.
“Good! Then you can stay and help me.”
The scalpel she wielded sliced through Karen’s hood as if it were made of butter.

CHARLIE’S SLAVE EMPORIUM
“It’s over there,” Alex said to Vince as their hire car crept along an industrial
backstreet in Bangkok.
Vince scrutinised the small loading bay with a door to its side. “I don’t recognise
it.”
“You wouldn’t. Charlie’s probably moved five times since you last visited him,”
said Alex without exaggeration. This Chinaman’s slave-tending operation seldom
stayed in the same location for more than a few months. Vince pulled up alongside a
black Mercedes.
Alex got out, walked up a couple of steps and buzzed the intercom. He turned to
Vince whilst waiting for a response. “Back up the car to the loading bay. I’ll be
out again in five minutes.”
After a pause, the door buzzed indicating it could be pulled open. Alex entered
cautiously into the loading hall. It was packed with pallets of Chinese canned
soup. There was nothing to arouse suspicion that this was anything other than an
unremarkable trading company. That’s the way Charlie liked it. Alex knew Charlie
also liked basements, so when he spotted a flight of steps leading downwards he
sensed that was where he would find Charlie and his cages.
The scene had a reassuring familiarity for Alex - ten slave cages were lined up in
the middle of the floor allowing for all-round inspection.
Charlie’s normal exuberant greeting was substituted this time by a restrained shake
of the hand. Alex was not the only visitor. Charlie was conducting business with
two men, the owners of the Mercedes parked outside.
Sandwiched between the two sharp-suited men was a young Thai woman, her naked body
being thoroughly and intimately examined by them. She wore Charlie’s trademark dog-
collar and leash but her hands were free. It’s important that a purchaser can see
how she reacts to their advances. Some slaves appear docile in cuffs but will turn
into wildcats the moment their hands are released. This one however was soft and
yielding, accepting her fate and hoping to avoid a beating that would result from
misbehaviour.
Alex watched the scene from a respectful distance. She was a beautiful creature,
even with the distressed look on her face as latex-gloved hands violated her sex.
With long silky black hair, nice tits and slim but not too skinny body, she would
make a good everyday whore, the sort that most men, white or Asian, would find
appealing.
The two businessmen spoke to Charlie in Thai:
“We’ll take her.”
“Very good choice. You want cage or body harness for her?” Charlie asked in Thai of
about the same standard as his English.
“No, it’s not necessary.”
While one man held the naked girl tightly to his chest in a non-consensual tango,
the other removed a pen-like object from his jacket. He jabbed it into the back of
the girl’s neck, just below her dog collar. She gave a pathetic gasp, and then lost
consciousness. Her dancing partner continued to hold her limp body upright against
his. The man replaced the tranquilizer pen in his jacket and pulled out two plastic
cable ties. He pulled the girl’s lifeless arms behind her back and looped a cable
tie tightly around her wrists. He bent down and fixed her ankles similarly. Charlie
removed her dog collar and leash. She was ready for transportation.
While the paperwork was being finalised Alex inspected the latest incarnation of
Charlie’s slave emporium. Alongside one wall was a portable gas stove, boxes of
food, crates of two-litre plastic water bottles - feeding and watering twelve
slaves and himself was a serious undertaking. Nearby was a television, watched
avidly by Charlie and his slavegirls during their long evenings. At the end of the
large room was a double mattress on an improvised plinth of soup cans. The bed was
covered by a neatly spread duvet cover. A good slave keeper must be a good home-
maker too.
The other side of the room had some exercise equipment. Alex had seen Charlie’s
multi-gym and rowing machine before, but the treadmill was a new addition. By happy
coincidence it was at that momnt being used by a naked woman with pale skin,
American or British Alex assumed. Her skin glistened with accumulated sweat. She
was walking fast, having no choice in the matter; metal cuffs attached her wrists
to the respective rails on each side of the treadmill. Alex enjoyed watching her
overweight rump in motion - like a cow chewing grass, he thought.
She didn’t turn her head to look at Alex. She couldn’t, because Charlie had adapted
a ponygirl’s bridle for her. The chin-strap of the bridle was connected by a two-
foot chain to the treadmill’s LED display in front of her. The bridle’s blinkers
precluded her from any sideways glances, obliging her to concentrate on her
preprogrammed exercise regime. She still had twenty-five minute to go, Alex
noticed.
The transaction for the Thai girl had concluded. They paid by cheque, the
equivalent of 20,000 cans of soup, and Charlie gave an appropriate receipt. The man
holding the girl hoisted her effortlessly onto his shoulder and carried her from
the basement, while his colleague folded and pocketed the receipt, shook Charlie’s
hand with a respectful bow and departed.
Alex hardly noticed the men leaving. He was engrossed by the woman’s progress on
the treadmill, and wondering whether Rabbit Island should acquire some more
exercise equipment. He was also somewhat mesmerised by her bobbing breasts.
“Fat American ass!” Charlie shouted from the other side of the cages.
“Who? Me?” Alex asked, pretending to be offended before smiling warmly at his old
friend.
“No. You slim American ass! SHE fat American ass,” Charlie said, pointing a stubby
finger at the poor woman on the treadmill. “Very good for her Thai men don’t eat
girls or I sell her easy.”
“I wouldn’t mind a slice of that rump,” Alex joked, directing it as much to the
woman as to Charlie.
“She lost five kilos in two weeks. Five more more to go. Good diet, lot of
exercise, no problem.”
They left her to complete the exercise program, and Alex skipped up the stairs to
summon Vince to come down to the basement.
Vince entered with their two recent acquisitions. They both had their hair
intricately woven into long braids, giving them a tribal look, although one was too
fair skinned to be a native from those parts. They were naked and each had her hand
cuffed behind her, with a chain joining the two together side by side.
“Jesus, Alex, we nearly suffocated in that trunk,” the fair-skinned one complained.
“Do you remember this one?” Alex asked Charlie, ignoring the girl’s remark.
Charlie studied her face briefly and shook his head. “No. Don’t know her. She and
her for sale?”
“No. I think I’ll take them back to Rabbit Island when the repairs are done. This
is Nancy. She escaped from Rabbit Island but was then kidnapped. We had to pay a
ransom to get her back.”
Charlie was impressed. “Ohhhh, Miss Houdini. Don’t worry I give her extra chains!
No-one ever escape from me.”
While Vince’s attention was taken by the woman on the treadmill Charlie gave Alex a
tour of his caged slaves. It was part of slave traders’ etiquette to cast an expert
eye over each other’s merchandise. The slaves followed Charlie’s presentation
routine. They knelt on their shins, with a straight back and head held high. The
leash connecting the dog collar to the top bars made it difficult for them to do
anything else.
“Any virgins?” Alex asked.
They moved to a cage containing a white girl. “This one!” Charlie said proudly.
“American virgin.”
The girl’s head hung downwards, her straight blonde hair covering her face and her
shame. Charlie tapped her under the chin with his riding crop. She raised her head,
shaking it to clear the hair from her face and showing both the red ballgag in her
mouth and the rage in her eyes. The privileged American teenager didn’t take to her
captivity with the passive acceptance shown by the Asian girls, but with the right
training she would become an excellent whore or sex slave just the same. The fire
of loathing in her expression impressed Alex as much as her fine young body.
They were reaching the end of the line of cages. “You remember this one?” Charlie
asked.
Alex studied the cage’s occupant. She was far from being a teenager, attractive for
her obvious thirty-something years, but there wasn’t a demand for older slaves,
certainly not in Charlie’s market sector. “No. Give me a clue!”
“Remember drug whore last month? Shaking with no drug?”
Alex smiled, remembering Charlie’s amusing phrase. “What? Cold chicken?”
“This is her. Now clean and good health. Very good. Help me with cook and clean.”
Charlie opened the cage door, unwound the leash handle from the cage bars and
helped the woman to her feet. It was strange that Charlie would be trying to
present this one to Alex. Her skin was scarred from cuts and cigarette burns
inflicted in her past, while her teeth had had more attention from a man’s fist
than a dentist over the years.
“She say likes tied-up and chains, and whipping too. She say want to go to Rabbit
Island. So I tie and beat her, test her truth, but I not so sure. Think she faker.”
Alex pitied the woman standing before him, wondering why anyone would lie about
such a thing?
“You’re too old to be a Rabbit Island slavegirl,” he said apologetically. A tear
trickled down her cheek almost immediately, “but I have a man who works for me on
Rabbit Island. A Filipino, and a good and loyal worker. Last year his wife died,
and he needs a woman to live with. You can be his new wife.”
It isn’t often that one can bring such happiness to somebody, but at that moment
Alex did. Her ecstatic smile said it all. After twenty years as an enslaved whore
she was to become somebody’s wife. It was something she had alway dreamed of. With
her hands locked behind her all she could do was fall to her knees in front of Alex
and kiss his shoes. Charlie tugged on her leash, and returned the joyful woman to
her cage. Alex enjoyed having power over women, the power to train and punish but
also like now, the power to bring happiness.
“How the hell does she know about Rabbit Island anyhow?” Alex asked.
Charlie pointed an accusing finger at the neighbouring cage. “That one tell her.”
“Hello Doctor Alex,” said Janie, her face shifting with various emotions. She was
happy for her caged neighbour but her underlying sadness was apparent. “My memory
is returning. I can remember things, lots of things!”
Alex was unsure whether that constituted good news or not. “You remember Rabbit
Island? But I’m sure you were never there.”
“I only know of it from other people. I was somewhere else but I can’t remember the
name. An island. I remember a woman who owned it - Cavaro.”
“Cavallo?” Alex prompted.
“Cavallo. She did this to me.” Janie broke into sobs. “I don’t want to remember any
more. Can you give me something to help me forget again?”
Alex gulped his saliva, glancing at Vince who was also listening intently. “Janie,
are you sure?”
“I’m positive. How could I invent someone like Cavallo? I wouldn’t want to.”
Vince stuck his hand through the bars and pulled Janie’s hair back so she looked
upwards. “Open your mouth!”
He used a finger to feel inside her mouth, and a moment later turned to Alex. “She
hasn’t any back teeth. It’s likely she was a Cavallo ponygirl.”
Alex agreed.
“Did we send any of our ponygirls to her?” Vince asked.
“Just one, and four bunnies, but she wouldn’t dare harm them. Besides, we’ll be
collecting them in a couple of weeks.”
Charlie soon had Nancy and Lina accommodated in their cages, fixing Nancy (or
‘Houdini girl’ as he renamed her) in ankle shackles as well as the usual cuff and
collar arrangement. “So you come back and collect your four women in two weeks?”
“Three weeks before we are back here,” Alex corrected him. “then we’ll collect
Nancy, Lina, Janie and our lovely new bride. Don’t sell them!”
Charlie laughed at the very thought. Two women who looked like they should be in
the jungle, another without arms, and the superannuated whore Alex had married off
to one of his workers. He thought Alex had gone soft.
TABLES TURNED
Kate was right in insisting that Jessica should be Rachel’s prisoner. They walked
right past one of the male handlers on the way back to the breeding shed without
attracting any attention, other than the man getting an eyeful of Jessica’s naked
body.
Once inside the breeding shed Jessica was freed from the handcuffs.
“I want clothes like yours.” Jessica joked, fingering Rachel’s dungarees.
She didn’t have long to wait. As soon as Rachel handed over the tazer prod Jessica
took over. One of the breeders had to give up her frame to accommodate another one
of Brenda’s girls.
Three hours later Kate and Karen still hadn’t returned to the breeding shed.
Jessica was hardly able to run for it with her cracked ankle, so there was no
alternative but to wait and hope. A refrigerator full of sodas was raided to create
a party atmosphere, aided by some amusing entertainment that their captured former
keepers were providing.
A sudden assault on the breeding shed brought an end to their laughter. Three men
armed with pistols burst through the door. Jessica and Rachel dropped their tazers
and raised their hands. The three naked and newly pregnant women they had released
from their frames subtly distanced themselves by a few metres, implicating Jessica
and Rachel, not just as ringleaders but solely responsible for the current
situation. Cowardly behaviour perhaps, but who could blame them in the
circumstances? They hadn’t ask to be freed.
There was a hint of amusement behind the stern expressions of the gun-toting men.
“One, two, three, four, five of you.” One of the men counted with a point of his
gun, “but no empty breeding frames?”
He looked down the line of kneeling figures, all securely chained, all hooded
except one. This one was making something of a commotion.
“Jesus! It’s Brenda!”
Brenda’s noises were involuntary and incomprehensible. Jessica and Rachel had
decided some revenge was in order and had just the tools for the job. Nestled
between Brenda’s ample rump the inseminator was pumping away on a long stroke, with
its dreaded tremble option enabled. At the other end the milking machine was having
limited success in extracting any goodness from her dangling breasts, even though
their size promised so much more. The harness ballgag that so often tormented Kate
was now tormenting her nemesis; the straps dug deeply into the abundant flesh of
Brenda’s rotund and reddened face.
“She looks like a boiler about to blow,” said one of the men.
“It would be cruel to interrupt her now,” another replied. They could interpret
neither Brenda’s grunts nor her bewildered, crossed-eyed expression. They figured
it was safer to leave her to run her orgasmic course while they searched for the
other workers-turned-prisoners.
Removing the hoods of the breeders one by one, the pattern started to emerge: Their
colleagues were the ones gagged and dazed, having each been given a sedative jab.
One of their colleagues was easy to spot, due to the broad hairy back that couldn’t
be hidden by the breeders’ flimsy baby-doll dress.
“Steve?”
He strained to look up at them, gagged and bewildered, though his confusion rapidly
turned to embarrassment. The iron breeding frame and shackles holding him in the
breeders face-down kneeling position easily contained his frantic struggles.
One man produced a camera. “We’d better produce some evidence,” he announced trying
to hide his gleeful smile. “Look up at the camera Steve, then we’ll get you free.”
Steve was freed just in time to witness Brenda’s earthquake of an orgasm. Her
rhythmic grunting and growling was more reminiscent of a man or a wild animal than
a woman, yet all the witnesses, male and female, found something peculiarly sexy
about her reluctant performance. Her unlikely erotic show stopped when the
inseminator’s timer shut it off. They were wrong if they thought Brenda’s
mechanical rape would have softened her. She battled against her frame with a fury
and strength far greater than Steve’s. The men promptly released her before she
developed revengeful thoughts for each of them. She did, after all, hold the keys
to the penis restraints they wore.
While Brenda skulked off behind a partition to dress in her dungarees the three
breeders were locked back in their frames. There seemed to be some confusion after
the nurse had been freed from her frame; she was screaming about what had happened
to her uniform. Having already relinquished her breeder’s dress the nurse wore
nothing but a naked rage of indignation, much like Brenda’s but smaller and with
perkier breasts. She ran deliriously from the breeding shed in a mad scene all of
her own.
Brenda took charge again, stopping the men from releasing Billy, the fifth and
final staff member, from her frame. She crouched down and stroked Billy’s ball-
gagged and tear-stained face. “It’s all your fault Billy, because you were the
first one they captured. I have to punish you or people might accuse me of
favouritism. So I’m going to leave you locked in this breeding frame for the next
seven days.”
Billy sobbed, while Brenda was holding back her emotion too as she stood up to deal
with the two remaining culprits, Jessica and Rachel.
“She’s not a fucking breeder,” Brenda screamed at the men just as they were fixing
Jessica into a breeding frame. “Look! Ringed nipples! She’s a ponygirl, so why the
hell she’s in here I have no idea!”
With their shaved hair and uniform piercings, ponygirls looked much the same to
those, like Brenda, who didn’t work with them every day. But then she saw Jessica’s
heavily strapped ankle, and suddenly went pale. A visible shiver ran down her spine
as she realised that this ponygirl was supposed to be in the operating theatre.
The nurse returned, still naked, and in a worse state than when she left the
breeding shed a few minutes earlier. She was screaming, “Something terrible has
happened, something truly terrible!”

HANGING AROUND
Jessica, Rachel, Kate and Karen were reunited in a dungeon not long after.
Four stone pillars in a row, each separated by about a metre, held the four naked
women. Iron shackles, a permanent fixture on the pillars, held their wrists above
their heads, obliging them to remain standing. There was just enough slack for
Jessica to bend a hand down to scratch her nose. Tales of their adventures kept
them going, particularly Kate’s gruesome tale.
“After you and Rachel went back to the breeding shed I cut Karen out of her
cleaning restraints just as I said I would. I looked at Cavallo lying on the
operating table. She even looked evil while she slept. It made my blood boil to
think of what she was going to do to you Jessi. I asked Karen whether she minded
the sight of blood. She said she didn’t...
“So once I’d found theatre gowns and masks my mind was made up. We undressed the
bitch and threw her clothes in the furnace, then we shaved her head so she looked
like you. Karen did a great job...
“Then the surgical team arrived. I’d been in operating theatres many times before
and this wasn’t my first amputation, although it was for poor Karen. The surgeon
was excellent, the best money can buy, I’m sure. What can I say? The operation was
a success!”
“And here we are in the dungeon!” said Rachel, wondering might be their fate after
such an escapade. Nobody dared answer.
Jessica’s bawdy tale of how they got Brenda in a breeding frame lightened the mood
to such an extent that Kate could have keeled over with laughter if it were not for
the chains holding her upright. “And I’ll never forget the moment when they found
the man we put in the frame,” Jessica recalled, mimicking the man’s shocked voice.
“Steve?”
Evening had fallen, and the shaft of natural daylight had been replaced by the
faint glow of an electric light somewhere outside the dungeon. Since being chained
up no-one had attended to them with so much as a drink of water. Perhaps they would
wait until the middle of the night to whip us, Jessica thought. In the meantime,
spontaneous chuckles as they recollected their amazing day sustained them until
they were too tired to talk.
Jessica dreamed of the night of her first encounter with Master Alex on Rabbit
Island. He’d left her standing in chains, a bitter sweet torment that felt like a
beginning. By contrast, this felt like...

MORNING

All Madame Cavallo’s other loyal cronies were at her bedside when she awoke with
the morning sun. She was proud and stoical, although a tear sometimes rolled down
her cheek, to be elegantly wiped away by one of her handmaids. Lucinda was busy at
the dressing table making a wig for her mistress.
“The culprits are chained up in the dungeon Madame,” said Brenda in an attempt to
cheer up her employer. “What would you like us to do with them?”
Cavallo didn’t reply immediately, in fact several tense minutes elapsed. Nobody
spoke while Madame Cavallo was carefully considering her options. Finally she
turned her head slowly towards the man standing to her right, the island’s General
Foreman. With an expression neither angry nor smiling she gave her answer:
“Prepare the guillotine.”
                                 End of Chapter 21

                           coming soon... the guillotine



(Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any comments,
criticisms, suggestions and reviews are welcome.)
                             Chapter 22. The Guillotine

(Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)


The story so far:
(Ch. 18) The Bacchanal.
(Ch. 19) The Breeding Shed.
(Ch. 20) Escape from the Breeding Shed
(Ch. 21) The Operation

THE DUNGEON
Jessica had endured many more painful punishments, but never one that left her as
exhausted and dispirited as this. The joking and bravado which characterised their
first evening turned to despair as the four column-chained prisoners sought comfort
and rest where there was none. Jessica could either face her pillar, rubbing bare
breasts against the stone pillar, or turn her back to lean against it. All night
long she alternated restlessly between the two positions.
Judging by the light shining obliquely into the dungeon, the morning was several
hours old before somebody came to visit them. Brenda entered carrying a bucket of
water and an enamel mug.
Kate plucked up the courage to ask what was going to happen to them.
“It’s a surprise,” said Brenda, stuffing bread into Kate’s mouth, then tipping the
mug of water down her throat. She left before Kate had cleared her throat to ask
another question. The door closed with a heavy bang, then the key was turned,
reminding them of their hopeless plight.
The day passed slowly, mainly in silence, as Jessica, Kate, Rachel and Karen became
lost in their own thoughts. They were more likely to hear the splash of urine
between spread feet than any conversation. A network of hollow channels in the floor
effortlessly drained away their spillage, as it had for countless other prisoners in
the last hundred years.
The evening brought no respite save for another mouthful of bread, another mug of
water. A bucket of water was thrown over Kate’s feet, she was the only one who
needed that small mercy to clear away the mess she had made of herself many hours
before.
Karen complained of hunger, initiating the conversation they were trying to avoid.
“Pizza! I wonder if we can order a pizza. Pepperoni for me!”
“Enchiladas,” Rachel offered, “with beans.”
“Spaghetti bolognese!” Jessica chipped in, “with lots of Parmesan.”
“I’d give my right arm for a full English breakfast!” said Kate. Her comment was
greeted with silence until, for the first time that day, they laughed. Black humour
was all that was left to them.
Their interlude of conversation turned to the food on Rabbit Island and then to life
in general on the island. Karen’s memories were brief and unpleasant but the others
found many things to reminisce about. However bad, it was what bonded them together.
“It sounds crazy but I’d love to see that beach again,” Rachel said wistfully, “that
warm sea, the sand between my toes, the good friends, it was fun.”
“Aren’t you forgetting about the beatings, the bondage, the humiliation, the rapes?”
Karen interjected.
Rachel defended her position. “I am, I suppose. But they sure knew how to get the
right reaction from me. Did you know they kept detailed notes on how we responded to
their various situations? Then they tailored our treatment to what they considered
our preferences. After a while it was more like forced orgasm than rape. What can I
say? Sometimes I liked it! I’m sure it was helped by the drugs they gave us. I’ve
never wanted sex as much as when I was on Rabbit Island. When I was on the beach
with my hands locked behind me I’d often rub myself up against a coconut tree or
anything else I could put my thighs around. I swear to god I was nothing but a bitch
in heat on many days!”
Jessica noticed that Rachel was becoming animated in her tale, opening up far more
than usual. It was as if she felt compelled to talk about it. “Sometimes when we
were in the beach cabin we’d be deliberately mischievous when the pony driver came
with our meals, just so he could punish us, even though it wasn’t exactly punishment
we wanted. All I wanted was a man’s cock, and any way would do!”
Kate squirmed with arousal against her pillar. She knew the feeling very well. Her
mind turning to thoughts of Ray, the pony driver who hit his head in a fall - the
one she and Jessica rescued. She was feeling guilty that her desire for a man’s body
had so easily transferred to Riccardo.
Jessica and Kate looked sympathetically at each other in the evening gloom. Each
pitied the other, seeing her wrists being cut into by the iron manacles, as if they
were meat hanging up to dry. When they were awake it wasn’t a problem - just stand
up straight with your belly again the stone pillar and the shackles won’t hurt - but
at night, when they wanted so badly to sleep, they had all succumbed to hanging by
their wrists just to give their legs a rest.
They had learned the terrible difference between suffering and erotic torment.

HAVE A CIGAR
They stood at their pillars for four nights. The last day and night being more
miserable, pathetic and despairing that anything they had ever known.

On the fifth morning it changed. Brenda and Thelma - her new sidekick now that Billy
was in the breeding shed - came into the dungeon each carrying a heap of old leather
garments, heavy enough that they immediately dropped them to the floor once inside
the cell.
“I think you’ve been standing around long enough,” said Brenda. “It’s time for a
rest.”
Gradually the four prisoners roused themselves from semi-consciousness as Brenda
held up a shapeless brown leather garment.
“This is a cigar,” she announced, laying it on the ground while Thelma unlocked
Jessica’s shackles. “I expect after four days standing you would like to lie down.”
The words ‘lie down’ sounded like a siren’s call. Jessica was too weak to resist as
she was made to lay face down on the leather sheath. Thelma pulled Jessica’s weary
arms behind her and snagged her wrists together with two interlocking plastic cable
ties. Her ankles were crossed and likewise joined.
Then the lacing began. From ankles to neck Brenda and Thelma laced Jessica into the
leather. For five busy minutes they tugged out every millimetre of slack from the
criss-crossed laces. In parts the garment didn’t close fully leaving small diamonds
of Jessica’s back exposed, although not for want of trying by Brenda. The cigar had
a collar that folded down over where the laces finally knotted at the back of
Jessica’s neck. A small padlock threaded through two metal-grommeted holes to ensure
the lacing would not be tampered with.
Jessica struggled to take in enough breath as the cigar squeezed her body like a
python. She could barely bend at the knees and hips, yet despite her immobility and
shortness of breath it was a relief to be lying down at last.
While Jessica was being ‘cigared’ Kate peed, having realised that it might be her
last chance a while. Brenda heard the gentle splash and laughed.
“Clever girl. It’ll be your last chance! These cigars are Madame’s favourite you
know,” Brenda casually informed them. She seemed in good spirits, apparently
recovered from her orgasmic ordeal on the breeding frame, and not appearing to hold
a grudge against Jessica for putting her in the frame.
Shortly afterwards four cigared females were lying side by side on the cell floor.
“Brenda, why haven’t we been punished?” Kate asked, “I thought someone would have
whipped our hides off by now.”
“There’s no point in punishing you,” said Brenda. “My instructions were to keep you
secure. It was my idea to put you in cigars just in case you were too exhausted
before your big day.”
Kate tried to hide the alarm in her voice. “Big day? What kind of big day?”
“The kind of big day when people are reminded what happens to those who commit
terrible crimes.”
Kate lacked the courage for further questions. She had an idea what the big day
might involve but preferred to retain the glimmer of uncertainty that existed as
long as those words remained unspoken.
Much else would also go unspoken - Thelma was cutting four long strips from a roll
of three-inch surgical tape.
Brenda lifted Kate’s chin high off the floor ensuring that her jaws were clamped as
Thelma pressed the tape over Kate’s mouth and cheeks. Jessica, Karen and Rachel
submitted to the same treatment.
When Brenda left the cell, and the heavy key clanged as it turned the lock, there
was nothing to do but sleep.
It was many hours before they awoke, almost dusk. Jessica glanced at her neighbours
- Kate to her right, mmmphing something to herself as if devising a plan, and Rachel
to her left, her eyes red with tears. Jessica gave her a weak grunt of comfort, then
hoped that sleep would claim her for a few more hours. The tightness of the cigar
scarcely permitted even the idea of a struggle, let alone any real resistance.
The following day brought no change in their condition, and no visitor except Brenda
with bread and water. She inspected the row of four cigars, all shoulder-to-shoulder
just as she left them twelve hours earlier. Her heavy boots passed deliberately
close to their noses, leaving them in no doubt about their lowly status.
She bent down and yet still towered threateningly over them. Then she ripped the
tape from Kate’s face.
“Water! Please!” Kate croaked.
“Silly cunt! What else do you think I’m here for?” She ripped a piece of bread of
her small brown loaf and pushed it into Kate’s mouth. Mercifully the water followed
immediately behind it, soaking the bread and enabling Kate to swallow. Brenda
caressed Kate’s face and blonde hair as she craned her neck upwards to take on as
much water as possible.
“Want some juice?” Brenda asked.
“Yes please,” said Kate without hesitation.
Brenda suddenly let go of Kate’s chin, stood up, then sat down heavily on top of
Karen. Karen groaned as the little air she had in her lungs was expelled by Brenda’s
crushing weight. Mercifully Brenda stood up as soon as she’d removed her boots.
“Very comfortable!” she pronounced of Karen.
The prisoners were treated to a most unlikely striptease as Brenda unclipped the bib
of her dungarees. They dropped around her feet directly in front of Kate, filling
Kate’s view with her fat white calves.
“I meant pussy juice of course,” Brenda chuckled, “and if you do a good job your
friends will have bread and water too!”
Brenda sat her buttocks down on her dungarees and shuffled her ass forward until
Kate's face was pressed against the smelly folds of flesh around her sex. “Doesn’t
that feel nice?”
“Uh huh.”
“Good! Now starting making juice.” Brenda rasped.
Kate’s tongue gave a tentative lick and used her chin and nose to stimulate the
region. Then, as her tongue loosened and Kate became used to Brenda’s taste, she
licked deeper and deeper between the labial folds, then withdrew it onto Brenda’s
sizeable clitoris. When she felt Brenda’s finger gripping her short hair, Kate was
happy in the knowledge that Jessica, Rachel and Karen would soon have their bread
and water.
The days spent in Cervoix’s class ‘Oral Training for Slavegirls’ proved invaluable
as Kate put her distaste aside as she tried to bring Brenda to orgasm. Brenda’s
ever-rising moans seemed more of anger than pleasure, but her juice dripping from
Kate’s chin told a truer story.
Through gritted teeth and with her clenched hand almost pulling out Kate’s hair by
its roots, Brenda blasphemed her way a crude and lingering climax. Like a trooper,
Kate continued to lick even after Brenda’s palpitations had subsided.
Brenda stood up, as happy as someone who’d just been expertly fucked. Only after she
had put on her dungarees did she notice the prominent wet patches. It put paid to
any notion she might have had of making a quick exit, knowing that she would
encounter other people on her way out of the dungeon.
She replaced the tape over Kate’s mouth without offering her so much as a swig of
water. Then, keeping her word, she fed and watered the other three, taking her time
as she waited for the wet patches to dry.

THE BIG DAY
The next morning they were roused by the banging of hammers and the whine of rotary
saws. Something was happening outside. They were constructing something large, to
judge by the calls and shouts of workers.
A stage! Jessica definitely heard them talking about a stage. Cameras and lighting
were also mentioned. A look between her and Kate was enough: They knew they would be
taking part in whatever kind of show it was, and that Madame Cavallo would have her
retribution.
The cell door opened, and two burly men dressed in construction workers’ checked
shirts and jeans entered. “There they are,” one said as if he had spotted the wooden
planks he was looking for, although by then the girls looked no more attractive than
a wooden plank, and smelt a good deal worse.
High up on the back of a cigar there is a leather grab handle. Lifting one woman in
each hand them men dragged them from the cell, their bound and encased feet trailing
on the floor behind them. For Jessica, with her fractured ankle, the pain was
excruciating as she was bounced up a short flight of steps to ground level.
A ponygirl trailer was parked outside waiting. They were secured onto its flat bed
and netted over. Four bound-up bunnies constituted a light load, Jessica thought to
herself as the pony trap lurched unsteadily into motion. The gentle ‘hyar’ of
encouragement by the pony driver was unmistakable. Jessica had heard it hundreds,
perhaps thousands of times. No longer did she wonder what had happened to Riccardo.
Her spirits lifted. Surely he wouldn’t let anything terrible happen to them, would
he?
The ponygirls picked up their pace as they headed for the doctor’s surgery, but
Jessica still wasn’t impressed. She could do much better than these... if they would
only give her another chance.
Rubbing leather-encased shoulders with Jessica, Kate’s thoughts were not about
ponygirl performance, but pony driver performance. She was convinced Riccardo was
planning something to help them, perhaps taking them to another part of the island
where he would help them escape. It wasn’t to be. They stopped at the surgery. The
infamous surgery.

PREPARATIONS
They called them cigars, but Jessica thought ‘worm’ would be a better name, a
helpless brown wriggling thing at ground level. Watching the parade of shoes passing
by inches away from her nose she was left in no doubt about her worm-like status. A
familiar pair of white heels stopped in front of them. Kate craned her neck to look
up the slim white-stockinged legs. The stocking tops and garter fixings came into
view even before the hem of the dress. It was very familiar to Kate, the nurse’s
uniform she had commandeered from this very same nurse last week. Kate envied her
and longed to be wearing the tight white dress again, however unlikely that now
seemed.
“You’ll all be dressed splendidly for your last day,” the cheerful nurse reassured
them.
Jessica was the first to be unlaced from her cigar. The nurse and the other handlers
didn’t hide their disgust as Jessica’s body odour was unleashed, as if somehow she
might have taken care of her personal hygiene.
She was led from the room, almost too weak to walk. After a cold shower and scrub
they started to dress her. Much to Jessica’s surprise she was being rigged out as a
ponygirl - Rabbit Island style - even though they knew about her swollen ankle. She
stifled her scream as her ankle was fitted into her ponyboot. Surely they didn’t
expect her to run?
The leather harness was lifted over her shoulders to be strapped around her torso.
Her arms were hammerlocked behind her and buckled into a relatively comfortable
position. Her hands were made into fists and wrapped in the tight netted bags so
there was no chance of wriggling fingers ruining the aesthetics of a ponygirl’s rear
view. All the while somebody was applying make up to her face and rouging her lips
with a bright red gloss.
The bridle was fitted, Jessica opening her mouth and taking the bit between her
teeth and feeling the threaded prong of her tongue bar slip through the hole in the
middle of the bit. The bridle straps prevented the removal of the steel and rubber
bit but they still spun the wing nut onto the thread of her tongue bar. She didn’t
and couldn’t resist, so conditioned was she to complying with her pony dressing. It
wasn’t enjoyable like when Riccardo was doing the dressing, but after a week in hell
it felt oddly reassuring to be in ponygirl tack. Against her better judgement she
became hopeful.
The handlers and the nurse weren’t experts at ponygirl dressing but they managed it.
Jessica stood resplendent in formal ponygirl attire, complete with plumed headdress
and butt-plug holding a plaited tail of her own hair. They led her outside.
Riccardo was no longer there. A four-pony carriage had replaced his ponygirl
trailer. Behind the driver were two bench seats fancing inwards, wide enough for two
people on each side. Kate, Rachel and Karen were already seated, bound and gagged in
their costumes, each very different from the other.
Just as they were helping Jessica into the remaining seat alongside Kate somebody
called out:
“Let the ponygirl run behind!”
The suggestion was taken and Jessica was attached to the rear of the carriage by a
three-metre rein. They set off back to the main building.
The pace wasn’t as fast as Jessica feared, she could keep up well enough, because it
was an intermediate speed designed for a ceremonial trot. The four ponygirls up
front, healthy and well-drilled, executed their high steps with a precision that
Jessica couldn’t match, not without a searing pain in her ankle. It didn’t matter,
nobody demanded anything of her except to stay on her feet and not hold up the
carriage.
In front of Jessica sat Kate, looking back at her sympathetically. Her mouth was
covered with surgical tape, her eyes transmitted a rare anxiety, as if she had to
tell her something.
They soon reached the main building complex with its attractive lawned gardens.
There was to be a show, judging by the all equipment on view. When the carriage
stopped, Jessica saw two cameramen filming them from various angles. Handlers helped
the three prisoners down from the carriage giving Jessica her first look at them.
Kate was dressed in the same tight-fitting nurse’s dress that she wore during her
rescue but with a couple of crucial additions. As well as her taped mouth she had
her wrists taped behind her. Even her fingers had been taped together just in case
she harboured any more ideas of escape.
Rachel looked surprisingly elegant in a navy blue and gold evening dress and high
heels. Her bondage was just as elegant: cleave-gagged with a silk scarf, and further
silk scarves binding her wrists and elbows together.
Karen’s attire was more predictable. She wore a black wet-look corset and stockings
that accentuated her bust and shapely figure. She was ball-gagged and tightly bound
with white cord.
They were made up for the cameras, Jessica realised - something for all tastes. The
handlers were also made up for the cameras in a sense. They wore black half-masks
that covered the head and upper half of the face, like executioners.
The half-acre lawn area had been transformed into an arena, with stages and props
spaced around it. At the building’s side was a small luxurious grandstand,
accommodating perhaps thirty people. At their centre, in something akin to a royal
box sat Madame Cavallo. Flanking each side of her were two petite women covered from
head to toe in a close-fitting fabric. The only gap was a postbox sized opening for
their eyes.
Today was a special day, with each event to be fully savoured by the assembled
connoisseurs. These men and women had travelled thousands of miles to attend
Cavallo’s invitation-only event. The yachts in the harbour showed they had bank
balances to match their extravagant tastes.
Jessica and her three companions were made to sit down on a long bench, secured with
a thick chain threaded through all their bound arms. They were to star in the show’s
finale. Before that came the warmup acts.
How typical of Madame Cavallo to open her show with a crucifixion, just like the
regular Friday bacchanals!
A naked young woman was being laid out on a wooden cross, her limbs and body
thoroughly roped to it so that she would be firmly and safely held to the cross once
it was in the vertical position. She didn’t utter a sound as the nails passed
through the palms of her hands and into the hard wood. Nor did she make a cry when
her feet were nailed. Four men hoisted the cross up into its vertical stand. The
woman winced with pain as the rope bit into her flesh as it took her full weight.
Polite applause and murmurs of appreciation emitted from around the grandstand.
“We’ve created permanent piercings in her hands and feet,” Cavallo explained to her
nearest neighbours. “They’ve almost completely healed so this slave can be a full-
time crucifixion exhibit, providing she is properly secured. As you can see she is
quite skinny so there is very little weight to be supported.”
“Is she for sale?” one of the guests asked.
Cavallo smiled coyly. “Not officially, but we all have a price. Speak to me later.”
Now the crucified woman was presiding over the lawn, the show commenced.
A woman was crawling into view of the grandstand, led by a handler on a collar and
leash. He took her to the middle of the lawn. Kate recognised her as one of her
companions during her bitch-dog episode, horrified to discover that this woman was
still with the dogs more than a month later. The iron bitch-frame awaited her in the
middle of the lawn. She crawled onto the device, meekly allowing the handler to
secure her wrists, knees and ankles into the frame’s worn leather straps.
All the while a cameraman circled her looking for the best shots - the caress of
straps around her slender limbs, the ambiguous expression of humiliation and lust
upon the woman’s face. He closed in on her dangling breasts just as the handler
yanked her nipples downwards to meet the frame’s cruel serrated clamps. The live
pictures were fed straight to a Diamond Vision screen on the far side of the lawn.
It was a modest display by current standards, having served in a football ground for
several years before being replaced by more modern technology. Madame Cavallo picked
it up for a song several years ago.
“She’ll perform without the frame, but she seems to prefer being strapped in,”
Cavallo commented to her fellow spectators, “and who are we to deny her that small
pleasure?”
The bitch-woman squirmed in what can only be described as anticipation. Facing
neither the grandstand nor the large screen she seemed oblivious to her surroundings
as she waited for what had become her only pleasure in life. The barking dogs in the
distance caused an involuntary wiggle of her ass, captured by the video cameras of
course.
The first dog, a brown Doberman, was led onto the lawn, obedient but eager and
lustful. Its handler ensured that the bitch woman received a rough slobbering pussy
licking before allowing the dog to mount her.
The second dog, an English pointer, pointed the way to the bitch’s orgasm although
his brief performance left her gasping in pre-orgasm madness. Her face, mouth gagged
with a bitch’s regular bone and leather strap, the dilated pupils of her eyes
darting involuntarily from side to side, showed large upon the screen for the
delighted appreciation of the audience.
The third dog, a fat Saint Bernard, mounted her. Whether it was through her training
or her own needs was open to debate as the woman finally reached her orgasm whilst
still being vigorously pumped by the dog. She ‘woofed’ loudly throughout her orgasm
just as she had been trained.
While the crucified woman hung on her cross, and the bitch-woman slumped satisfied
yet dejected in her frame, the next event got under way:
It was the striping contest. Two men, two whips, and two naked females fixed into
adjacent frames, stretched taut like canvasses awaiting the brush strokes of a
painter. Except that the colour of the stripes came not from a painter’s brush but
from beneath their own skin.
Madame Cavallo reassured her guests that these two women really deserved their
upcoming punishment, but felt no obligation to go into details.
Each naked woman had separate ropes around each wrist and ankle, connecting their
limbs to the four corners of an upright frame, like a wide doorway. The crank and
pulley system built into the frame clicked and clacked as a handler turned the cog.
The women’s feet gradually lost contact with the ground as their wrists were pulled
to the top corners of the frames. Then, as the heavy ropes pulled tighter still,
their ankles were drawn towards the bottom corners until all slack had been removed,
leaving the women tethered in mid-air like sails on a mast. Pain was etched on their
faces as they struggled for breath.
After a brief pause, allowing the human canvasses to catch their breath, the cranks
were turned one further notch. Gasps came from the women, and several from the
grandstand too, fearing that their limbs might dislocate at any moment.
The rules of the striping competition were simple. Taking alternate turns the two
men would lash the whip against their chosen targets trying to make distinct
horizontal welts at approximately two-inch intervals. Drawing blood was permitted
but not encouraged; that was better left for the flaying contest that evening, where
those with a penchant for blood and suffering properly indulged their passion.
The red striping of female flesh commenced. Each lash of the whip garnered either
polite applause or muttered disappointment from the grandstand, depending equally on
the sound of the whip crack, the mark it made and the women’s screams. When they
were evenly striped from shoulder to ankles the frames were turned around so that
they faced the grandstand, although by that stage the women knew and cared little
about the change of orientation.
The whipmasters grabbed a bottle of water each and shared a private joke as they
oiled their whips during the five-minute half-time interval. They resumed their
positions, and without prompting the spectators quietened for the second half. This
time their whips worked upwards from shins to breasts.
After the third lash against the thighs, the whipmasters turned to the grandstand,
as if waiting for permission for their next very special stroke. It was granted. In
tandem they lowered their whips and lashed upward between the splayed legs of their
victims. Their cries of agony came in tandom also, but were largely drowned by
applause.
The men continued to stripe the women, at the hips, belly, rib cage, and finally
their breasts. One of the whipmasters caught both his woman’s nipples with a single
blow. She seemed to jerk; then hung her head, the pain too much for consciousness to
endure. The whipmasters received the applause and took their bows. Judging would
commence in half an hour, when the flushing of the slavegirls’ skin had receded
enough to accentuate the full glory of their striping.
Cavallo had just the thing to entertain her guests in the meantime - a ponygirl
parade.
Jessica had kept her eyes shut throughout the whipping and wished she could have
blocked her ears too, but the sight and sound of ponygirls renewed her attention to
proceedings.
The first pair to make a circuit were nothing special, though the sleigh bells on
their boots made a harmonious rhythm reminiscent of the ponygirls on Rabbit Island.
The next pair were better drilled, stepping with a precision that even a casual
spectator could appreciate. The driver was Riccardo, but he didn’t even glance in
the direction of his former ponygirl and the slavegirl that he had frequently
dallied with. Jessica and Kate could only stare, though Jessica reminded herself
that Riccardo was always incredibly focussed during pony displays.
Receiving polite applause from the grandstand - these people were here for much
stronger action - Riccardo parked his ponygirls on the outer edge of the lawn.
Next to appear was Madame Cavallo’s pride and joy. A ponygirl threesome, so
incredibly lithe and graceful; slim and yet powerful too. An uninitiated observer
mightn’t notice immediately that their slimness and the snug fit of their
leatherbodies was due to their being upper-amputees. Jessica admired their precise
paces, admitting to herself that she would never be as good as them, yet failing to
acknowledge how bizarre it was that she wanted to attain such a skill, and at such a
price.
It didn’t matter anyway. Jessica was only trying to take her mind off the stage
equipment on the far side of the lawn. A French guillotine and a hanging noose
loomed large and threatening over all the previous events. Jessica’s mind was in
turmoil, her vision a blur, as she tried to concentrate on the intricate stepping of
the armless ponygirls. Not even Kate rocking anxiously beside her could attract her
attention. She yearned to stand up and shout that she was willing to go through with
the operation after all, better to lose your arms than your head, she told herself!
The armless ponygirls trotted to the edge of the lawn, joining their inferiors,
turning to face the scene of the execution. Even before they had settled into their
position a booming bass drum sounded, slow and portentous.
A group of masked men took Jessica and Kate to the scaffold. One man on each arm
proved not enough as Jessica violently twisted herself from their grasp. Another man
came to assist, pushing Jessica from behind and forcing her up the stage. Kate
followed with equal unwillingness. The bass drum continued to bang so slowly it
could scarcely be called a beat.
They forced Jessica to her knees, pushing her head between the two wooden retaining
sections. A brutal hand pushed her neck down into the semi-circular cut out. The
upper piece dropped with such weight that for a ghastly moment it felt like the
guillotine blade itself. With her neck trapped between two-inch thick wooden planks
and her body strapped into a harness all Jessica could do was wait, unable to
comprehend that this horror was really happening.
Just two yards away Kate was being prepared, fitted with a double dildo harness. Two
cameramen were capturing every detail of her struggle, focusing on a close-up of
Kate’s pussy as the monstrous phallus was forced into her. The handlers strapped it
neatly beneath her dress, tidying the white skirt so that she was presentable for
the cameras. Then she was noosed, and forced to stand on her tiptoes on a small
block of wood. The soles of her high heels struggled to find a grip as the coarse
rope noose was pulled tight, choking her even before it took her weight.
One of the cameras left Kate’s trembling body to follow the noose upwards, detailing
her exquisitely awful predicament. The rope was threaded through a series of pulleys
and towards the guillotine, finally tied onto the lever which would release the
guillotine’s blade.
When Kate toppled from her precarious perch, as she surely would once her vibrating
dildos were switched on, the last thing she would see was the blade slicing through
Jessica’s neck.
Madame Cavallo was delighted by her idea, and the way it demonstrated that the
actions of one slave can have a terrible effect on others. It was no coincidence
that so many slavegirls and ponygirls were present to witness this ultimate
punishment. It was something they would never forget.
The bass drum ceased. The drummer removed the shoulder straps and rested it on the
ground with its heavy beaters. He then picked up the snare drum, looping the strap
around his neck, took a drumstick in each hand and waited for a signal. It came from
the video director once he was sure his three cameramen were positioned and taping.
The rasping drumroll started. Many in the grandstand shuffled in their seats in
anticipation at this rare spectacle, whilst groans of horror came from the slaves.
The executioner approached Kate from behind, brutishly grabbing her breasts through
the fabric of her dress; kissing her, even biting her on the neck. Then he reached
between her buttocks and switched on the vibrators.
Kate gasped, eyes wide open in terror as she tried to breathe. The executioner left
the stage, leaving just her and Jessica. The latter’s fate was utterly in her hands,
the ultimate test of her endurance and self-control. The vibrations inside her were
insistent, irritating and unsettling. Did they really think she might be turned on
by such treatment? An orgasm in death?
She adjusted her feet on their narrow perch, almost slipping. Just as she regained
her composure somebody pushed her from behind, her flailing feet lost contact with
the platform. It felt like her ribs were cracking.
The tug of the noose lessened rather than increased. Kate became aware of commotion
all around her. People were rushing towards the stage.
A gunshot sounded, followed by a loud scream of pain. Kate immediately sensed it
wasn’t Jessica. Then the executioner ran in front of her holding half of his
mutilated and blood-spurting hand in front of him.
“It’s me Kate,” a voice in her ear said, “stop struggling or I might drop you!”
Riccardo continued to hold Kate’s panicking body against his knowing she would be
hanging if he let go. And needing both hands to hold her, he couldn’t remove the
noose.
Kate looked down in amazement as a fist fight erupted immediately below her in front
of the stage. A man she’d never seen before, a giant of a man, flattened two of the
execution gang with successive swings of his formidable fists. She could have sworn
he winked at her.
She recognised the next man as he leapt athletically onto the three-foot high stage.
It was Vince. It took a moment for Kate to register the significance. Why was Vince
on La Plata?
With genuine urgency Vince lifted the top slat from Jessica’s neck and helped her
unsteadily to her feet.
Jessica saw Kate wide-eyed in panic, knowing that a noose around the neck and feet
not touching the ground wasn’t good.
Vince loosened and lifted the noose from Kate’s neck. Riccardo’s relief was audible
as he’d been holding Kate in mid-air for more than a minute. He turned her to face
him and hugged her again.
“Excuse me. Your man just shot one of my men!” Cavallo shouted out to a middle-aged
man standing imperiously amid the chaos that had descended on her carefully
choreographed video movie.
“He’ll live!” Master Alex said pointedly.
Cavallo was indignant. “You weren’t invited to this event. This is for specially
invited guests only. You’ve ruined my movie!” Her black-clad sidekick on her right
shook her fist at him.
Alex merely smiled. “I’ve come to collect my slaves. My need of them is clearly
greater than yours.”
Whilst Alex and Madame Cavallo conducted their conversation in front of the
disarrayed grandstand his four bewildered slaves were hustled down to the dock area.
The specially invited guests were dispersing - a gala supper awaited them.
They also had inspections to do: The striped women were still stretched out in the
frames, the girl on the bitch-frame, the crucified woman and all the ponygirls. The
gallows and guillotine demanded inspecting too. Some guests were muttering that the
dramatic conclusion to the afternoon’s event had been staged and there never was to
be a real execution.
Alex climbed the few steps into the grandstand up to Cavallo’s level.
“Have you seen what they did to me?” Cavallo sniffed, glancing at each shoulder.
Alex offered his genuine condolences, promising to punish the offenders severely
when they returned to Rabbit Island. As he listed a series of imaginative and
bizarre punishments that Kate and Jessica would be made to suffer Cavallo’s mood
lightened considerably.
The damage done, her festivities all-but-ruined, she nonetheless invited him to stay
for supper. Alex accepted. It would have been rude to refuse. Besides, he had known
her since she was ten years old, back in the days when her father ruled La Plata
(and her) with an iron fist.
Another man was also invited to dine at Cavallo’s table. A distinguished grey-haired
man in his sixties, he was the owner of the largest yacht in the harbour, the one on
which Alex and Vince had sneaked a ride. Ranulph Markham cared little for Madame
Cavallo, receiving the invite to her deathly festivities because of his connections
and influence in their slave society, certainly not because of any friendship
between them.
“Have you met my Siamese twins before?” Cavallo asked, nodding at the small lycra-
clad women flanking her. The one to her right waved cutely with her right hand, the
one on her left with her left hand. “You could say we’ve become quite attached this
last few days. They are my new arms.”
She didn’t show them exactly how attached they were - this was a practical
arrangement not a sexual one. The thick belt drawn tight around Cavallo’s narrow
waist was their securing point. A single set of handcuffs attached to the back of
the belt held one wrist of each twin. Having been waited on and pampered all her
life Cavallo was adapting quickly to her new life.
The other female making up the dining foursome (the twins didn’t count) was Lucinda.
Alex exchanged an awkward greeting with the bronze-necked beauty. She wasn’t at all
what he expected, which isn’t to say he was disappointed.
During supper Alex admired how well the twins were managing to feed their mistress,
even managing a knife and fork between them. Cavallo accepted their mistakes and
fumblings graciously. She was as gracious in public as she was cruel in private.
If Alex and Ranulph Markham could hardly bear to look at Cavallo, they couldn’t take
their eyes off Lucinda - that beautiful face atop her impossibly long bronze-encased
neck. Cavallo readily extolled Lucinda’s praises, explaining how her kindness and
loyalty had helped at such a terrible time.
Alex needed no further convincing as to Lucinda’s qualities. He and Lucinda
exchanged many fleeting glances during dinner each one accompanied by a knowing
smile. Seldom had Alex been so immediately taken with somebody. It wasn’t just with
her unique beauty, but her coolness and bravery too. She had telephoned him almost
daily during the last few weeks, keeping him informed of unfolding events and
nervously relaying Riccardo’s messages. La Plata’s only telephone was in Cavallo’s
private quarters, so she had been taking considerable and repeated risks. She also
influenced Cavallo’s thinking that Riccardo, having promised to stop interfering
with La Plata’s affairs, should be allowed to resume his innocuous job of pony
trainer.
“I can see that Lucinda is very special. How much will you sell her for?” Markham
enquired.
Far from being rude, in these circles it was good manners to enquire about the value
of another’s slaves, and there was a certain pleasure in having such a conversation
in that very slave’s presence. Having been a slave all her life, and sold once
before, Lucinda was more curious than embarrassed as she waited for Cavallo’s
considered answer.
“When I sell her it will be for half a million dollars,” Cavallo answered. Markham
nodded. It was about what he expected. Lucinda had no idea what such an amount of
money meant. For all she knew a cup of coffee might have cost a thousand dollars.
“Interested, Alex?” Markham asked.
He raised his eyebrows. “Very! She’s beautiful, intelligent, charming, loyal and
unique. It would be a bargain.”
Lucinda smiled coyly and blushed. She had a good life on La Plata but found herself
wondering what life could be like on Rabbit Island with Master Alex and, of course,
Riccardo.
She had to continue wondering. After an hour and a half Alex and Markham took their
leave of Madame Cavallo having consumed a bottle of wine each.
When Alex kissed Madame Cavallo goodbye her twins wrapped their arms around him in
lieu of a Cavallo hug. They got that wrong. Their mistress never hugged men, not
even Alex.
Alex and Markham declined the offer of a ponygirl ride to the harbour, opting for a
satisfying post-prandial fifteen-minute walk instead.

ON BOARD INSPECTION
To say Jessica and Kate were pleased to be leaving La Plata was an understatement.
Kate’s vibrator was still running as the walked down to the harbour. She crumpled to
the ground as an orgasm rippled painfully through her. She stayed there writhing and
panting for several minutes before being helped to her feet by Riccardo. He was as
eager to get away from La Plata as anybody.
Riccardo dusted her down. “Feel better now?” he asked rather condescendingly. Kate
could only nod in the affirmative. She did appreciate his hand around her waist as
she staggered the rest of the way.
The four rescued slaves waiting on the rear deck seating weren’t in good humour when
Alex stepped aboard Markham’s sleek 150-foot yacht an hour after them. Riccardo
followed Alex’s instruction not to release them until he returned, obeying to the
letter in leaving them all gagged, dressed and bound. Meanwhile the ship’s captain
entertained him on the bridge.
Jessica was accustomed to spending a day in harness while Kate’s nurse’s uniform and
tape were the least of her problems compared to the dildo still strapped into her.
The batteries had long since expired.
Rachel, in her dress and silk scarf bondage was suffering nothing more than
tiredness, thirst and hunger.
Karen, in her latex corset, stockings, high heels, ballgag and very tight ropework
biting into her flesh was faring worse, with pain and stress etched on her face.
Riccardo made them stand to attention when Master Alex approached.
Alex inspected their weary bodies, surprised to find anger instead of gratitude in
their eyes. His supper date with Cavallo hadn’t helped. He addressed them as a major
might address his soldiers: “I have promised Madame Cavallo that the slaves who
carried out those dreadful deeds shall be severely punished.”
Four heads dropped in collective despair. He continued: “And several months ago
Madame Cavallo promised to care for my slaves and to ensure they were kept safe. So
I think we’re even now, don’t you? You will be punished in due course, but only when
we return to on Rabbit Island. Now you’ll be taken to your quarters, unbound and
given food and rest. It looks like you need it.”
Vince led the way through a luxurious cream leather and teak-panelled stateroom.
Kate, Karen, Rachel and Jessica following eagerly behind with two words bouncing
around in their brains: Food and rest!
As Jessica walked past Alex he grabbed her, pulling her backwards onto his chest,
holding her body against his. He groped her with deliberate crudeness, a finger
worming its way between her padlocked labia. He nuzzled his nose into the crook of
her neck as if savouring her sweaty aroma. She smelt the alcohol on his breath as he
whispered something in her ear.
Jessica angrily shrugged herself from his grasp and walked quickly away to catch up
with her companions.
Alex liked Jessica’s face - a lot - but admired even more the view of her rear,
particularly when, as now, the perfect curve between her sturdy thighs, hips and
trim waist was accentuated by pony strapping and a tight waist band.
And now she had a new point of interest: Between her thighs, descending from her
butt-plug, was the plaited pony tail made from her own hair. He preferred Jessica’s
luxuriant thick hair to be on her head, but felt an erotic tingle when sensing the
humiliation she must feel at the shaving and relocation of her crowning glory.
Jessica’s hands, netted into fists and fixed to the belt in the small of her back,
were straining for freedom. Perhaps she wanted to strike him? He didn’t mind. What
was the point of restraining a female who didn’t need restraining?
Jessica needed control and restraint in so many respects, and Alex, seeing her for
the first time in several months, suddenly remember how much he enjoyed giving her
what she needed.

REST, RECUPERATION & REGRETS
The scarves knotted around Rachel’s wrists and elbows had become so tight that
nothing short of a sharp knife could release her. Vince also cut through the tape of
Kate’s bondage. Then he closed the door on the small bedroom leaving Rachel and Kate
to release Jessica and Karen. It couldn’t come soon enough.
The bedroom, on the lowest of the ship’s three floors, contained two pairs of man-
sized bunk beds. The accommodation consisted of a built-in dressing table, drawers
and a wardrobe, and an en-suite shower room. They each showered hastily, not wanting
to deprive others of that pleasure for a moment longer than necessary.
The door knocked, a key turned, and a man entered the room carrying a tray of food:
a platter of sandwiches, other snacks and a selection of drinks.
Kate’s eyes studied the slim young man in his smart maroon uniform - clearly one of
the ship’s crew. She smiled. “You don’t need to knock. We haven’t any clothes to
wear, so we’ll be naked no matter how much warning you give us.”
He retreated from the room with a nervous smile, overwhelmed by sight and smell of
the four freshly showered naked bodies. The door locked behind him. For a few
moments they stood and stared unbelieving at the feast he had laid before them...
then the scramble started.
Kate noticed something else on the tray and squealed with delight “Oh my god!
Champagne!”
The bottle had already been uncorked, so Kate quickly slopped it into the plastic
glasses. A half bottle didn’t go far between four but nobody was complaining. They
settled back on the bunks, eating, drinking, talking and laughing loudly until a
hand banged several times on the door.
“Keep it down,” said Vince’s commanding voice. They chuckled quietly like
schoolgirls.
Kate saw that Jessica seemed pensive after their burst of euphoria wore off. “What’s
up, Jessi?”
“Oh! It’s Master Alex. He annoyed me.”
“I saw him grab you, the horny devil. I expect he was pleased to see his favourite
ponygirl again!” teased Kate.
“Madame Cavallo was right!”
“Don’t be silly, how can she be right about anything?”
“While I was strapped to the operating table, she spoke about him. She said his
method of torture was far worse than anything she could devise.”
“That sounds unlikely, Jessi.”
“She meant mentally and emotionally. That he would screw me up badly.”
Kate sighed. “Well Jessi, looking at you right now, I think maybe she had a point.
But would you rather be on La Plata where men are cruel and women are crueller?
Besides, I really don’t think they’d have us back.”
“Of course I don’t want to go back. I just wish he wouldn’t mess with my mind.”
“It’s gone!” interrupted Rachel, who had been staring out of the porthole for some
time. La Plata’s peaks had disappeared from the dark horizon. “I never thought I’d
be glad to return to Rabbit Island!”
“It’s only the lesser of two evils, it’s not paradise,” Karen reminded her. “You’ll
soon be strung up, whipped and fucked. Their chains are like anyone else’s chains!”
Rachel might have corrected Karen on that point except she wasn’t the arguing type.
She knew Rabbit Island’s handcuffs had smooth, rounded edges that didn’t cut into
her wrists like La Plata’s. She fingered the handcuffs which were fixed by a chain
to the headboard of each bunk. The foot of the bunk had a similar arrangement for
the ankles. They were the same type as Rabbit Island’s.
The precise low frequency throb of the ship’s engines seemed louder as the revs
increased, and as their conversation petered out with tiredness. Each retired,
defeated by exhaustion, to her bunk. Kate and Jessica were side by side on the lower
bunks. Karen, on the top bunk, switched of the main light to leave just the faint
red glow of emergency lighting.
Jessica slipped her hands into the cuffs and quietly ratcheted them closed.

MIDNIGHT VISITOR
While the slaves slept in their quarters, the men drank and talked in the luxurious
stateroom on the floor above them.
“When Lucinda told me they planned to do mock executions ‘a la Tosca’,” Riccardo
recounted, “that’s when I knew it was serious. She said Cavallo had promised it
would only be pretend executions. I explained that Tosca the opera wasn’t like that.
Just like in the opera they were only pretending to pretend. Typical of Cavallo’s
humour!”
“So true! When Ranulph received his faxed invitation I knew we’d be at the event in
perfect time, invited or not!” Alex shook his head. “I still can’t believe she was
going to do it. In fact, not until the very last moment did I believe it!”
A silence descended as Riccardo, Vince, Alex, Ranulph Markham and Cormack, his
handsome giant of a bodyguard, considered the possibility. “But we’ve never had our
arms amputated by a slave,” Vince reminded them.
“Nor have we wanted to amputate a slave’s arms,” Alex added, “and on that subject,
I’m going to check on the slaves now.”
He’d had his fill of alcohol on La Plata and late in the evening he was fully sober,
even though the others had continued to drink - Markham, Cormack, Vince and
particularly Riccardo still drinking in some quantity as they mused on the day’s
events.
Alex opened the door into the slave’s darkened room. The four bodies were
motionless.
He seemed to instinctively know which was Jessica’s bunk, as if by smell alone.
Bending down to his knees he spoke softly to her, even though, or perhaps because,
she was sleeping.
He wanted to touch her, but didn’t. He sighed and spoke softly in her ear.
“I meant what I said, Jessica. I really did miss you.”
                                 end of chapter 22


     coming soon... on board games, the companion slave, Jessica tied in knots
  (Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any comments,
                 criticisms, suggestions and reviews are welcome.)
                            Chapter 23. Slave to Fortune
               (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)

The story so far:
(Ch. 19) The Breeding Shed
(Ch. 20) Escape from the Breeding Shed
(Ch. 21) The Operation
(Ch. 22) The Guillotine

It was like a nightmare from which there was no escape. Jessica tried to open her
eyes but couldn’t. Her hands and feet were locked in shackles that held her body
stretched out on a slab. People were doing something to her nipples, tugging on
them. Her hips were held down. She sensed they were about to operate.
“That’s better. Now I’ve got you,” said the female voice above her - her captor.
“You’re never going to get away from me again!”
It had to be Madame Cavallo, but somehow the voice didn’t fit. Hands, obviously a
woman’s, lovingly cupped her breasts and then something rubbed against them almost
tickling. It felt like rope.
“Jessi, are you awake?”
Her mind was playing tricks. The voice sounded like Kate’s. Why then, Jessica
wondered, is she torturing me? She felt a mild pain in the ribs as if someone was
digging something into her.
“Wake up!” The voice demanded through gritted teeth, the probing of her ribs became
incessant, infuriating, and Jessica could do nothing to repel it. If she wasn’t
blindfolded and gagged she might have pleaded for mercy at that moment. She had to
try.
“Stop!” Jessica said, surprising herself that she was able to speak. She opened her
eyes and met blinding daylight, not the darkness she expected. The gag and blindfold
were only in her dream.
Kate was smiling at her. “Good morning Jessi. Did you sleep well?”
Jessica gradually gained consciousness. “I thought I was being operated on.”
“No more operations for you. We’re safe now. Remember?”
Jessica looked around the room and suddenly remembered: The ship! Sitting astride
her hips was Kate, her face lit up with joy.
“What are you doing?” Jessica asked.
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”
Jessica chuckled. “This is what you call waiting? And this rope?” She was referring
to the length of rope running through her nipple rings and tied off at each end to
one of Kate’s wrists.
“There was nothing else to play with,” Kate explained. Perfectly rational behavior,
she thought.
“Damn it Katie, you’ve cuffed my ankles too!”
“Sorry Jessi, I was bored. I saw your feet poking out from the sheet and the ankle
cuffs lying next to them. I couldn’t help myself, but I fixed them loosely so it
won’t hurt your bad ankle. Anyway,” Kate added mischievously, “It wasn’t me who
cuffed your hands, was it?”
“Well, I thought it was required, like in the ponygirl quarters. I did it before I
went to sleep.”
“Oh Jessi, you’re such a good obedient slave, and sexy too!” Kate teased.
Jessica frowned. “Sexy? Look at me! Hair like an army recruit, the thighs of
Bulgarian weightlifter, and this metal contraption in my mouth making me speak
funny!”
Kate laughed. “I’d give you one if I were a man! I’d ram my throbbing cock into your
cunt and fuck your brains out!” Kate bounced herself on Jessica’s loins as if to
demonstrate. “And I’d keep you chained to my bed as my personal fuck toy.”
“Oh, that’s just great,” Jessica sighed, “even my best friend wants to make me her
sex slave! What hope is there for me?”
“None whatsoever,” said Kate. She leant forward, almost face-to-face with Jessica,
and spoke in barely a whisper, “not until we escape!”
“Katie, you forgot to add ‘again’.”
“Until we escape again. Properly. Once and for all!”
“I suppose you’re going to overpower that Cormack guy and take control of the ship.”
“Perhaps. But I may need to seduce him first,” Kate winked. “You know. Get to know
him, build up trust.”
“Size him up. Feel the strength of his muscles. Find out if he’s as good a fuck as
he looks.”
Kate feigned a look of shock, but not disgust, at the suggestion. “Why, I ought to
punish you for saying such a thing, but I’m too damn tired. I think I’ll go back to
bed.”
She snuggled into the gap between Jessica’s body and the wall until she’d made a
comfortable nest for herself. The rope connecting her wrists to Jessica’s nipples
remained. “Mind if I sleep here for a while?”
Jessica yawned contentedly. “I don’t have any choice, do I?”
THE ENVELOPE
“You seem preoccupied,” Markham observed to his breakfast companion as they sipped
orange juice. “Something in the envelope they gave you yesterday?”
Alex looked up from the papers he was reading. “No, everything’s fine. Do you think
I was right to leave one of my slaves with Cavallo as compensation?”
“It seemed reasonable in the circumstances. It’s hardly compensation, for what
happened to her, but it was a good gesture. What was her name?”
“Mandy.”
“I don’t recollect her.”
“Nor I. I didn’t know her well.”
“Don’t worry, Alex. I’m sure she’ll be fine on La Plata. I think we’ll see a kinder,
gentler Argenta Cavallo from now on.”
“No jokes about being armless please Ranulph. I’m still concerned about Janie, one
of her previous victims, and what the hell we going to do with her on Rabbit
Island.”
“The same thing you do to all the others, old boy,” Markham said with his throaty
chortle. “You worry too much lately. Try not to get emotionally involved. I’ve said
it before; you should get yourself a companion slave like my Linsey. Then you’ll
have an outlet for these kind of feelings.”
“A companion slave?” Alex shook his head, “It’s not practical. I travel too much,
and I’m not as wealthy as you are.”
“What else is in the envelope?” Markham enquired, trying to read the upside-down
printing in Alex’s hand.
“As well as the DVD of Kate on the bitch-frame we watched last night, there are
other photos, some nice ones of the ponygirls. They’ll go up on the wall in the
ponygirl quarters. The Island’s ponygirls have a strange curiosity for their
photographs for some reason.” He laid them out on the table for Markham to view.
“There’s also a couple of padlock keys. One is for Jessica’s padlock I assume.”
“You hope!” Markham winked at him.
“And medical reports on the four slaves. All are in good health, although with her
ankle fracture Jessica won’t be resuming her ponygirl work for several weeks. It’ll
take that long to reactivate the activities of the island anyhow.”
“Looking forward to it Alex?”
Alex leant back in his chair and smiled. “The new and improved Rabbit Island. I
can’t wait!”
SLAVE TO FORTUNE
What better way to keep everything ship-shape than to have four beautiful naked
women scrubbing the decks? Markham’s ship, ‘Slave to Fortune’ was gleaming.
In truth, it was no more arduous than any housework. Nearby Riccardo and Alex were
also busying themselves on the deck as they waited for sunset.
Kate had renamed Riccardo ‘The Hosemaster’ as he hosed the decks while the women
scrubbed them. He didn’t seem to mind the name, and even Alex had taken to calling
him by it.
Riccardo found a blast of cold water from the high-pressure jet proved as effective
as a whip in keeping the slaves on the job. It was easier to aim and required almost
no effort compared with a whip. It was also more fun, he discovered, while
attempting to give Jessica an enema from six feet away.
“There are four more things to be cleaned.” Riccardo announced, just as they thought
everything was done. The slaves groaned, their arms aching, unaccustomed to work
after their week of immobility. He pointed his finger at each of them in turn. “One,
two, three, four! You first Jessica.”
He made Jessica kneel doggie-style in the middle of the deck then slipped a choker
chain over her head and handed Rachel the leash. Then he rinsed a sponge and pushed
the whole thing into Jessica’s mouth; to prevent her swallowing soapsuds, he
explained lamely. From that moment, their previous playfulness developed an edge of
sexual tension, which Jessica’s body language did nothing to dispel as she
anticipated her sponge and hose bath.
Equipped with fresh buckets of warm soapy water the other slaves gave Jessica a bath
like nothing she had every known. Perhaps it was the sunshine, the luxury of the
Slave to Fortune, and the informality of Riccardo and Alex that made them
participate so wholeheartedly in Jessica’s cleansing.
Riccardo reminded Jessica’s cleaners that they should get into all her crevices.
Kate had anticipated his command and took up the prime position at Jessica’s rear
end. She rubbed the sponge vigorously on Jessica’s sex as if removing a stubborn
stain, pushing provocatively against Jessica padlocked labia with each stroke.
Jessica’s back legs began to collapse in response to the stimulation until she was
sitting on Kate’s hand. Riccardo intervened with his bare foot rising between her
legs, obliging her to lift her ass up.
“She’s never had puppy training,” Kate joked.
“Unlike you, Kate. I remember that time on Rabbit Island. What a fine puppy girl you
made. A natural bitch I’d say. Then on La Plata you went up to the next level.”
Kate quickly returned her attention to scrubbing Jessica as if she wasn’t listening,
but Riccardo wasn’t done:
“You were equally memorably in the bitch-dog program. We were watching the video of
you last night. What a spirited performance you gave until you changed from
resistance to willingness! You certainly have a way with your canine admirers.”
Kate sniffed back her tears as she rubbed absent-mindedly on Jessica’s belly, never
expecting Riccardo of all people to remind her of that most humiliating memory - her
dog-induced orgasm on the bitch frame.
“And all the time I was thinking of you,” she muttered bitterly, not intending that
anyone should hear.
“It makes me want to roll my sleeves up and get stuck in myself,” Alex joked,
lightening the mood again in an instant. The sight of Jessica kneeling on all fours
and dripping in soapsuds had stirred him more than he expected.
He walked around her to take in the front view. Jessica’s dark eyes looked up at
him, not with their usual defiance, but with a mild confusion. She managed to mmmph
an acknowledgement to him from her sponge-filled mouth. White soapsuds flowed
sensuously from her hair and face. Alex coughed, and quickly brushed his hand
against the front of his shorts.
After a refreshing high-powered rinse by Riccardo the Hosemaster, Jessica had her
chance to reciprocate, or gain her revenge, on Kate. As an experienced bitch Kate
managed to hold her doggie position despite determined and provocative sponging from
Jessica.
THE SUN LOUNGERS
The afternoon of cleaning and being cleaned ended. Jessica was happy with the
instruction that she should rest awhile on a sun lounger. She laid down and got
comfortable while Riccardo secured a light shackle to her left ankle.
Alongside her on the other lounger was a woman Jessica had seen briefly earlier in
the day. She too wore a shackle around her left ankle, a sign perhaps of their equal
status, Jessica assumed. She was reading, but put down the heavy novel and offered
her hand for a feminine handshake. “Hello. I’m Linsey. Mr. Markham’s companion
slave.”
“I’m Jessica. A Rabbit Island ponygirl.”
Linsey’s eyebrows lifted, as if impressed. For the first time she was meeting a real
ponygirl.
Jessica understood she was English to judge by her accent, and was around her own
age. Although quite pretty (slim and shapely with long auburn hair) it wasn’t
Linsey’s natural looks that attracted Jessica’s attention, but her body, or rather
the designs upon her skin.
“I like your tattoos,” Jessica said as her eyes roamed the length of Linsey’s slim
body.
“Thanks. I’m not finished yet,” Linsey explained. Brilliant, colourful designs of
birds, butterflies, flowers and fruit caressed her body, literally from head to toe,
in a continuous ever-changing pattern. Jessica was particularly impressed with how
the design swirled around one breast leaving the other unmarked as it swirled under
her arm and reappeared over her shoulder, up her neck, culminating in a delicate red
rose on her cheek.
“All I have is a little rabbit and my slave number at the top of my thigh,” Jessica
said, almost apologetically, then she remembered: “Oh, and a brand on my buttock
also.”
“Rabbit Island, huh? When Mr. Markham first captured me, he said I’d be shipped
there if I didn’t respond to slave training.”
Jessica felt defensive. “It’s not so bad. There are much worse places. It wasn’t the
Rabbit Island guys who did this to me,” she pointed a finger at her cropped hair,
then opened her mouth to show off her T-bar.
“I’m glad you’re happy there,” said Linsey. “Luckily I passed the training, and a
year later Mr. Markham decided to make me his companion slave. Now I travel
everywhere with him.”
Jessica was confused. “You’re a slave, right?”
“Well yes, but I’m his slave and his companion. I want only to be with him, to serve
him, and to make him happy.”
Jessica looked at Linsey sympathetically. “I think you’ve been brainwashed.”
“So they say. They used hypnotism, drug therapies, behavior modifications, torture
and god knows what else. What they didn’t expect was that I would fall in love with
Mr. Markham anyhow.”
Jessica wasn’t convinced. Perhaps Linsey was right, but more likely the brainwashing
was so successful that she couldn’t even accept it as the reason she loved Markham.
“Do you want to stay a ponygirl?” Linsey asked.
“I’ll be released in a year,” Jessica said confidently. “Then I won’t be a slave any
more. Master Alex promised me, and I believe him.”
“So you don’t want to be somebody’s companion slave?”
“No.” Jessica said curtly.
“I can’t imagine you as a free woman. You have the soul of a slave. I can see it in
you.”
Jessica was bristling. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“It’s more than a compliment, Jessica. Some women can only find true contentment
through being owned by one man, and by a man who knows what you need sexually. Most
women settle for marriage where a woman feels she belongs to somebody, but with
companion slaves the belonging is absolute. I always wear his chains and I’m forever
marked as his property. I’ve never been happier.”
Jessica sighed. “I’ll take your word for it, but for me it’s another year of
ponygirl life then I’m going back to New York: The real world, family, a job,
friends. Before I go they’ll put me through a memory cleaning process that will
erase this whole experience from my mind.”
It was Linsey’s turn to look sympathetically at her companion.
EVENING ENTERTAINMENT
Jessica loved the Slave to Fortune and begun to feel more like a privileged
passenger than a slave. Perhaps Cavallo’s Silver Lady was as luxurious but on that
ship she only traveled ‘steerage’, bound securely to a bunk in the bowels of the
ship for the whole journey.
Now she was in the main lounge, an area fitted with expansive cream leather seating
and teak woodwork. She returned a smile with Rachel and Karen sitting on the floor
across from her; scarcely able to believe her change of circumstance merely a day
after her neck was on the guillotine.
She looked at the bright silver manacles around her wrists, as finely engineered as
the ship itself. They matched the collar she wore. The wrist manacles were joined
only by a long chain that threaded through a loop in the front of her collar,
passing through each of her nipple rings on the way to her respective wrists. With
her arm movement virtually unrestricted, it didn’t feel like bondage, more as if she
had become somebody’s erotic toy.
Opposite, Rachel seemed equally content. She wore a belly chain, her hands cuffs to
each hip like prisoner chains, except these were infinitely finer. Alongside her was
Karen, with her hands were joined together in the same kind of manacles, fixed to
her collar by a short chain that held her hands just below her breasts in an
attitude of prayer.
The evening unfolded as a casual affair with men coming and going, sometimes sitting
in the lounge, sometimes moving to the outside deck for more intense or private
conversations. Ranulph Markham seemed more interested in cooking, and was often
heard in the galley joking with his chef. Not a sound came from Jessica. She had
been lectured beforehand that the slightest noise would be rewarded with a ballgag.
The thought of ruining her current presentation with something so vulgar was a
serious threat. She squirmed in private embarrassment recollecting the evening she
was ballgagged at Master Alex’s side, when she dribbled all over his thigh.
Just as Jessica wondered what happened to Linsey and Kate, the former appeared,
accompanied by Cormack and a large coil of white rope. Meeting no physical or verbal
resistance, Cormack fixed Linsey into a kneeling ball-tie, her breasts squashed into
her thighs by the tight ropes that encircled her. She had submitted willingly, which
is not to say she was happy about it.
Supper was called, and Jessica’s rumbling stomach hoped she would sample what was
brought from the kitchen. However there was one thing that she wanted even more than
food, and she hated herself for it.
He acted so casual, joking lightly with Markham about how he’d been slaving away in
the galley to prepare supper. Why was her heart pounding as Alex continued to joke
even after filling his plate from the buffet table? He hadn't even glanced at her,
apparently finding the sight of Linsey’s tattooed and thoroughly trussed body much
more interesting.
Then he sat down next to her as if the seating arrangement was never in doubt.
Jessica inwardly sighed with relief. Ashamed and embarrassed by her short hair and
tongue bar she considered Alex’s action a welcome boost to her self-worth.
She turned her head to flash him a smile which proved not a tight-lipped as she had
planned. Linsey’s talk of belonging to someone began to make sense. Perhaps, Jessica
thought fleetingly, she really did want to belong to someone.
“You’ll need one of these,” said Markham, offering Alex an object similar to a
graduate’s mortarboard. Markham addressed Jessica for the first time. “Sit on your
bum, girl, ankles to the side, back straight, face forward.”
She felt herself flush with embarrassment at having to be informed of this slave’s
etiquette, by such an important man, although Markham’s tone wasn’t unkind. He
placed the foam mortarboard on Jessica’s head. The bottom of it was moulded to fit
snugly over her skull. Above her Jessica heard the chink of cutlery on china as Alex
put his plate on her head.
Jessica’s mortifying recollection of the dribbling ballgag episode could pale into
insignificance compared to spilling the plate’s contents into Alex’s lap, or worse
still, onto Markham’s furniture. She noticed that Rachel and Karen had been
similarly equipped, their faces mirroring the trepidation she felt.
Markham had opted for a slightly more traditional table - Linsey’s back. The plate
rested neatly onto her ropes whilst her bound hands held his wineglass as if she had
done it a hundred times.
The topic of conversation was food, specifically Thai cuisine, leaving Jessica to
concentrate on sitting upright and not embarrassing herself or Master Alex. While he
ate, Jessica stayed motionless, a human table.
Later, Alex lifted the plate and started feeding Jessica with his leftover morsels.
“You don’t need to feed her, they can lick the plates from the floor,” Markham
suggested.
“It’s okay, she can’t lick with the T-bar in her mouth. Besides, I enjoy feeding
her,” said Alex. It was something Jessica had never heard him say before. She felt
his fingers in her mouth and sucked on them. Her eyes closed as she tasted his
fingers as well as the tasty oriental food. He put a piece of chicken in the palm of
his hand and felt Jessica’s lips remain longer than necessary as she took it. If
Alex said he enjoyed feeding her then Jessica ensured he wasn’t disappointed.
Markham put his plate on the floor for Linsey to lick clean as if she were a pet
dog. “You know, not much human furniture is really practical, but these snack tables
work very well.”
“I agree on both counts. Ever tried a body bed?” Alex asked him.
“Heard of it but never seen a real one.”
“I tried one at Rishiki’s estate near Hironaki. He lays six women across the base of
a bed, alternating their direction. There are wooden cutouts for ankles and another
that goes above the breasts,” Alex explained. He placed a karate-chop hand on top of
Jessica’s breasts to illustrate. “The sides of the bed are boxed in, so you don’t
see any heads, arms and feet.”
Markham seemed skeptical. “It’s a great way of showing off but is it comfortable? I
imagine it must be rather bony.”
Alex raised a finger. “Ah, but that’s the clever part. Rishiki selects them for body
shape and keeps them fattened so there’s a nice layer of flesh on their ribs and
hips. Their bodies are covered in a light sheet but you can still feel their breasts
lining at the sides of the bed, and if you dig down with your fingers you can feel
their little cunts beneath. It really was a soft bed, and very warm too. The rise
and fall from their breathing was very relaxing.”
“Hmmm. Perhaps I’ll fatten up some slaves and give it a try,” said Markham, his
interested piqued by Alex’s description. “I can’t remember. Have you seen my door-
belle?”
Alex shook his head.
“You really should come to England more often! I have a woman kneeling at the front
door all strapped up in black leather, including a harness ballgag. She has large
bells hanging from her nipples and a small vibrator up her anus wired to the
doorbell. When you press the front door buzzer, she receives a shock that makes her
to wiggle her breasts causing the bells to make a delightful jangling sound. That’s
what summons the butler to the door. Most visitors are so amused they demand a
further demonstration from the girl.”
Alex laughed. “Sounds great! What a shame we don’t need a doorbell on a ship or I’d
volunteer Jessica here for the job.”
Jessica was almost amused. It sounded a lot less effort than being a ponygirl.
The plates were cleared from the room and Linsey was partially untied, leaving only
her hands and feet bound. Markham patted the space to his left inviting Linsey to
join him on the plush seating. She managed to wriggle her way onto it, snuggling up
to him with an expression of joy on her face. Markham kissed her with genuine
affection.
Jessica had drawn her own conclusion about Riccardo’s and Kate’s non-appearance.
Knowing of their mutual attraction it seemed obvious they would spend private time
together at the earliest opportunity. She was happy for them.
Then she heard a sound, actually a shout, which was the last thing she expected to
hear on a ship in the middle of the ocean.
“Hyah!”
It was Riccardo’s pony-driving shout.
Master Alex clamped his hand over Jessica’s mouth just as the door opened. A
ponygirl entered, with erratic, ill-disciplined high stepping into the middle of the
room followed by Riccardo holding her reins and shouting encouragements to her.
All the men in the room laughed uncontrollably. Jessica would have too had Alex not
kept his hand over her mouth. Kate continued her artless high stepping as Riccardo
tapped her with his whip. Jessica doubted she ever looks as red and flustered as
Kate at that moment, even after a ten mile run.
“I’ve just been breaking in my new ponygirl,” Riccardo announced. “What do you
think?”
Alex laughed. “I think you have your work cut out. She’s too small and far too
rebellious for a ponygirl. And look how she’s sweating up already!”
“Well I had some difficulty getting her into the harness. She became very
excitable.” He grabbed Kate from behind, embracing her. “Easy girl!”
Kate tried to stand still but could barely manage without Riccardo’s help. Wearing
Jessica’s high arched pony-boots was like balancing on stilts, and she was never
good in heels. Having ginger extract smeared on her butt-tail before insertion
wasn’t helping her composure either, although it gave her the highly agitated effect
Riccardo was looking for.
Alex removed his hand from Jessica’s mouth after reminding her not to speak. She
smiled broadly at Kate then Master Alex, enjoying Kate’s unlikely pony
transformation as much as anybody.
“You need to give her something to help her calm down,” Markham said, “and we all
know what’s best for calming a woman’s nerves.” He turned to Cormack, “do we have a
strap-on dildo on board?”
While Cormack briefly disappeared to retrieve a suitable item, Riccardo made Kate
kneel facing the leather bench seat. He pushed her perspiring torso against its
surface and spread her knees. That position did little to calm her, knowing what was
about to happen to her.
Cormack returned, walking straight over to Jessica. He knew from the outset what the
plan was. He released the chain holding Jessica’s collar to a retaining ring on the
seat front and helped her to her feet. Jessica looked anxiously at Alex. He returned
a reassuring smile.
Cormack had a sure touch with women and strapped the dildo around Jessica’s loins
without meeting the slightest resistance. He made her kneel down behind Kate, her
knees on the floor between Kate’s.
Kate couldn’t keep still as the ginger inflamed and irritated her rectum. Sensing
that her best friend was about to give a public fucking wasn’t helping her composure
either.
“Shall I push it in for you?” Cormack suggested to Jessica as she looked warily at
the phallus bobbing waywardly from her crotch. With his guidance Jessica pushed
forward until it eased smoothly inside Kate. Unused to having a pony’s bit between
her teeth Kate gasped and gargled to enliven the scene even further.
Seeing Kate squirming beneath her, obviously in a state of some arousal Jessica
jogged her hips forward. Kate grunted, biting hard into the bridle bit. Jessica
pushed again, her hands holding onto Kate’s netted fist-shaped hands locked in the
middle of her back.
Alex and everyone else had disappeared; at least that was how Jessica felt as they
stood up and refreshed their glasses behind her.
If Kate’s cries and grunts seemed almost painful, it didn’t dissuade Jessica from
her task. She knew how robust Kate was, particularly during sexual intercourse. To
withdraw without bringing an orgasm was as likely to incur Kate’s wrath as it was
the displeasure of her masters. For her part, each thrust put pressure on the
padlock that joined her labia together reminding Jessica of her own physical needs.
As Kate’s inevitable orgasm arrived with a gargling, squealing voice of
accompaniment Jessica couldn’t help but whisper friendly teasing endearments in her
ear. Jessica had spent almost a year as a ponygirl and never been fucked in harness
(which isn’t to say she’d never had an orgasm), but for Kate it had taken less than
an hour. So typical of Kate’s luck, Jessica thought.
“She’s broken the silence rule,” Markham noted to Alex after catching Jessica’s
endearments to Kate. “What kind of gag would you like to put on her?”
Alex thought it rather harsh, but rules were rules, and he was happy to play the
game. He had another idea: “First I’d like to take her onto the deck for punishment,
a long overdue punishment.”
He helped Jessica to her feet and led her, surly and silent, onto the lower rear
deck.
JESSICA IN SUSPENSE
“Wait here!” Alex said, leaving Jessica alone with the moonlit ocean waves gliding
past. She waited, looking out to sea, an empty sea with nothing but a dark horizon
to orient her. The ship felt like an island, a world of its own floating in space.
Her chained hands were able to reach down to her artificial erection, still wet from
Kate’s juices. She lifted a wetted hand to her face and sniffed.
A noise, a loud ‘clomp’ of something dropping to the floor startled her. It was Alex
and an alarming quantity of neat hanks of rope.
“Turn around,” he instructed, making her face away from him. He unfastened the
buckle of the strap between her legs, and the one at the back of her waist. She
smiled coyly as he cast it aside to restore her nakedness.
“I like seeing your hands chained like that. It’s elegant.” Alex said.
He took hold of her hands pulling them towards him, causing their collar chains to
rattle through her nipple rings. She didn’t even flinch. He unlocked her bracelets,
also pulling free the chain threaded through to her collar. He placed them carefully
in a blue felt bag. The collar followed.
“They look expensive” Jessica commented, the first words she had spoken to him in
many months.
“Not too expensive. Around two thousand dollars, which isn’t much compared to the
price of a good female slave.”
Jessica stood naked and free except for a labial padlock in front of the man who
controlled her destiny and dominated her thoughts. She didn’t know whether to punch
him, kick him, jump overboard, or kneel at his feet and beg him to end her torment.
His open arms helped her make the decision, she walked into his embrace and pressed
her face against his shirt, feeling neither love nor hate, nor anger or joy. They
stood like that for a few moments. It wasn’t the passionate embrace of reunited
lovers, nor even of close friends, merely two individuals with something peculiar in
common.
“What are you going to do to me?” Jessica asked.
“Right now I’m going to tie you up, but you probably guessed that already. We can
talk while I do it.”
Jessica was more relieved than worried when she felt her wrists drawn together in
the middle of her back. How strange that the final tug of knots around her wrists
could settle her mind like it did! Choices could be a terrible and dangerous thing
for a slave. Without choices she could relax. Tonight she was Master Alex’s slave
again. It was that simple.
He unwound another hank of rope. “I’ve been to Japan recently and studied shibari,
the art of rope bondage. Now seems like a good time to practice.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Japan.” Jessica commented wistfully.
“Perhaps you will one day.”
“If you sell me?”
Alex tugged hard on the rope he’d just wrapped around her breasts. “You know I’m not
going to sell you! Next year you’ll go through the memory reversal program and if
that works out you’ll go home. Nothing has changed.”
Jessica sensed his mild irritation. An enslaver and abuser of women, and yet
apparently a man of his word too.
“I’m sorry Sir. I was confused. What will happen when we return to Rabbit Island?”
“You’ll be a ponygirl again, probably for the rest of your time. No complications,
no surprises, no being lent to other islands. Back with your friends enjoying all
the island has to offer.”
She laughed at his irony, just as he intended. “And will there still be whips,
Master Alex?”
“For as long as necessary,” he reassured her in the same vein.
“What if my ankle doesn’t heal? What would you do to me if I couldn’t perform as a
ponygirl?”
“Sell you for dog food probably.”
She hated his deadpan ripostes. His tone of voice for jokes sounded the same as his
normal conversation.
He interrupted Jessica’s pouting silence. “What are you getting at, Jessica? You
know your ankle will heal fine. I’ve seen the x-rays and medical report.”
“Could I become a companion slave?”
Alex laughed. “Slave Linsey’s been putting ideas in your head. You think it’s easy,
sitting around looking pretty, dedicating your life to a single master, giving him
that doe-eyed look of adoration every time he glances at you.”
“No,” Jessica protested, “That’s not what I...”
“Companion slaves like Linsey undergo the most intensive and harshest training you
could imagine. She was almost destroyed before being shaped into the person you see
today. She’ll never be free. She’d sooner die!”
“Sorry Sir, I didn’t mean to make you angry.”
“I’m not angry, Jessica, just irritated that having been promised your freedom
within a year you should be thinking of such things. Besides, there needs to be a
master who wants a companion slave, someone who chooses you as his lifelong slave.”
“It must be nice to belong to somebody. I’ve seen the way Mr. Markham and Linsey
look at each other.”
Alex had had enough. “Jessica, what is it with you? After you’re released, you can
get married. Any man would want you as his wife. Then you’ll be known by his name
and the ring on your finger will indicate that you belong to him!” He noticed
Jessica’s eyes welling up. “Now, don’t start crying or I’ll give you something to
cry about!”
“I’m not crying. I’m just a little emotional and confused. Sir, yesterday I nearly
died, and now I’m on a beautiful ship sailing back to Rabbit Island. And Kate is
with me, and Riccardo,” she hesitated, “and you too.”
“It’s good to have you back Jessica. I really did miss tying and teasing you.”
“Is that the same as missing me?”
“No Jessica. It’s totally different. You misheard me yesterday. No more questions
please. If you want a gag, just ask.”
Jessica didn’t. Alex finished off the roping of her torso leaving her arms locked
behind her in the Japanese style that resembled a ponygirl’s strapping. He pulled
the rope between her ass cheeks and threading it through the labial padlock, tugged
until she winced with pain, then tied it off at her waist. He knew the crotch rope
wouldn’t stay there for long but enjoyed the pleasure of the tying and the exquisite
grimace it produced on Jessica’s face.
The next stage was her suspension. Jessica looked up to see the ropes from her
shoulders and chest fixed to an O bolt in the overhanging part of the deck above
them. Alex made her stand on tiptoes to secure her at the desired height.
He kissed her on the lips forcing hers open. He resistance was weak. She felt his
tongue exploring and teasing her, tickling her taste buds.
“Just checking you’re at the correct height. It’s fun kissing you with that T-bar in
your mouth. Perhaps we’ll keep you that way. That’s how the Rabbit Island committee
would like to see the ponygirls fitted out.”
“I can’t wear a ballgag,” said Jessica.
“No problem, we’ll use special bit gags.”
Jessica couldn’t help but smile. “Sir, there’s something else I can’t get in my
mouth.”
Alex looked puzzled for a few moments. “I see what you mean,” he responded
thoughtfully. “It’s a good thing I’m the manager of a slave island with plenty of
mouths to choose from.”
Now it was Alex smiling. He pulled Jessica’s right leg behind her so it was fully
bent at the knee then tied a rope from her ankle to the O bolt above her head. After
he repeated the process on her left ankle Jessica was floating in the air, her
weight evenly distributed by the rope harness.
He stood back checking that everything was safe and secure and watched Jessica’s
bound torso hanging perfectly upright and swinging slowly like a pendulum in
response to the ship’s mild yaw.
“Dance for me,” he said.
“Dance? You’ve suspended me in mid-air like I don’t have feet, now you want me to
dance?”
“Dance, Jessica,” he insisted.
She tried to move, finding she could pull her knees forward a couple of inches,
before the ankle ropes pulled them backwards again. She repeated it, imagining she
was walking towards him. The padlock dangled prominently beneath her sex,
tantalising yet denying them both. The crotch rope cut into her, giving more pain
than pleasure, but it didn’t stop her. She would endure the pain and wanted him to
notice.
Alex’s arousal was obvious as Jessica’s dance of self-inflicted pain continued. She
gained in confidence feeling secure in his elaborate rope-work as she lured Alex
towards her. But she was wrong about what had drawn him. It wasn’t so much her body
but the look on her face - her intense focus, her desire, her seriousness.
“Do you think you can get off with a crotch rope and that padlock rubbing against
you?”
“If you want me to I’ll try.”
Alex reached into a pocket a removed a small brown envelope. He pulled a small key
from it. “I have a better idea.”
The padlock clicked open. He carefully extracted the round staple from Jessica’s
moist lower lips. Jessica gasped in pain and anticipation.
He held it in front of her eyes. “Nice padlock. Perhaps we’ll keep it. A souvenir of
your time on La Plata?”
Before Jessica could answer, he tossed it over his shoulder and into the sea.
“Perhaps not!” He dropped his shorts, and Jessica’s mid-air dance became desperate
as she tried to widen her knees, to open herself to him.
He gripped her upper arms and kissed her hard. Then he squatted a few inches down,
coming up with her skewered on his cock. She moaned, open mouthed with long-denied
pleasure. Her body, her whole being became concentrated on the area where their
bodies were joined.
“Does that feel good?” Alex asked, thrusting once.
“Mmm.” Jessica hummed, straining forward to kiss his lips. He leant back a little to
deny her.
“You’re like a popsicle on my stick,” he said, thrusting again.
“What flavour?” Jessica gasped.
His lips found hers, pushing them apart for his invading tongue. With hers locked
down by the T bar, even her mouth had to yield as Alex explored and tasted her.
Finally, he released her from his kiss. “Honey!”
The teasing was over, and so was Jessica’s long wait.
THE SECOND KEY
Later in the evening Alex noticed Riccardo pacing the deck as if the world were upon
his shoulders. He leaned on the balustrade next to him. They looked out to sea,
neither rushing to speak.
“How’s Jessica?” Riccardo finally asked.
“Slightly emotional, but the same Jessica, which is good. I’ve left her in
suspension for the crew to enjoy. I’ll untie her shortly and send her to bed. And
what about Kate, I thought she’d be stowed away in your cabin by now?”
Riccardo seemed pensive, almost embarrassed. “I have a small problem.”
“Surely not? Go see Ranulph. He has all the right pills,” Alex reassured him.
“Thanks, but the reason I can’t perform is more physical than that. I know exactly
what the problem is.” He unbuckled his belt pushing his shorts down to his knees.
“It’s one of Cavallo’s innovations.”
Alex knelt down to look at the clear perspex device locked on Riccardo’s flaccid
penis, noticing the small padlock joining its parts together in front of the
scrotum. He was trying not to laugh, thinking of Riccardo’s similarity to Jessica.
“And you can’t get it off?”
Riccardo sighed impatiently. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? Even with a hacksaw blade
I couldn’t cut through it!”
“What about using a key?” Alex suggested. He dug in his pocket for the second small
envelope. “I was wondering what this one was used for. Almost threw it overboard
earlier.”
Riccardo almost wept with joy as he snatched it from Alex’s hand, pulling up his
shorts as he dashed towards his room.
“Be gentle with her!” Alex shouted after him.
Gentle with Kate? Riccardo glanced over his shoulder incredulously, as if Alex had
gone crazy.
JESSICA UNDONE
“You don’t look too exhausted,” Alex commented as he examined Jessica’s suspended
body.
“That’s because I can hardly move a muscle the way you’ve tied me,” Jessica
explained without rancour.
“Only your internal muscles,” Alex joked. “How many men had you tonight?”
“Three. The captain, first mate, and a crewman.”
“Did you have an orgasm?”
“Twice sir.”
“Excellent. I expect you feel better now.” Alex said.
Jessica was unsure whether he was mocking her or expressing genuine concern. She was
still confused by the manner in which he had taken her earlier, as if deliberately
achieving his satisfaction without regard for her own. In previous times on Rabbit
Island he was obsessed with her orgasms, stating that they signified victory for him
and defeat for her. Or he might comment that her orgasm proved she was becoming a
better slave. That particularly irritated her, which was partly why he said it. (The
other reason he said it was that it was true.)
Perhaps he was testing her? How would a companion slave react, she wondered. She’d
be trusting, uncomplaining, and eager to serve her master in any way he saw fit.
Alex tenderly wiped her inner thighs with a tissue then rubbed the semen stained
tissue over her labia until her body reacted with an involuntary twitch. “I can’t
believe they removed your pony piercings,” he commented with evident annoyance.
“That’ll be the first job when we get back.”
He released her from suspension then slowly loosened the grip of rope on her body.
Suddenly he asked: “Would you like to know what happened to Nancy?”
“Nancy? Yes! Where is she?”
“She’s in Bangkok being looked after by my friend Charlie, the guy that kidnapped
you for Rabbit Island. Her escape didn’t exactly go to plan, although she got
further than you and Kate did. We had to buy her back from kidnappers who were
holding her for ransom deep in the jungle.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Sitting in a cage and watching television with Charlie right now I
would guess.”
“You’re bringing her back to Rabbit Island, right?”
Alex nodded. “To be punished.”
Jessica frowned, recalling the punishment that followed her own escape.
“You survived and so will Nancy.”
She smiled. “It’ll be good to see her again.”
“It’ll be good to see all of you together again.”
Jessica agreed. “I can’t wait!” The sarcasm she intended failed to happen.
Alex had freed her of all ropes, except that their deep impressions lingered all
over her torso like exotic bondage art. Alex liked it and wanted to return to the
main lounge to 'show her off'. The rope marks, not her, he clarified.
“I feel kind of undressed.”
Alex looked at her quizzically. “You are undressed!”
“I mean not being bound.”
“Are you scared?”
Jessica pondered for a second. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Scared of what you might do?”
“No sir. Scared of what I shoulddo.”
Alex gestured to the dark expanse of the Pacific all around them. “Escape? Attack
me? Jessica, it’s not chains that make you a slave. It’s your obedience and
submission; and understanding that rebellion brings punishment and unhappiness,
while obedience will bring rewards. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Ashamed? Those last words seemed to buzz around in the air, annoying her like a
persistent mosquito. She resented the banality of the statement, and wondered why
Alex said it.
He stood quiet, impassive and patient, expecting that the next word or gesture be
Jessica’s.
She held her hands together, palm-to-palm, offering them to him, and looked not at
his feet but directly and intently in the eyes, as if to say ‘I’m not ashamed’.
Alex picked up a rope and wrapped it around her offered wrists, using the trailing
end to lead her back into the main lounge area. The rope connecting them seemed
alive, charged with something powerful, confusing, and reassuring too.
In the lounge they noticed Linsey lying sideways, hogtied on the seating, her cheek
resting on Ranulph Markham’s thigh. He stroked her hair idly, coiling it around his
finger, but his attention was on Vince.
Karen Galtz sat on the floor at Vince’s feet. Her collar and its connecting chains
to her separate wrist cuffs didn’t hinder her in the task she was diligently
performing for Vince. Nor did the ballgag she wore. Whilst Markham listened and
Vince talked, Karen wrote his words in shorthand in a notebook as he recounted the
story of Nancy’s escape, her kidnap, and subsequent rescue by him and Alex. Markham
suggested it would make a good story, and Karen as a journalist was keen to record
it.
Alex sat down, and Jessica, without prompting sat on the floor between his legs,
confident that obedience brings rewards.
Vince’s story was occasionally interrupted by noises elsewhere on the ship. Riccardo
and Kate’s noise came from his room, while Cormack was putting Rachel through her
paces on the open deck. Jessica heard their screams yet wasn’t concerned. At that
moment it felt like a happy ship.
LYING IN BED
Jessica had just got into bed when Kate entered the room.
“What ya doing Jessi?” Kate asked, seeing Jessica snap the ankle restraints on
herself.
Jessica smoothed the covers over her, locating the shackles at the top of the bed.
“Master Alex said we had to fix ourselves to the beds before we sleep.”
Kate pouted. “Aw, that’s not fair. I wanted to have my revenge with you tomorrow
morning for raping a poor little ponygirl as if you were one of Brenda’s girls.”
“I was only following orders. Besides, your high stepping was a disgrace to a
ponygirl uniform. You deserved it!”
“Dyke!” Kate teased, as she went to the bathroom. After completing her hygienic
essentials Kate climbed into her bed across from Jessica and grumpily fixing the
cuffs on her wrists and ankles. She turned over a couple of times, exploring the
extent of her movement and resigning herself that there was no escape from her self-
inflicted bondage, nor any sensual pleasure while she slept. Her fingertips weren’t
able to reach further down than her nose. She looked across the three-foot gap at
Jessica, now similarly fixed. “Jessi, I know you’re a bondage whore who’ll do
anything Master Alex tells you, but why exactly are you smiling like that?”
“I lied. He only asked me to chain myself, he didn’t mention you.”
Kate pulled on her chains. “You bitch. You crazy bitch! Just you wait, I’m gonna get
a double revenge on you when I get out of this.”
By then Jessica was laughing to the point of tears, and Kate, resigned to her
predicament, soon joined her.
                                 End of chapter 23
                coming soon... return to Rabbit Island, new arrivals
  (Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any comments,
                 criticisms, suggestions and reviews are welcome.)
                     Chapter 24. Return to Rabbit Island
             (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)
The story so far:
(Ch. 20) Kate's escape from the Breeding Shed
(Ch. 21) Cavallo's operation,
(Ch. 22) In the dungeon. Jessica faces the guillotine
(Ch. 23) On board the Slave to Fortune.
The last full day at sea on the voyage back to Rabbit Island was as informal as
the previous one: more deck scrubbing and metal polishing for Jessica and her
naked shipmates, while Riccardo reprised his role as the Hosemaster  . It was
obvious that he got a kick out of accidentally spraying the deck slaves with
water as they scrubbed. They couldn't really complain. It was better than being
whipped. They did however tire of Riccardo's constant threats to give any
slacker a high-pressure enema.
Lunch was served on the deck... literally. Jessica, Kate, Rachel and Karen were
told to kneel side-by-side. Cormack bound their wrists behind their backs with
a one continuous length of heavy rope tying and linking them. Chopped-up cubes
of sandwiches and leftovers from the previous night's supper were piled neatly
in front of each of them. Riccardo's earlier insistence that the deck should be
clean enough to eat off now made perfect sense.
A few yards in front of them a lunch table had been set. Jessica gazed on
enviously as Linsey knelt at Markham's feet, being hand fed by him like a
favourite pet - which of course she was. Jessica received nothing but a couple
of derisory glances from Master Alex. She was annoyed at herself for expecting
more.
The late afternoon body baths were especially anticipated today, since it was
announced that the men were drawing lots to decide which one of them would also
receive the treatment. Everyone except Markham and Alex were in the draw,
including the crew. As they scrubbed the top deck the washer slaves exchanged
snatched comments on who they hoped would 'win'. Such talk was quickly
curtailed by the Hosemaster, hovering close by, with yet more of his tiresome
enema threats.
The time came. Ranulph Markham had prepared some playing cards, one to be
picked by each man. The one who chooses the Joker gets the sponge bath, he
announced. It was one of those rare occasions when the men were more nervous
than their slaves.
Each man pulled a card from the fanned selection Markham offered. They obeyed
his instruction not to show their card until all had picked, nonetheless a few
sighed with obvious relief as they snuck a look at their card.
One by one they each gleefully revealed their cards to the others until only
Riccardo and Vince remained. Vince displayed the two of clubs, "I'm jealous of
you Riccardo, really I am." He wasn't sure if his sarcasm was genuine. Nor were
the others.
Riccardo looked quizzically at Ranulph Markham. "I get down on my hands and
knees and they wash me?"
"Exactly! No more, no less. Look, the buckets of warm water are ready. You
don't want a cold bath do you?"
Riccardo warily removed his polo shirt, shorts and underwear, fastidiously
hanging them on the back of a deck chair. He wasn't shy about showing his toned
naked body in front of other men, although yesterday, when wearing the chastity
device on his penis, it might have been very different. But then, seeing the
four luscious naked females waiting, sponges at the ready, he wondered whether
that devilish perspex cylinder might have served a purpose after all. He was
already becoming aroused and tried to hide his erection from the other men.
The washer girls were kneeling in a circle and Riccardo tentatively took up the
all-fours position within. Alex deputised as the Hosemaster, giving Riccardo a
taste of his own medicine with a high-powered jet of water onto his balls.
Jessica held up a sponge for Alex to soak. He aimed the hose at it, giving
tacit approval to Jessica's next task.
"No way!" Riccardo said, as Jessica offered the soaking sponge to his lips.
"It'll stop you swallowing the soap, Sir. That's what you told us yesterday."
Jessica's smile was as broad as he had ever seen on his erstwhile ponygirl.
"Please sir, I'm only obeying instructions."
Riccardo decided to get it over with, allowing Jessica to push the sponge in
his mouth, figuring that the sooner they start the sooner it would be over.
Kate eagerly scooted around to take position behind him, giving the impression
that she'd fight the others for that place if she had to. She set about her
task with the same vigour she used on the decks and felt Riccardo's erection
forming in the palms of her hands.
By contrast Jessica washed Riccardo's handsome face with loving care. She was
almost in tears, confused at how she could feel such tenderness towards a man
who must have whipped her buttocks a thousand times at least. Then she noticed
a change in Riccardo's eyes, something close to panic, surprised that she would
have affected him so.
Then Jessica looked across Riccardo's soapy back and saw that Kate was working
almost too hard, like when she was removing a stubborn splatter of gull shit
from the deck. Riccardo could, and should, have stood up, but with Rachel and
Karen at his sides pressing down on his back as they washed his chest, that
wasn't so easy. By then he had passed the point when a man no longer thinks
with his brain. And Kate knew it! Running her two hands and a soapy sponge up
and down his hard cock, she had just one objective and nobody seemed inclined
to stop her.
Riccardo closed his eyes, wordless guttural growls coming from his sponge-
filled mouth while Kate's loving hands massaged his ejaculating cock, not
ceasing in her attention until it lay flaccid and spent in her hands.
The watching men whooped and applauded - congratulating Riccardo and the deck
slaves alike. It had gone just as Markham expected, perhaps even better.
After a well-aimed rinse-down from Alex, Riccardo hooked the sponge out of his
mouth, stood up and reached for a large towel. A wag of his finger told Kate
that her punishment would come later. Somehow it seemed more of a promise than
a threat.
"That was... interesting. Quite pleasant really," Riccardo commented, almost
managing to look his friends in the eyes. He seemed dazed, almost shell-
shocked. "Embarrassing, but really quite pleasant."
"We're not done yet," Markham announced to the men. "Check to see if there is
anything written on your card."
Vince looked puzzled as he read his card. "A day of chastity?"
Markham solemnly handed him Riccardo's former chastity device. "If you need a
hand fitting it, I'm sure Riccardo can help out."
Vince held it up, dangling it from pinched fingers. "Jesus, I'm not sure
Riccardo's size will fit me. What if I break it and Riccardo can't wear it
anymore? Looks like he could have used it just now."
"The time starts immediately," Markham informed him. Vince shrugged, and went
to his room to fit the device. How bad could a night of abstinence be? He'd
done it often, although had been looking forward to more fun with Karen, or
perhaps Rachel if Cormack was willing to swap.
Cormack looked puzzled as he read out his card. "It says 'duet'? I can't sing!"
Markham explained: "No singing required. I'm sure you've noticed that we have
an odd number of slaves on board. So, for the duets show we need somebody to
make up the numbers. You'll be fully tied to one of the slaves all evening."
"Can I choose?" asked Cormack glancing towards Rachel. She looked modestly
downwards to the deck, unable to suppress her coy smile.
EVENING DUETS
"Jessica can go with Linsey," Markham directed, as he organised the evening's
activity. "Cormack, would you be so kind as to secure them as we discussed
earlier?"
Cormack smiled. "My pleasure!" He took Jessica by her arm to the cleared
floorspace where Linsey was already sat. With her wrists tied behind her
Jessica wasn't planning to resist this hulk of a man. "Sit down, face to face
with Linsey," he instructed her. She obeyed, not even daring to display the
surly, resentful expression she often used with Master Alex or the Rabbit
Island crew.
"Touching!" Cormack rebuked them. His boat shoe tapped Jessica's coccyx. She
slid her buttocks forward until she was sat with her breasts squashed into
Linsey's. Cormack smiled upon seeing the melding of breasts. "Now wrap your
legs around each other." He bent down to tie Jessica's ankles to Linsey's
wrists, then repeated the action with Linsey's ankles to Jessica's wrists.
Linsey was soon tickling Jessica's conveniently-placed feet, hoping for a
reaction from her, and trying to establish eye contact, while Jessica was still
adjusting to her unfamiliar position. Jessica leant backwards a little in a
vain attempt to establish some personal space. But Cormack wasn't quite done.
The two pairs of ringed nipples rubbing against each other were too tempting.
He snapped small padlocks onto their touching nipple rings. Now if Jessica
leant back Linsey came with her. To have reins attached to her nipples was
normal, or sometimes chains, or perhaps bells, but never another woman locked
onto them. Not even the most adept finger could compete with another woman's
nipples pressing into hers.
Linsey began her wordless seduction. Although they were equals in bondage
Jessica felt she was the victim, with Linsey her captor and seducer. Her sex
remained untouched and untouchable despite Linsey's attempts to wriggle her
body into even closer contact. When Linsey kissed her Jessica's mouth opened as
slowly as her eyes closed. The kiss was long and deep, an unequal contest with
Jessica's tongue disabled by the T-bar. She became oblivious to everything else
around her as Linsey's sensual, exotic and fragrant body held her in thrall.
Kate and Karen were then fixed into their duet, Kate on top of a doggie-style
Karen. The strap-on dildo of which Kate had been on the receiving end the
previous evening was now strapped around her own loins, then thrust up to its
hilt into Karen's sex. Their bodies were tied together to ensure they stayed
that way. Kate tried to apologise for her actions but her ballgag meant she
could only moan and dribble onto her trapped friend like a lusty dog.
Cormack accepted his duet with Rachel with surprisingly good grace, crouching
over her all-fours position and allowing his hands and ankles to be tied to
hers. His bulk seemed to swallow her up beneath him. For the sake of male
decorum, and to cool his lust Cormack stayed dressed in a polo shirt, shorts
and boat shoes. Rachel wore nothing but a blindfold, and expression of intense
concentration rather than fear. He kissed her neck, nibbling it, rubbing her
ear with his nose, then simulated a thrust of his hips into her.
At the dining table, Markham set the table for contract bridge. This evening
was his final attempt to pass the finer aspects of the game to Alex, who was
showing great promise.
Riccardo was understandably distracted by Kate and Karen's involuntary sex act.
Seeing the harness straps around Kate's waist and dissecting her butt cheeks
had ignited his fire. He began to think that the male chastity device worn by
pony drivers on La Plata wasn't such a bad idea after all. He took his place
occupying the seat with his back to the duets show.
Vince, forced to wear the chastity device for the night, began to appreciate
its advantages. With no prospect of achieving a hard-on, and hence an orgasm,
he could enjoy the duet show for as long as he cared to.
"You don't want to play?" Alex asked Vince.
"Not with you guys," Vince replied, nodding in the direction of the duets.
"I'll play!" Cormack called out immediately from his kneeling position. He rose
to his feet with Rachel still attached to him. "I'm still tied to the girl as
required. Don't worry, she's blindfolded so she won't be able to help me."
The men shrugged. Cormack had a point. He curled an arm around Rachel's belly,
holding her like a ragdoll, tight against him, as he took his seat at the card
table. She was sat on his lap, her wrists and ankles still tied to his. Instead
of bondage making her immobile it had been used so she no long had control of
her body. Rachel's hands shadowed Cormack's each and every move, flinging
forward as he laid cards on the table, then back to her chest as he reviewed
cards.
Cormack developed an annoying habit of flicking his cards back and forth over
her nipples while waiting for others to play. He liked the way they grew in
response, and the way Rachel whimpered, trapped between shame and desire. Alex
was envious of the pair, but was resigned that he didn't have the size and
weight advantage to replicate Cormack's feat.
Markham noticed Alex's lingering glance at Jessica and Linsey. "I think my
slave's found a new friend!"
"It's such a friendly position, I'm not surprised," Alex chuckled.
Cormack only lasted a few rubbers (of bridge!) before excusing himself for a
bathroom break. The men's habit while on board was to use the improvised urinal
on the rear patio deck - a large fuel funnel with a length of tube dropping
into the sea through a drain hole.
Rachel gasped as Cormack pulled her arms behind her back so he could unzip his
fly. The only tension between them was sexual and mutual. He pushed her belly
hard against the gunwale, bending her forward so her head was over the water.
She felt something large rubbing against her inner thighs. "I thought you were
just going to the bathroom," she gasped.
"I'd like to, but a man can't piss with a hard-on! Open up and hold still, it
isn't easy without using my hands."
She felt the wet tip of his insistent penis push against her perineum, exciting
her even further. After adjusting the shape of his body it plunged fully into
her, lifting her as far as she could go with her ankles still tied to his. She
felt an exquisite stretch of her legs and a fullness inside she had never known
before. Bound so intimately to this hunk, she hoped some magical curse would
make it impossible to untie the ropes that bound them. Persuaded by his kisses,
it didn't feel like sex or rape, but as if she was possessed and enfolded by
him.
Forgetting herself, Rachel signified her orgasm with a yell, uninhibited by the
darkness of her blindfold, and the exhilarating sea breeze.
GOOD COMPANIONS
Markham and Alex looked across to the two duets on the polished wood floor.
Unlike Cormack, these weren't going anywhere.
Karen, still on all-fours, and on top of her Kate, her reluctant rapist,
appeared exhausted. At first Karen had protested and complained about the
movement of the dildo as Kate tried to get comfortable, but soon the inevitable
happened as their combined body heat increased. Karen directed Kate's thrusts,
reasoning she would feel better, more relaxed, after an orgasm rather than
maintaining her state of enforced arousal. The dribble from Kate's ballgagged
mouth above her ran down her both sides of her face.
Meanwhile Jessica and Linsey continued their delicate never-ending foreplay,
bodies pressed together but unable to gain the friction below the waist they
both craved.
"Exquisite, aren't they?" Markham commented, as if looking at fine porcelain.
Alex agreed, although he might have used a coarser expression. The blindfolded
Jessica was unknowingly testing his self-control.
"My companion slave with your future companion slave. What a pair they make!"
Alex became a little irritated, and replied in barely a whisper. "Shhh! I
already said I can't have a companion slave with the life I lead. I travel too
much. And if I do take a companion slave it won't be Jessica."
Markham raised his eyebrows. "What's wrong? She's pretty. Nice temperament. And
I think she likes you. A ponygirl not good enough for you?"
Alex chuckled, knowing that ponygirls were definitely good enough for him, but
he wasn't enjoying the gentle probing. "I assure you that isn't the reason.
It's more complicated that than. Something I'd rather not talk about. At least
not yet."
"Suit yourself old boy! But that former companion slave on the island..."
"Carol?"
"Yes, Carol. She can help train her. So how is Carol doing these days? How
terrible to lose her companion master at such a young age! Does she ever talk
about her days as a companion slave?"
Alex shook his head. "No, she doesn't like to talk about it. Do you know what
happened?"
Markham leant forward, speaking in barely a whisper. "When her master was
killed in that terrible car wreck, she was given the choice whether to live or
die. A bereaved companion slave will never be sold, nor can they ever be with
another master. Many of them choose to die. It's an inevitable consequence of
their conditioning. After several days in her bedroom looking at a deadly
concoction of pills Carol finally accepted an offer. Like many of those who
choose to live, she opted for a complete change of environment, swapping New
Hampshire for your sunny island on the other side of the world."
"We're glad to have her, she's a very talented beautician, not that our bunnies
need much help. She seems to like the pace of our island life." said Alex.
"You're right about one thing, to my knowledge she's never been with a man in
the time I've known her. She is a free woman, but sometimes she feels the urge
to be disciplined, or punished for some arbitrary offence. Her favourite, or
perhaps it's the one she hates most, is the four hole stock."
He was referring to the iron bar with four circular fixtures in a row used for
pinning a slave in the lowliest of positions: kneeling with her face rubbing on
the floor. Her arms are in front of her, her wrists are pulled between her
knees and secured into the two central circles, flanked on either side by her
secured ankles. With her upturned ass, bare back and accessible vagina and
anus, there is no end to the torments that could be inflicted on her.
Alex continued: "I put her in one a few weeks ago. Vibrated her clit to several
orgasms, whipped her buttocks 'til she bled and then left her to stew for a few
hours. She was a picture of misery when I returned to release her, and yet,
later in the evening she was happier than ever. 'That'll keep me going for a
few weeks', she said to me."
"Stop changing the subject, Alex. You have the perfect opportunity to get
yourself a beautiful, properly trained companion slave. If the time isn't right
now, just keep her on the Island as a ponygirl for five or ten years, until
you're in a position to take her. What's all this nonsense about wiping her
memory and releasing her in a year? You owe her nothing!"
Alex glanced over to Jessica and Linsey. Their tender kisses couldn't disguise
the fact that they were listening, or at least trying to. He coughed. "Time now
to change the subject. In fact I think it's time to change our subjects too.
Jessica and Linsey have been at it for long enough. You don't happen to have a
four hole stock do you?"
LAND AHOY  !
"Land ahoy!" came the shout from the top deck.
Jessica turned over in her bed, burying her face in the sheet to avoid facing
the morning sunshine and the fact that she would be stepping on Rabbit Island
again in a few hours. Her thoughts turned to the previous night and talk of
companion slaves. Being so initimately tied to one, and tasting her kisses,
while listening to the men talking about companion slaves had disturbed her.
She had come to regard Master Alex as the sole barometer of her self-worth. His
comment to Markham about freeing her in a year was lost in the fog of her sense
of rejection. At that moment, perhaps through a lack of vision, she wanted
desperately to be a companion slave. She wanted to be his  companion slave, to
have the kind of relationship that Ranulph Markham and Linsey enjoyed.
Her wrists were still sore from last night's exertions. The delicious
frustrations of being tied face to face, belly to belly with Linsey, being
aroused by her kisses yet unable to do anything about the hot tingle building
up in her body was followed by the four hole stocks. Following Alex's comment
about putting Carol in one, Markham suggested they try his new design, smooth
stainless steel instead of the usual heavy iron. As luck would have it there
were two of them on the ship's toy chest.
Jessica and Linsey were fitted into the four hole stocks and positioned side-
by-side. Alex started his assault with a Hitachi vibrator, while Ranulph
Markham continued his attack on a bottle of 1985 Claret. Jessica was still
blindfolded but she knew well the sensation of Alex's firm hands on her
buttocks. He pinched and pulled her labia, saying to Markham, "I love these
lips." (Yes, he had drunk more than usual.)
"You could at least give her a kiss!" Markham teased from the comfort of his
dining chair. He'd noticed that Alex was less inhibited than usual. Alex's
fingers let go of Jessica's flesh and a few moments later, crouching down
awkwardly behind her, he kissed her. Just one simple kiss, but as Kate might
say, 'a kiss down below is worth a hundred on the face.'
More than a hundred, Jessica thought, as she lay in bed recalling the exquisite
orgasm Alex and a Hitachi vibrator gave her. She looked at the handcuffs that
held her arms at the top of the bed, cursing that she could not reach down to
give that sweet memory an accompanying touch. The strange thing was that she
didn't remember cuffing her own wrists to the bed before she went to sleep.
Perhaps someone else had done it, such as Kate, in revenge for the con trick
she had pulled the previous night? She turned over expecting to look at Kate in
the opposite bunk, but it was empty and, judging by the made up covers, had not
been slept in. Then Jessica remembered. In the middle of the night, disturbed
and unsettled by a strange dream, she had fixed the cuffs on herself, seeking
their security and protection.
BUNNY CHAINS
Jessica fell asleep again, before being roused a half-hour later. Just like the
previous mornings, breakfast was taken while sitting on the deck. Every sip and
mouthful of the orange juice, coffee and croissants was savoured while they
gazed at Rabbit Island's large gently rounded hump looming ever larger. It
looked so lush and green, it being at the tail end of the rainy season.
Compared to the horrors of La Plata, with its appropriate grey jagged peaks,
this island was paradise. But they weren't quite ready for it. Jessica and Kate
thought they had found paradise on the Slave to Fortune.
Vince appeared on deck carrying a canvas bag. "Vacation's over!" he announced
with obvious relish. He emptied the contents of the bag onto the deck. Four
female hearts sank upon seeing its contents, and Vince noticed.
"You've been spoilt these last few days, but now it's back to Rabbit Island
ways. He picked up to first collar and chain and read the inscription on the
collar, "bunny Kate!"
"But I'm a pussygirl, and a nurse," she protested.
"I know you are, babe, but you still get a bunny chain."
Kate sighed with resignation and held her hands together behind her. Vince put
the collar on first, buckling and padlocking it at the front, then placed her
wrists in the handcuffs fixed to a chromed chain dangling from the back of the
collar. Kate gave a perfunctory tug of her wrists and a glance over her
shoulder. It all felt so familiar, making her feel she was back on Rabbit
Island already.
"Bunny Jessica! Step forward. And before you say it... yes I know you're a
ponygirl!"
Jessica smiled. She felt the one-inch diameter collar draw tight around her
neck. She lifted her chin proudly to allow Vince to buckle and lock her.
Ponygirls learned to enjoy being dressed by men, even if the dressing was only
a harness and bridle. She took her place alongside Kate, even though they had
not been asked to line up in any fashion.
Kate looked at the engraved tag fixed onto the side of Jessica's collar "It's
got your name on it, Jessi."
Jessica gave a sardonic chuckle. "Oh, isn't that sweet of them? Our welcome
back gift is made-to-measure bunny chains!"
"They're quite a good fit actually," said Kate, "not so bad at all."
"You're right," Vince interjected, as he dispatched Karen with a playful slap
on the behind. "The collar is made to your exact size, only one buckle hole so
it has a neat tail, the handcuffs close only to your own wrist size, and the
back chain is at the correct length for each of you. Very pretty you all look
too!"
Jessica sneered and wrinkled her nose at Vince, Karen muttered an obscenity,
while Kate accepted the compliment with a smile.
Rachel puffed with frustration and sank dejected to the deck. She seemed more
distressed by the return of chains than anybody. Three days on board the Slave
to Fortune as the lustful object of Cormack's attentions had left more than
just physical marks. She couldn't remember feeling anything as good as his big
muscular body pressing against her. The bunny chains signified that those times
were over. She looked enviously at Kate, who was squinting, perhaps smiling, in
the sunshine without a care in the world. Things were okay for Kate, she had an
interesting job as the island's nurse, and would no doubt continue to enjoy the
lustful attentions of Riccardo. But for Rachel there was only life as a beach
bunny to look forward to, while Cormack was working on the other side of the
world.
DOCKED
The four slaves were left on deck, unmolested and generally ignored while the
owner, crew and guests busied themselves with packing and other preparations
prior to docking.
One thing Jessica had never got used was a slave's utter lack of possessions,
not the slightest trinket or keepsake. Even a typical family dog has more
stuff. Perhaps that was why the new bunny chains, with her name neatly engraved
on the collar, gave her such mixed feelings. They were hers in a sense, even if
the leather collar and steel cuffs encircled and restrained her. She thought
about her ponyboots - surely having made the journey to La Plata and back
again, they were considered hers? And there were her harnesses - two complete
sets. Would they be waiting for her on Rabbit Island? The prospect of being
strapped up again in her working harness was not such an unpleasant thought,
far preferable to breaking in a new harness.
"Katie, do you have any possessions with you?" she asked.
Kate gave Jessica a puzzled look, and nodded down at her clean-shaven sex. "I
keep my credit cards down there. Seldom carry much cash these days."
"Very funny! I mean, do you think that those new chains or, for example, your
little nurse's apron are possessions?"
"That's a good question, Jessi. They're not really possessions, are they? More
like equipment assigned to us. I know it's stupid, but it's nice to be wearing
a collar with my name on it. More personal I suppose. I can tell these are good
quality too. Soft leather, custom fitted cuffs. Not too tight or too loose."
She stretched her arms out behind her to the extent of the collar's connecting
chain. "Yep, in slave terms, I'd say we've arrived!"
Jessica laughed, and looked towards the approaching jetty. "We have now."
Riccardo and Vince returned briefly to the top deck to drop the large
cushioning fenders over the left-hand side of the boat. Both men were in good
spirits, evidently pleased to be returning to the island. "Well, look at that!
They've extended the jetty," Riccardo commented as they headed for opposite
ends of the ship.
Vince expertly threw the line from the bow onto the adjacent bollard on the
jetty. The noise of the ship's engine, a constant companion for the last few
days, fell silent and gradually the stern eased in toward the jetty. Riccardo
dropped the eye of the line over the bollard, pulled it taut, and quickly tied
it off with a figure of eight.
"Not a soul. The place looks deserted," observed Kate.
"No ponygirls to meet us," Jessica observed sadly, expecting hopefully to see
her friends again. Usually when a boat docks, at least one pair of ponygirls,
with trailer attached, would be waiting to take goods, luggage or visitors up
to the Lodge. The ponygirls had a ceremonial function too. Just as a bagpiper
might greet your arrival in Scotland so the sight of a well turned-out ponygirl
provided a fitting welcome to Rabbit Island. It was one errand that Jessica, as
a ponygirl, looked forward to - a chance to see who and what was disembarking,
a rare chance for a ponygirl to be the first to know something, instead of the
last.
They disembarked as a group, and walked up to the lodge on foot, taking the
wooden staircase cut into the rocky cliff-face instead of the long gradual
incline of the trail. The cliff wasn't large, the height of a four-story
building, but after lounging around on boats and prison cells for the last
couple of weeks the slaves were all puffing for breath (with Kate complaining
of exhaustion) by the time they reached the top. Jessica did well to cover her
slight lack of breath. As a ponygirl she could be whipped for showing such
weakness.
Perhaps they were complacent, but Jessica and company half-expected the Slave
to Fortune party would continue in the Lodge's main hall, or perhaps in
somebody's bedroom. Instead they were marched straight to the cellblock. Alex,
Ranulph Markham and the ship's crew had peeled off without Jessica noticing. It
was left to Vince and Riccardo to lock them up.
The cellblock smelt of paint, and the brightly coloured walls indicated that
somebody had been busy very recently. An improvement - Jessica thought - cool
pastel shades replaced the previously stark white walls. When the solid gloss
white painted cell door opened she could see that the cells had also benefited
from a makeover.
The door slammed shut behind her, and Jessica was once again just another
Rabbit Island prisoner. She sat on the bed which ran fully crossways against
the wall opposite the door. Then she noticed the small window above the bed.
She stood on the soft mattress to peer out. It overlooked the cobbled courtyard
where ponygirls were harnessed to their carts and where, on the heavy wooden A-
frames their subsequent punishments were delivered. It was deserted which made
her feel strangely sad. Better to be out there than stuck in a cell, she felt.
She liked the small woven rug on the floor. It reminded her of a prayer mat,
and its purpose was not so different. She was to spend a lot of time kneeling
on it. It seemed to beckon her, so eschewing the comfort of the bed she knelt
down on the rug, knees wide, her back bolt upright and chin raised. The
downward tug of her cuffed wrists on her thick leather collar demanded a good
posture. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, improvising a self-styled
meditation. It was good to be 'home', away from the terrors of La Plata, but
she suspected things might be different on Rabbit Island now.
Those differences soon became apparent.
                               End of chapter 24
           coming soon... the hi-tech cells, chain gangs, rude food.
    (Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any
      comments, criticisms, suggestions and reviews are always welcome.)
Chapter 25. The High-Tech Cell
             (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)
The story so far:
(Ch. 21) Jessica's Operation
(Ch. 22) The dungeon. Jessica faces the Guillotine.
(Ch. 23) On board the Slave to Fortune.
(Ch. 24) The Slave to Fortune lands at Rabbit Island. Jessica in the cellblock.
Jessica had been kneeling on the colourful woven mat for half an hour.
Meditating, wondering where her life was going. Feeling guilty about how long
it was since she thought about home in New York, her parents, her career and
friends. Her nostalgic thoughts were interrupted by a recorded voice.
"Welcome to Rabbit Island, one of the world's premier slave islands."
The voice was of a young woman sounding like a tour guide. Jessica looked to
the side of the cell door and saw a flat screen television had come to life
with pretty woman with short blonde hair. At first Jessica didn't recognise
pussygirl Lucy. Then it all made sense. Lucy had been a promising television
news journalist before her abduction and sale to Rabbit Island. It seemed that
captivity hadn't ended her media career after all.
The studio set was a cell - the mirror image of Jessica's. Lucy wore nothing
but a leather collar and, to judge by the way her hands were hidden behind her,
she was fixed into bunny chains too. Jessica was sorry to see that Lucy had
lost her cascading blonde tresses, then Lucy turned to show her hair had been
plaited and pinned to the back of her head. Any new prisoner with long hair
would get the same pinned-up style, purely to reduce the maintenance of long
hair. Jessica, with her centimetre hair length, had no need of such treatment.
"You have been brought here to participate in this island's lifestyle, and
although you did not choose to come, you were  chosen, because of your sexual
preferences as well as your good looks. You are in a place that understands
those god-given urges you have to be forced, dominated, controlled, restrained,
punished and humiliated. Here, with or without your consent, you will explore
the full depths of your desires. You will go to places that you thought only
possible in your most shameful and masochistic fantasies."
It was a fair assessment, Jessica thought. They might not have been Lucy's
words but she delivered them as if she knew well of what she spoke.
The picture changed to moving aerial images of the island shot from a low-
flying helicopter. Jessica was fascinated at seeing her island home from the
air, just as any resident in any neighbourhood would be. It didn't surprise her
how beautiful it looked, an oval-shaped oasis of lush green, trimmed with white
sand and surrounded by a turquoise sea.
Lucy continued her commentary. "This complex of buildings is called The Lodge,
the island's headquarters. It's where you are now, in the narrow block on the
left. There are thirty guest rooms, plus offices, activity rooms and a main
hall. Adjoining the cell-block in the large square building is the building
where the ponygirls live..."
"And where I should be now!" Jessica barked at the video screen.
"We have three bunny cabins located around the island, each on a beautiful
stretch of sandy beach. This is where most of the slaves live. Once you have
passed the induction examinations, you will be released into one of these
camps, and will live there until you are required back at the Lodge. You'll
wear the same chains that you and I are wearing now."
"This is the Orchard, which is what we call the group of buildings in the
middle of the cultivated heart of the island. We grow most of our own food, and
are self-sufficient in electricity due to the solar panels and slave-powered
generators which orchard slaves may have to power on static bicycles on busy
evenings."
"All parts of the island are linked by narrow trails. We use environment-
friendly ponygirls for all our transportation needs. There go two of them now."
This shot was taken from the side of a trail and showed two ponygirls
approaching at a trot. Because of the foreshortened camera angle they didn't
appear to be going fast, then suddenly they reached the camera, which swung
around rapidly to record them running into the distance, driver and trailer in
tow.
Jessica watched this sequence intently. "My god. It's me!" she whispered with
muted excitement, "and Debbie," she added with a glimmer of sadness, still not
aware of her pony pair's fate.
Lucy appeared on the screen again. "Now let's take a quick tour of your cell.
Your first order is that you should stay quiet. Noise will not be tolerated.
See the ballgag and shackles hanging on a hook there? That's to remind you.
You'll find yourself wearing them if you cause a disturbance."
Jessica looked warily at the red ball and its array of straps hanging
decoratively on her cell wall. Next to the gag was a set of ankle shackles.
They seemed to be taunting her.
"And if you're ball-gagged you can't eat! This brings me neatly to my next
topic. Notice the two protruding tubes mounted on the wall? That's your feeding
station. All you do in kneel down in front of them, and take them into your
mouth until your chin and nose touch the sensors. That's when the food and
water will be fed to you."
Protruding tubes? More like narrow, semi-erect penises, Jessica thought. The
one for water was two inches long so would spray directly into the mouth. The
food penis was much longer, measuring close to eight inches. Whatever this
liquid food was, Jessica realized she wouldn't taste it. She was thirsty and
eager to try the water, but Lucy's introductory talk continued:
"And alongside the feeding station is your toilet, the very latest innovation
in female sanitary design. Kneel astride it allowing your weight to rest fully
on it." Lucy demonstrated, sitting on the narrow curve of the stainless steel
toilet until her sex was fully sealed within the banana shaped bowl. "And when
you're done simply click the button on the wall with the sole of your foot...
but stay seated! First, you'll be sprayed, then brushed, then hot air dried and
finally perfumed. You'll find it's really very pleasant."
It had to be better than squatting over a hole, Jessica thought. The ponygirl
quarters, and other slave areas were equipped only with floor level squatting
toilets.
"If you've been wondering what that oval hole in the wall is... it's a face
washer. Kneel down and push your face into the hole, resting your chin fully on
the bottom ledge. There's a flexible tube protruding from the middle that you
must take between your teeth, like sucking on a straw. Once the machine starts
you'll be sprayed with warm water, and the tube will squirt an amount of
mouthwash. You must swill it and spit it out while the cleaning progresses.
Your face will be dried by warm air after the wash cycle...
"The final feature of your cell is called the slut-saddle  . You kneel in the
saddle, nice and gently so this little dildo slips inside you. What could be
nicer? Don't try using it yet or you'll receive a nasty electric shock. You're
only allowed to sit on it at certain times. I'll see you later for exercises
and to introduce your evening entertainment. Bye for now!"
"Bye-ee!" Jessica responded sarcastically in the same cheery tone, and then
muttered, "They could at least provide knee pads for all this kneeling we have
to do!"
She looked warily at the invitingly knobbly penis pointing skyward from the
centre of the slut saddle, despising it, yet knowing what pleasure and comfort
such a thing could give her. The cell had everything a prisoner needed to
survive, and that's what worried her.
She knelt in front of the water penis and put her lips around it. The T-bar
protrusion rising up through her tongue blocked off her palate, so she tucked
it into her cheek like a hamster. As this tube was only two inches long, her
nose and chin easily touched their respective sensors and Jessica was instantly
rewarded with a steady trickle of cool water. The flow continued as long as she
pressed her nose and chin against the wall sensors. She stared forlornly at the
food penis knowing that the hated tongue-bar would not permit the tube to reach
into her throat. She would have to stay hungry.
The rest of her new toys could wait. Her thirst quenched, Jessica lay on her
bed and slept.
EXERCISES
"In two minutes I'll be leading your afternoon exercises!"
Jessica woke with a start, disorientated by her surroundings, having been woken
in a deep phase of sleep.
It was Lucy on the flat screen again. Jessica sat up, and slowly stood, her
eyes still half-closed as she tried to get her bearings. It was the ideal time
to try out the face washer; a splash of water on her face would surely do the
trick. The unit functioned just as Lucy had described, leaving her face and
mouth feeling clean and fresh.
Lucy was still in the buff except for her bunny chains, leading by example.
"Now, stand in the middle of the floor and mirror my movements. First thing we
have to do is roll the shoulders. Your arms are probably aching if you aren't
used to bunny chains, but these exercises will help. Just keep rolling your
shoulders. Now, legs straight and bend down to touch your toes."
"With what?" Jessica griped, but she diligently followed along Lucy's exercise
program. She felt better for doing so. It wasn't so different from the routine
she remembered from the bunny cabin, which they had devised themselves.
Then Lucy moved on to what she called ponygirl stretches  , a routine based on
the warm-up and stretching routine that Rabbit Island ponygirls always
performed. It emphasised trunk, hips, thighs, and calves. Watching a pussygirl
do this routine made Jessica laugh.
The exercise session ended after half an hour, with the screen going dark
again. Jessica sat yoga-style on her rug trying to meditate, in the hope that
it might relieve the boredom.
Somehow time passed and darkness fell. A light came on automatically, more for
the closed-circuit camera's benefit than hers. Jessica was hungry, enough to
attempt the feeding device, but it was impossible to get the plastic tube past
the metalwork in her mouth. She looked up at the camera pointing down at her
from the top corner of the cell. "I'm hungry," she said meekly, hoping that
somebody was watching. Her plea was not answered.
There was a commotion outside the cell door. A young woman was struggling so
hard that someone fell against her door as they passed. Jessica jumped at the
sudden noise. The previous few hours had been as quiet as a monastery.
"Bastards. You fucking bastards!" The young woman shouted.
Jessica didn't recognise the voice, nor did she know who would waste her effort
on such a futile struggle. The cell door slammed. Moments later there was more
commotion as the woman banged her heels against her door.
"Fucking bastards! You can't keep me here like this!"
"Yes they can," said Jessica under her breath. It felt good to have a neighbour
in the next cell, even a noisy one.
"You could at least take off these handcuffs!" The new prisoner shouted, her
heel repeatedly banging against the door. Jessica admired her spirit,
remembering how she used to be like that before the unrelenting regime of
punishments and privileges put an end to such notions.
"And this collar! I'm not a dog, you know!"
"No, but like it or not, you are  a bunny." Jessica chuckled.
The complaining turned to begging. "Ohhh! Please guys. My arms are really
aching now. I promise I'll be a good prisoner if you unlock me!"
When Jessica heard the neighbour's cell door open, she thought for a brief
moment that the new girl had her wish. She should have known better. The two
handlers who placed her in the cell minutes earlier had returned with their own
ideas on how to stop the disturbance.
"No, please, no!" was the last thing Jessica heard before the ball-gag was
lodged between her neighbour's teeth. Ankle shackles followed - closing around
one ankle, then pulled back over her handcuffs and attached it to her other
ankle. The men departed leaving her in a chained hog-tie, crying with self-pity
on her small rug.
Although she couldn't see what was happening, Jessica could easily imagine the
scene in the next cell. "Welcome to Rabbit Island!" she said, loud enough that
the girl might hear.
Jessica paced the cell, thinking about her new neighbour, wondering whether she
was getting herself worked up. With a little pressure on the right spot, (a
crotch rope was ideal), and a little leverage to move her body, Jessica could
easily bring herself to orgasm when she was hog-tied. She recalled the night
when she was hog-tied and gagged on Master Alex's bedroom floor. He had another
woman in his bed that night, and while he was making love to the woman, she
rocked herself to an orgasm - and a noisy one at that - moments before Alex and
the woman came. Jessica had always been an aural rather than a visual person,
and the sounds of a man and a woman making love always excited her, not that
she was in a position to explain that to Master Alex. He got out of the bed to
pet her knowing that most women like a little caressing after they cum. "A hog-
tie whore" he called her, compounding Jessica's embarrassment, then added "yep,
I like that in a woman."
Jessica never forgot that incident or Master Alex's comment, and nor did he
allow her to. Jessica found herself getting aroused while thinking back to that
time and others with Master Alex, and the way he teased her in mind and body.
Her ringed nipples were growing of their own accord, as if in search of a man
to touch them, while her sex became increasingly moist and needy. She lay back
on her bed and curled up facing the wall. Her chained hands vainly tried to
reach over her hip, hoping for just the mere touch of a finger onto her
clitoris. She gave up and settled for sweet dreams instead.
The screen came to life again, with the ubiquitous Lucy introducing the evening
program. Jessica could hardly believe the luxury. She was watching television
in bed!
Pussygirl Lucy gave instructions and an unnecessary but cute demonstration on
how to use the slut-saddle  . After a brief pause the evening's movie started.
It was, quite simply, a porn movie; one featuring many familiar places and
faces from Rabbit Island and scenes from elsewhere, places Jessica didn't
recognise. Kate appeared in a scene, then Rachel, and Lucy too, looking like a
pre-Raphaelite porn star with her long blonde ringlets. Jessica lasted only
five minutes in bed, becoming warmer, and increasingly agitated. She sat up in
bed, twisted her hands to her side but still her fingertips were agonizingly
short of her needy pussy. She began to wonder if preventing such behaviour was
the main purpose of her bunny chains, with the security aspect merely the
secondary effect. She knew that relief could only come via the slut saddle.
Jessica rose angrily from her bed, annoyed at having been forcibly aroused by
the erotic images of the movie. She knelt down over the saddle's thick and
deeply ridged phallus and slowly sank down on it until it stretched and filled
her. For the next half-hour she bounced up and down on it, grinding her hips to
create different movements as scenes of sexual torment and fulfillment flashed
by. The slut-saddle  was well named, she conceded as she crawled exhausted into
her bed.
                                      ***
It was the sunlight, rather than any noise, that woke Jessica the following
morning. Her arms ached and she cursed having to sleep with her hands locked
behind her. Being chained together and to the top of the bed, ponygirl-style,
was far preferable.
After extracting a long drink from the water tube, she gazed hungrily at the
long feeding tube and thought how wonderful it would feel in her throat. She
sat astride the high-tech steel toilet, gingerly allowing her weight to rest
fully on it, her inner thighs pressed down on it, creating an effective join of
skin and steel. Its reassuring coolness soon encouraged her to urinate and
defecate.
Still seated, Jessica gulped nervously, closed her eyes, and then pushed her
foot against the large push-button on the wall. The fine jets of water came up
at her vagina and anus like a multitude of ice-cold pinpricks.
While the jets continued, a whining sound came as the rotary brushes started.
She felt it burrowing deep within her crack and against her anus, brisk,
insistent yet never harsh, leaving her with no doubt as to its efficiency.
The warm air dryer was altogether gentler, causing Jessica to go wide-eyed at
the surprising pleasure.
A loud hiss beneath her and a mild stinging sensation to her labia signalled
that she had been perfumed. Her toiletting complete, Jessica stood up, feeling
clean and fragrant, and rather pleased with herself, like a kid that's just
been potty-trained.
An hour later a handler came to escort Jessica from her cell. He blindfolded
her, led her by the arm through the corridors of the cellblock and then
outside. Jessica briefly sensed the bright daylight and felt the pleasant
warmth of the sun on her head before they entered another building. Coolness
and darkness returned, accompanied by a smooth, tiled floor beneath her bare
feet.
Unseen hands helped Jessica onto a medical table and released her wrists their
dangling handcuffs, but only so she could be fixed to the table, her hands
attached to it by straps on each side. 'Bondage is relative' is an oft quoted
saying on Rabbit Island, and Jessica, feeling her hands resting relaxed at her
sides instead of pinned behind her, understood it well. Feeling her ankles
being spread and similarly secured bothered her very little - there was
something familiar and reassuring about the hands that controlled her. Her
instincts were right - Dr Schmidt had left the preparations to Kate and Carol.
Jessica felt something wrapping tightly around her arm, constricting it. The
blood pressure monitor was being set up. Then she felt a pungent rubbery smell
against her mouth and nose, and something gassy. "Count backwards from ten to
one," Doctor Schmidt instructed.
"Ten, n...."
The Doctor watched the heart monitor for a few moments. "We're ready, nurse
Kate."
Kate lifted Jessica's blindfold, checked her pupil dilation and stroked her
friend's forehead. The doctor fitted a metal dental gag between Jessica's teeth
and forced her mouth open to such a degree that a conscious person would have
found it intolerable. He poked around in Jessica's mouth with latex covered
fingers, pushing against the rigid steel T-bar fixed behind her back teeth
where her molars used to be. He studied the bar's upward piercing through her
tongue, admiring not just the bondage it inflicted on Jessica's mouth but also
the precision of the fitting, and almost feeling sorry to have to remove such
an elegant construction.
He picked up a small drill from a neatly laid out tray of implements while Kate
readied herself with the suction tube at Jessica's mouth. The removal
operation, at once delicate and brutal, commenced.
While the T-bar extraction continued, Carol restored the six heavy-duty pony
rings to Jessica's labial piercings. She was pleased to see Jessica's
substantial nipples in excellent shape and still ringed. A good body piercer
always feels a long-term responsibility for the piercings she makes.
THE BELLS
Jessica barely remembered her visit to the surgery, and had only vague
recollections of Kate and Doctor Schmidt. She slept in her cell for hours,
eventually rising due to thirst. She licked her lips for the first time in two
months. Her mouth hurt, bruised and sore from the severe opening of the dental
gag and from the doctor's efforts in removing the T-bar. She looked down at her
tingling sex and smiled upon seeing her restored piercings.
She was puzzled by the noise of a pleasant tinkling sound, like small bells,
every time she moved. When she shook her chest the bells rung in response.
"Bastards," she muttered with a wry smile. Standing up and leaning fully
forward, she saw they had fitted small bells to her nipple rings. She shook her
body again and laughed. It was as if a juvenile prank had been played on her,
and not the first time she had thought that about her Rabbit Island masters.
Still restrained in her bunny chains Jessica knelt in front of the food and
water dispensers. She cried out with pain when putting her mouth over the water
dildo, pressing her chin and the tip of her nose against the pressure pads that
released the water. The water in her belly reminded her of her hunger, as did
the large protruding dildo to her left. Shifting over to it, she studied the
slight downward curve of it, designed to make it easier to swallow. It was
longer than the depth of her mouth by at least two inches.
"Sheesh, they don't make anything easy," she muttered, and gingerly took
between her lips and let it slide in. Throating a penis was like swallowing a
large pill - it's better to get it down first time. She pushed through her
gagging reflex and moved her body upwards and forwards. The tube eased smoothly
downwards into her throat until her nose and chin made contact with the
sensors.
The feeding tube pulsed like a slow and strong heartbeat every couple of
seconds. At first, she didn't think anything was happening, until she felt the
pangs in her stomach begin to ease. Kneeling secured in her bunny chains and
suckling at the mechanical feeder, Jessica felt like a helpless young animal,
eager to gulp down whatever was provided by this grossly perverted variation of
a mother's teat.
Sitting back on her bed, restored and fed, Jessica couldn't help but call out a
genuine 'thank you' to the monitoring camera.
The arrangement of the cell was designed to remove any notion a new arrival had
of her self-sufficiency. Everything coming in and out of her body was done for
her and each fixture totally benign in purpose - feeding her, washing her,
toileting her, and giving sexual pleasure and relief.
The day passed, and the next one too, by which time Jessica was talking to the
equipment that maintained and nurtured her. Her only human contact were the
faint noises beyond the cell door. Her noisy neighbour was now seldom to be
heard, having become acquainted with the policy of rewards and punishments.
Jessica paced back and forth in her cell, a rat in a cage. Did rats get bored,
she wondered. Her bunny chains were a kind of semi-bondage, leaving her neither
free nor properly restrained, she felt in a kind of limbo. Prisoner purgatory.
She became angry, trying to pull her arms apart and tugging on the chain
connecting the cuffs to her collar as if after three days they would suddenly
break open. Her frustration spilled out in a string of obscenities directed up
at the monitor camera. Just in case they weren't watching, she turned her back
to the cell door and thumped it repeatedly with her fists.
Room service promptly arrived. Two men walked in.
"I'm bored," Jessica grumpily informed them.
Their response was less than sympathetic. "Lay down on your rug," one of them
growled. Jessica's hesitation was met with a sharp slap on her cheek; the
officially approved chastisement for bunnies slow in following orders. Stunned
by the sudden assault Jessica went down on her knees, collapsed to one side and
positioned herself belly-down on the rug.
One man grabbed the ball-gag from its hook on the wall, while the other took
care of the ankle shackles. Jessica cried out in pain as the red rubber ball
was wedged between her teeth. Straps were buckled behind her head, another over
her face, with a third buckled under her chin. Only then did she resume her
complaining. It was a habit for many bunnies to be silent until they were
gagged and then unleash a torrent of garbled saliva-dribbling abusive language,
tolerated by the handlers purely because they were amused by it.
Simultaneously with her gagging, Jessica's ankles were shackled and joined to
her wrists, hog-tying her. She rattled and rolled in her chains like a freshly
captured wild beast, only making the handlers laugh at her. They decided her
hog-tie should be stricter lest she did herself some damage. A thin leather
cord was looped around her two big toes and threaded through the D ring at the
top of ball-gag harness. The slack in the cord was pulled out and tied off,
leaving Jessica with her neck bent back, facing ahead and unable to lower her
chin to the floor. Another cord was used to draw her elbows together, eliciting
more garbled complaints from Jessica. They rolled her onto her side, threaded a
third cord through her nipple rings, then laced the two trailing ends through
her labia rings, closing her labia like a shoe, then tied the cord off to her
handcuffs. She was rolled back on her belly to experience the full erotic tug
of the cords. If she wiggled her toes, her head pulled backwards. If she moved
her hands, she felt a tug on her nipples.
Jessica wasn't likely to win 'best in show' at the hog-tie championships, but
the combined effect of the chains and the leather cords made for a stringent
binding, causing her to regret her earlier outburst. She continued to rage at
the men, only causing them further amusement. One man left the cell, and
returned a minute later holding two mugs of coffee.
They pulled her rug through a quarter turn so that she was facing them when
they sat on her bed. "Ever played Name that Tune  , Jessica?"
"Ehhh!" She confirmed.
"The rules are simple. I whisper the name of a song in your ear and you have to
sing it,"
Jessica looked at them incredulously. Most men just wanted to abuse her once
they had her in such a helpless position, not play parlour games.
"And George has to say what the song is. If he fails to guess it, he is
punished."
George almost choked on his coffee. "He's kidding with you Jessica. It's you
who is punished!"
Alan knelt down to Jessica's face and whispered in her ear: " I was bound to
love you  !"
Jessica started to hum it, but was stopped by Alan. "You have to sing  the
words. No humming!"
She started to 'sing'. They laughed, most surely at her rather than with her.
George didn't get that one, even after three repeats. Jessica wondered if he
was deliberately failing to guess it, but there again she never could sing in
tune. Alan fared no better with Jessica's rendition of Unchained Melody  .
George couldn't even spot Please Release Me  .
Three more tunes followed. Only one the last did Alan guess correctly (The Star
Spangled Banner  ), and only after Jessica had sung the whole thing. It left
her in tears.
George and Alan thought it appropriate to end with the national anthem, and
with Jessica on a winning streak. They left her alone, slamming the cell door
callously behind them, and without a word on when she would be freed from their
wicked hog-tie. Jessica began her long-awaited struggle - an animalistic
instinct to fight against what has trapped it. Had she known how strict the
bondage would be, and that she had to give a singing recital, she might never
have engineered the situation she found herself in.
Jessica rocked her body back and forward on the rug, sensing rhythmic tugs on
her nipples, her labia, her toes, and her hands. Fucking the carpet,  she'd
heard it called. It proved mildly stimulating considering how little she was
able to move her body.
As for the question of whether it passed the time and relieved her boredom - it
did! With her pent-up orgasmic frustration, the aches and pains, the anger, the
self-pity, the guilt, the shame of deliberately bringing this on herself,
Jessica had much occupy her mind.
THE PONY QUARTERS
The following morning Jessica had a visitor - Riccardo. She knelt on the floor
in front of him, facing down at his feet. Her respect was genuine. She tried
not to look too happy but seeing Riccardo, her pony driver, again it felt like
a new beginning.
Riccardo held a clipboard and a pen and, after a brief greeting, started to ask
Jessica some questions:
"The new bunny chains are more comfortable than the previous type. Strongly
agree? Somewhat agree? No change? Somewhat disagree? Strongly disagree?"
Jessica's wrists pulled against the steel which had held her wrists behind her
back for the last two days, and with some reluctance said: "Somewhat agree."
Riccardo asked similar questions about the automatic toilet, the phallic
feeders, Lucy's exercise video, the slut saddle, and even asked about the
softness of the mattress.
Jessica's brow furrowed as she began to find the questions as tedious as they
were absurd. She always hated that style of multiple-choice. She needed to know
something. "Riccardo, Sir. How is it my opinions matter all of a sudden?"
He gave a shrug. "It's research, to find out how the new initiation cells are
functioning, and whether these home comforts help make the fresh arrivals
easier to train."
Jessica sneered. "Home comforts? That's very funny! Boredom was my biggest
problem."
"Ah! So that's what yesterday's tantrum was about?" Riccardo smiled. "I heard
you had a little sing-song with Alan and George. Did the hog-tie they put you
in help pass the time?"
"Actually, it did," said Jessica proudly. "At least it prevented me from
kicking the walls of this impersonal automated cell."
"Better than a cold and dark dungeon!" Riccardo retorted, rebuking Jessica for
her ingratitude.
"We never talked like this when I was your ponygirl, did we?" Jessica asked,
gazing up at him and making direct eye contact.
"No we didn't," said Riccardo, smiling, and implicitly answering her implicit
question. That was the moment she knew she was no longer under his whip. He was
as considerate and fair as a pony driver could be. The thought of being under
another man's whip scared her.
He helped her to stand and led her from the cell. Jessica was horrified that
her nipple bells rang gently with every step. They walked out into the cobbled
courtyard - the mustering point for all ponygirl activities. Two empty and
detached pony traps stood in their usual parking places, ready to be hitched
up. Jessica found the scene familiar and reassuring, even upon sighting the
end-of-day whipping frame; all the signs of her past routine. Jessica was a
creature of habit, and that was considered a good attribute for a ponygirl.
Riccardo opened the door to the ponygirl quarters. "After you!" he gestured
with disarming courtesy. He unlocked her bunny chains and collar, leaving
Jessica wearing nothing but her pony piercings as she walked into the newly
decorated ponygirl quarters.
The main room, with its new arrived Scandinavian furnishings, was deserted.
Jessica moved her aching arms about her in a slow windmill fashion trying to
loosen up her shoulders while working through the pain. She heard laughter from
the bedroom, and moments later three naked women emerged, screaming with
delight. Debbie was the first to embrace her. Diana and Melinda soon made it an
emotional group hug.
The rest of the day passed with barely a moment of silence as the four told
their respective stories of the last few months in exile. The large pine table
was piled with harnesses and ponyboots to be cleaned and repaired. As they
worked, they talked; and as they polished and rubbed the leather so their
nipple bells rang out almost constantly. To further add to the ringing
cacophony Jessica had to fix bells to the backs of pony-boots, following their
removal on La Plata.
The wall, with its gallery of ponygirl pictures had several new photographs,
including Jessica as part of the four-team on La Plata. Debbie, Diana and
Melinda were in turns appalled and enthralled by her tale of cruelty,
punishment and subsequent rescue from La Plata. When asked about the bruising
on her face she explained that Doctor Schmidt had caused it during the
operation to remove her T-bit. Not for the first time, her roommates winced
with horror as Jessica described her ordeal.
Debbie's experience on a remote Japanese island had been very different. After
cajoling from Jessica, she reluctantly agreed to tell her story:
"I was what they called a pony-whore. That's why I'm always wearing corsets and
stuff in the photographs. As you can see, they always made up my face to make
me look as sexy as possible, bright red lips, rouged cheeks and dark eyeliner
and shadows. I didn't mind that part, but I guess I looked a bit of a tart. We
used to spend most of the day lined up, harnessed and attached to our one-man
sulkies, waiting for customers. When a new client arrived, he could choose
which of the five of us he wanted. Some of the pony-whores were shameless. If
they liked the look of a man, they flaunted their bodies to tempt him. After a
while I learned to smile and flaunt myself too, developing a sexy sway of the
hips. It was better to appear happy and willing because some of the clients,
particularly the cruel ones, preferred to take a sullen ponygirl as she was
considered more deserving of punishment...
"Once a price was agreed - and mine increased a lot during my time there - the
customer sat behind me on the sulky, sometimes receiving instructions on how to
control me with the whip. In fact, the whipping was only for his amusement. I
knew where I had to run. There was an area about five hundred metres away and
uphill, so with the climb and the high humidity I was usually drenched in sweat
when we arrived...
"The was a wooden hut, like a kiosk, at the top of the hill. The man who ran it
ensured the customer had everything he needed, from condoms to whips to coca
cola. After taking in the view from the hill, and exploring the equipment at
his disposal, the customer would finally detach me from the shafts and fix me
to one of the various frames. Usually I'd be put on a whipping frame first,
just to get him in the mood. Then he'd fuck me - bent forward over an A frame
was normal. Usually they left my tail plug in place, I guess they found it sexy
to fuck a real ponygirl, but occasionally someone would remove it to use my
ass. Some men would lay me straight down in the spread-eagle frame for a
straightforward fuck. The fact that I was still a sweating and panting ponygirl
seemed only to add to the attraction. I sure had lots of male noses pressed
into my armpits. Apparently the diet they fed me, which is high in grain and
fruit, was designed to make my sweat more fragrant than you might suppose."
Jessica laughed. "That would make a nice change! Did they let you bring some of
that food back with you?"
"You're very funny, Jessica. Your handler must have needed a gas mask after
you'd been wearing your leatherbody all day!" Debbie continued her story.
"Usually we'd spend an hour in this hilltop 'sex place', as they romantically
called it. After fucking me, the client would usually leave me tied down and
get a cold drink or an ice cream from the kiosk. Alternatively, he might watch
one of the other pony-whores getting treatment in the neighbouring sex place.
After that short break, the clients were ready to go at me again...
"The worst part was being hitched up again for the journey back. Trotting
downhill pulling along a guy that had just been fucking me was so..." Debbie
paused to wipe a tear from her eye. "... so humiliating. I guess the men liked
that part, the feeling of absolute power over a western woman who was several
inches tall than them. I hated that part. Not even a cheap whore has to go
through that."
Jessica was feeling strangely aroused by Debbie's tale until she saw the hurt
flow out. They hugged, and for once Jessica was the comforter.
Diana and Melinda were lucky enough to have stayed together during their
temporary exile from Rabbit Island.
"We were on a vast private estate and lived with other ponygirls and horses in
a stable. Diana recalled. "The lawns were so well tended it makes the Rabbit
Island lawns look like a municipal park. Of course, it took a lot of servants
and slaves to keep it that way. Mostly we were used by the garden supervisor
and hitched to a trailer that held garden tools. Perhaps our trailer would be
loaded up with grass clipping or other waste. We weren't driven as such; we
were just pulled along by our reins. You can see from the picture that the
harnesses were well worn, designed for working not showing. It was just as well
the harnesses were comfortable, as we usually had to sleep in them. All they
did was release our hands from behind and chain them to the top of our beds.
They weren't even real beds, just bails of hay with a blanket on top...
"Not all the ponygirls were like us. The lady of the estate had a pair of the
prettiest ponygirls you ever saw - present company accepted! Both were tall,
slim and blonde - from Sweden apparently. I must confess I envied them,
strapped up in wonderful shiny harnesses and elaborate headstocks, while we
were more like the gardener's donkeys. Yes. Donkey-girls!"
Jessica laughed. "Any donkey boys? Did you get laid?" she demanded to know.
Diana and Melinda had a glint in their eyes as they exchanged glances. "Not
officially," they conceded, as if reluctant to share their secret. "We had to
sleep side by side on our hay bed, with our hands chained to the wall by our
heads, which they thought would keep us out of mischief. Let's just say we
often found our legs entwined and our kisses not exactly chaste. Ever given
someone an orgasm using your toes?"
Jessica shook her head. Melinda just blushed, being the 'someone'  in question.
Diana continued. "One night we were discovered to be not quite on our
respective sides of the hay bales. It was one of the stable lads… of horses,
not ponygirls! He was small and slim, like a jockey, but rather cute, we
thought, with his slick black hair and soft dark eyes...
Instead of punishing or reporting us as we expected, he just stared, and I saw
him adjusting the front of his pants. It was Melinda who encouraged him, and
although he didn't understand English, he soon got the message from her body
language. Suddenly I wasn't good enough for her!" She winked at Melinda.
"So the boy undressed and climbed onto the bed with us. Even in the darkness of
the stable, we could see his cock was at full attention. It wasn't very thick
but it was plenty long enough for the job. He seemed in awe, almost trembling
as he put his palms on Melinda's breasts. I do believe his lost his virginity
with Melinda that first night...
"The next night he came to us again. What can I say? The young boy was a
gentleman. I could tell he wanted to fuck Melinda again but he took me instead,
although I think I scared the life out of the poor boy when I wrapped my legs
around him. He came to us most nights of the week from then on, never stayed
more than half an hour and was always careful to clean up behind him. He kept
us sane."
"One night, towards the end of our stay, he became too confident and fell
asleep between us. I can tell you that we didn't object to having that warm
young body wedged between us so we let him sleep. That's when they found him.
He was dragged out of our stable by the supervisors, almost crying with terror.
"We didn't see him again until later that afternoon when we were returning to
the stable. He'd been tied to a post with his hands high above him. They'd
whipped his bare back enough to make it bleed. I thought he was unconscious,
but as we went past him, pulling our usual gardening trailer, he opened his
eyes and smiled, as if to say we were worth it!"
"Aw!" Debbie and Jessica said in unison, noticing that Diana and Melinda both
seemed teary-eyed at the recollection.
They went to bed early, noticing the room contained eight beds as it did
previously. The four vacant beds gave Jessica an empty feeling, a desperate
desire to see Linda, Cathy, Sandra and Karita again. She hoped the four empty
beds were a sign of their imminent arrival rather than a horrible reminder of
their loss.
The handcuffs fixed by a chain to the top of the bed frame had been upgraded.
These were thicker, absurdly so, but had soft rounded edges, unlike the
previous police-issue versions. They had a green LED light built in, which
flashed like a beacon every few seconds. The light would turn red once the
cuffs were secured.
"It's nice to sleep in my own bed again," said Jessica to nobody in particular
as she pulled a bed-sheet over her and locked the shiny new cuffs around her
wrists.
                               End of chapter 25
  Coming soon…Hitting the trails. Rude food. Riccardo receives shocking news.
    (Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any
      comments, criticisms, suggestions and reviews are always welcome.)
                          Chapter 26. Just Desserts
             (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)
The story so far:
(Ch. 21) Jessica's Operation
(Ch. 22) In the dungeon. Jessica faces the guillotine.
(Ch. 23) On board the Slave to Fortune.
(Ch. 24) The Slave to Fortune lands at Rabbit Island. Jessica in the cell
block.
(Ch. 25) The hi-tech cells. Stories of ponygirls in exile.
BACK TO WORK
Everything kicked off the following morning when ponygirl duties recommenced.
Jessica and Debbie made several trips between the jetty and the orchard, two
kilometres each way. Previous resident bunnies returned with some new arrivals.
At the quayside, her blinkered view and the martingale chain constantly
frustrated Jessica, keeping her head from turning to take in the view. She had
a mental checklist of people she hoped to see again: bunnies, ponygirls and,
she had to admit, some of the masters too.
Frank, her new pony driver had ways to temper Jessica's excitement. His
reputation as the strictest driver was well founded, demanding excellence  at
all times from his ponygirls. Excellence, Jessica learned, was the stage beyond
mere obedience for a ponygirl. She overheard Frank talking about it with
somebody. He never talked to her, but she had the distinct impression that some
of the conversation was for his ponygirls' ears too.
Chalk marks accumulated at an alarming rate on Jessica's and Debbie's thighs,
each one for some minor misdemeanour, later to be translated into a swipe of
the cane. Jessica had counted thirty marks at least - six groups of four
vertical marks with a fifth diagonal strike through each set of four. While
Frank was busying himself with unloading boxes at the orchard, Jessica bent
forward and lifted her left thigh in order to gauge the extent of her upcoming
punishment on the whipping frame. Frank spotted her, and rapped his horsewhip
against her upper arm. For that alone he added two more chalk marks. He
demanded, by means of a whip and a piece of chalk, that Jessica and Debbie
stand motionless and bolt upright when not being driven.
Jessica might have complained about the tightness of the harness and the harsh
strokes of Frank's whip, even before the end-of-day punishments, but being
alongside Debbie compensated. They say that all ponygirl pairs feel it to some
extent - an almost telepathic understanding and sympathy from their respective
partners. The sense of purpose, the freedom from uncertainty, the elation of
running fast as a team, the sheer physicality of it, made this the best day
since Jessica had been back on the island.
                                      ***
Several more days passed in the same fashion. There seemed an endless pile of
supplies to deliver to various corners of the island. Rachel, Karen and all the
other bunnies on the island had been seconded into carrying duties between the
less remote parts. They wore their bunny chains - the regulation collar and
handcuffs – and each wore backpacks and 'frontpacks' - not the sophisticated
ergonomic designs favoured by trekkers, but improvised from nothing more than
burlap sacks and thick rope.
Rachel and Karen were in a group of four, chained together by their collars at
two metre intervals. They weren't happy with being chained pack animals, but
the masters' gagging of persistent complainers had the desired effect. Each
group had at least one ball-gagged member of the team as a reminder to the
others.
At the rear of the chain gang was Karen wearing a single strap ball-gag,
therefore losing her ability to join in with the conversation as they walked to
the orchard for the third time that day.
Rachel was at the front of the group, having the dubious privilege of leading
the chain. She was responsible for motivating her gang to keep walking to reach
their destination. Resting along the way was not an option - if they sat down,
they might not be able to stand again with ten kilos of supplies in each of the
two packs. There was simply no choice but to carry on walking. Rachel wished
that a handler could have accompanied them, knowing that his whip would have
motivated her companions far more than she could.
As Jessica was trotting along a trail, she spotted Rachel, notable for her
white-blonde hair, even from a distance. Rachel and her chain gang instantly
deferred to the approaching pony-trap, stepping off the track, standing in awe
as the ponygirls passed them at what seemed an incredible speed, aided by a
downhill gradient, an unladen trailer, and the regular application of the
whipper. Jessica noticed a delicate wave of acknowledge from Rachel's cuffed
hand.
At the jetty Jessica was pleased to see familiar faces disembarking from boats
every day. The most welcome among them were ponygirls Linda and Karita, and she
hoped they would be put straight to work. It was a testament to the integrity
of Rabbit Island that they continued to resist the temptation to use motorised
transport, but it placed a huge burden on the ponygirls and their drivers. Even
Frank was beginning to complain about the workload, which, as he sat behind the
ponygirls while they ran mile after mile, might have seemed rich indeed. In his
defence, pony driving did require concentration, plus he had to load and unload
the trailers at each end while Jessica and Debbie rested... upright and
motionless, of course.
On their fifth morning of ponygirl duties they heard rumours about an evening
party - a celebration of the reopening of Rabbit Island. Most of the ponygirls
secretly wished they were going to the party; Jessica, by contrast, found
herself caring little for it.
That morning Jessica and Debbie were standing in harness at the jetty again.
Backed up for loading, it was impossible for them to see what or who was being
unloaded. The blinkers might have kept Jessica's eyes on the road and limited
her peripheral vision, but not her ears!
There's nothing a ponygirl likes doing more than eavesdropping, and Jessica and
Debbie were hanging onto Frank's and Kurt's every word. The ponygirls thought
the men sometimes forgot they were there, and for eavesdropping ponygirls that
was good. Frank also had a habit of standing alongside Jessica casually
squeezing her buttock with one hand as he talked. She liked that, and he knew
it.
More slave girls were being led off the boat and, as usual, Jessica was intent
on discovering who. Instead, it was men's voices that attracted her attention.
Master Alex and Vince had returned.
Alex exchanged hearty greetings with Frank and Kurt, not afraid to give each
other a manly back-slapping hug.
"How is everything?" Alex asked Kurt.
"Good! Rabbit Island is bigger and better."
"Bigger?" Alex teased.
"More guest rooms, more cells, more equipment, more bunnies!"
"Speaking of bunnies," Alex said, "here's my contribution."
They looked towards the Island fishing boat and ferry ,  watching as Vince sent
them down the jetty as if it were a catwalk. "First we have Nancy, who I'm sure
you remember."
"Ah. The prodigal daughter returns!" Kurt joked. Nancy 'mmmphed' something at
him from behind her ball-gag, and it wasn't polite. "Same old Nancy we know and
love!" He laughed and swiped her butt with his swagger stick as she walked
past.
"And this is Nancy's best friend, Lina," said Alex.
The dusky skinned Lina walked naked and proud, her defiant expression only
adding to her allure. Having a predilection for Asian and oriental women, Kurt
was immediately struck by her, just as her butt was by his swagger stick. "Wow.
Look at the way she walks," he said to Alex, noticing the gently sway of her
shapely rump as she followed Nancy.
"And this is Janie."
Janie, collared and ball-gagged, walked tentatively down the jetty towards the
men, her eyes glancing back and forth between Alex and Kurt, seeking
reassurance from the former, and wary of the latter.
Kurt smiled kindly, noticing her nervousness. He was aware of her history, and
her savage treatment at the hands of Madame Cavallo. "Welcome to Rabbit Island,
Janie, where we know how to look after slaves properly."
She walked past him then stopped, waiting for him.
"You don't want to make the girl feel left out, do you?" Alex counselled Kurt
quietly.
Kurt duly planted a firm swipe of the swagger stick on Janie's rear, propelling
her in the direction of her fellow slaves. He shook his head. "So this woman
was the cause of all our trouble?"
"I suppose so," Alex confirmed, "although she's hardly to blame for Cavallo's
barbarity and deviousness."
"She's better than I expected, quite..." Kurt fumbled over the correct word.
"Fuckable?" Alex teased.
"Yes, that's it. Fuckable. Pretty face, large breasts! I'm sure we can find
things to do with her," said Kurt. He was very proud of his reputation as an
imaginative tormentor.
"And finally we have Janie's friend, Mia."
The Thai woman walked down the jetty towards them, even more nervous than
Janie.
"It's okay, Mia." Alex reassured her.
She wore a long ochre red cotton dress, tailored to her figure. Her hands
weren't bound, nor was she collared.
Kurt was confused. "She's not a slave?"
"Not any more," Alex stated with obvious pride. "She's the wife of one of our
gardeners, or rather she will be tomorrow. Then she'll work in the housekeeping
department."
Mia gave Alex a hug, pressing her head against his ribs, as if listening for
his heartbeat. She had found him to be a man who kept his word! Alex
reciprocated her affection with an avuncular arm around her.
"I found her sitting in a cage in Charlie's slave depot. She'd been traded in,
too old to sell to another whorehouse, and recovering from a drug addiction.
When I commented that she was attractive, Charlie asked if I wanted her. No
charge! But it was obvious she'd never pass the Rabbit Island audition on
account of her age. Then I remembered José, the gardener, needed a new wife. He
told me he wanted someone 'obedient with smiling pretty face' .  So here she
is! Do you think he'll like her?"
Kurt was puzzled. "They've not met before?"
"They'll meet tomorrow at the ceremony. They'll soon get to know each other as
man and wife."
"That's crazy. Why do they have to get married?"
Alex shrugged. "Religion. José doesn't believe in sex before marriage."
"In that case, he's sure chosen a crazy place to work!"
"Haven't we all?" said Alex with a sigh.
Being a free woman, Mia was spared a gratuitous swipe from Kurt's swagger stick
as she walked by, joining those heading for the Lodge. She looked over her
shoulder at Kurt, disappointed that he considered her unworthy of the stick.
Alex laughed. "Talking of crazy, here comes Charlie, the best slave trader in
Thailand. He's come for a well-deserved holiday."
Kurt welcomed the Chinaman with a formal shake of hands. Alex put an arm around
Charlie's shoulder and regaled him with suggestions of what he could do during
his holiday. But Charlie was already distracted by something he'd seen:
"Ponygirls!"
He walked purposefully to where Jessica and Debbie waited. Standing in front of
them he had to crane his neck to look up at their impassive faces. "So tall,
very beautiful, big muscles in legs!"
Alex gave the indulgent smile he reserved for all first-time viewers of
ponygirls. Charlie was fascinated by the way the leather reins connected their
ringed and belled nipples and their labia. "What this called?"
"Reins." Alex replied.
"And this?"
"Harness."
"And this?"
"Bridle."
Charlie's hands were firm but considerate as he explored the finer points of
Jessica's sophisticated pony bondage. It was the kind of attention she liked.
Only when rigged as a ponygirl was she ever treated with such respect and
reverence.
"When we can ride on ponygirl?" Charlie asked eagerly.
"Tomorrow perhaps. They're busy making deliveries now."
"You like ride on ponygirl, Alex?"
Alex smirked, and heard Jessica give an involuntary snort. "Very much so. This
one gives a very good ride. Come on Charlie, let me show you the Lodge now!"
For the rest of the day, Jessica had an extra spring in her step. So much so,
that she and Debbie earned several chalk marks for running out of sync. Frank's
severe caning on the punishment frame at the end of the working day brought her
back to earth. With her ankles spread wide, and her torso bent forward over the
A-frame Jessica was reminded of the price for not concentrating. Not for the
first time her buttocks and the backs of her thighs were red and stinging. And,
as usual, she vowed to be more obedient, more excellent  , tomorrow.
RUDE FOOD
  With all the movement and activity going on as Rabbit Island as they prepared
for its official reopening, Kate - in her role as the island's nurse - was
constantly busy, attending to minor cuts and abrasions to handlers and bunnies-
turned-pack-slaves. She enjoyed the work, and loved being useful. In truth she
enjoyed being a nurse on Rabbit Island far more than she ever did in her
previous nursing career.
She was in the main kitchen attending to yet another incident two hours before
the dinner buffet was due to start. A kitchen porter had cut his finger and
Kate was putting in a couple of stitches, whilst teasing the Filipino man about
his low pain threshold. Nearby the French chef was ranting:
"Mon dieu! Regardez ces petits seins!" He pulled harshly on a bunny's nipples,
demonstrating that her breasts were like those of an adolescent. "I cannot tie
these! Get me another."
Kate had the misfortune to be sitting down in a direction that gave a sideways
view to the chef. Beneath the bib of her nurse's apron, he observed she had
just what he wanted. "You. Come here!" he gestured with the imperious wave of
his hand.
Kate just at that moment finished dressing the Filipino's wound, so had no
choice but to obey.
"Take off your dress!"
"I'm a nurse," Kate explained.
"You're a slave. Take off your dress."
Kate shrugged, untying the halter and releasing the tied bow at her waist. She
stood in front of him wearing her white heels, stockings and garter belt. He
grasped her full breasts in both hands and squeezed them, as if checking the
ripeness of melons. "We use zis one! Take her away and clean her."
Two kitchen porters took Kate by the arms and led her into the kitchen's
loading yard.
Ten minutes later a freshly scrubbed Kate returned to the kitchen, her skin
tingling from the coarse brushes they'd used to scrape away her dead skin
cells. She noticed a buffet table nearby. A woman had been stretched along its
centre. She was covered in cold meats and other savoury items, although the
shape of her prominent breasts could be seen beneath the sliced meat that
covered them. Sticking out from between her legs was a large salami, which had
been wedged into her sex. Nearby, a similar buffet table, not yet decorated,
stood waiting for its human centrepiece. Kate panicked.
"Monsieur. Je suis une infirmière. Je dois retourner à la chirurgie!" she
pleaded with the chef, hoping to resolve the misunderstanding in his own
language.
"Non, mon cherie. You will be ze dessert course. Ouvrez votre bouche!" he
commanded. Not even Kate's special reserve pout could save her. The chef pushed
a whole tangerine into her open mouth, leaving her with a permanent expression
of surprise.
The sous chef started on Kate's breast bondage, wrapping a thin twine around
her body, above and below the breasts, then tucking the twine beneath the
parallel lines, he circled Kate's breasts until they were tightly bound at the
base to create two fleshy balls with unavoidably erect nipples atop them.
Meanwhile the porters were brushing her whole body with gelatine. After fanning
her dry they helped her onto the buffet table and tied her wrists with a coarse
sisal rope. The chef tossed the porters a large banana. The kitchen became
silent as Kate was fully penetrated by it, leaving the curved stem of the
banana pointing forward and upward from her sex.
The bondage was simple: her tied hands were fixed to one end of the table, and
her ankles crossed, tied and fixed to the other end. The art was in its
tightness; they pulled so hard on her ankles that it was like a torture rack.
Eventually, as Kate feared her shoulders might dislocate, they were satisfied
with her immobility. The chef tugged on the banana's stem finding it firmly
lodged in Kate's sex. Its prominence would inform anyone who cared to look of
Kate's banana stuffing.
From there it was a formality, as the chef de partie arranged a sweet banquet
on and around Kate's body. The swirl of strawberries and cream on her clean-
shaven pubis was a work of art. The reason for creating such bulbous breast
became alarmingly clear as the first sharp spikes dug into her flesh, just far
enough to stay in. Kate counted at least twenty acupuncture piercings in each
breast. The spikes were decorated with a colourful selection of small oriental
fruits, leaving her breast flesh hidden beneath.
Kate would not only be denied the taste of her fragrant coating, but also the
sight and sounds of those around her. They fitted her with opaque contact
lenses and earplugs. Then her body was gently covered with a muslin cloth
before being wheeled into the cold store to chill.
THE GALLERY
The first night of the islands re-opening party was a casual affair compared to
some of the highly choreographed events arranged on Rabbit Island. Tonight, the
main event was to be the parade of the new and returning resident slaves after
supper.
Masters and guests were mingling in the combined reception area and gallery.
Two pussygirls in tightly laced white corset dresses offered a glass of
champagne to each on their arrival. With their hair pinned up, lips red and
inviting, and white chokers around their neck they provided visual aperitif
equivalent to the champagne. Trays holding more than two-dozen glasses were
fixed around their waists, with a supporting straps descending from the
shoulders. Although each pussygirl had her wrists neatly bound behind her
didn't seem to matter, they were well trained and confident enough to flirt and
joke with the guests as they served.
There were two live exhibits in the gallery to amuse and distract the guests
once they were armed with champagne.
Tonight Janie was the 'girl in a bottle,' or rather a gigantic bell jar, three
feet in diameter and five foot in height. Nobody was fooled that she had
somehow been squeezed through the two-inch wide neck, but the device was
designed to give that illusion. Janie was naked, and wore nothing but her bunny
collar (neatly engraved with her name.) A chain rising from the back of her
collar rose through the top opening of the glass jar, fixed so that Janie was
obliged to maintain her proud kneeling position.
Such attention might not have suited every slave but Janie revelled in it; an
exhibitionist at heart. She was proud of her perky breasts, receiving many
comments from her viewers, their words distant and hollow through the inch-
thick glass that separated them. She often mouthed a 'thank you' upon hearing
such a compliment. When one man gestured Janie should open her knees to better
display her sex she didn't hesitate to do so. They exchanged smiles,
communicating a mutual lust. The man immediately went to make enquiries on
whether she was available for the night.
As the guests were interested in her, so Janie was interested in them, and the
panoramic view from her jar as people swirled past and around her. To her left
was the lobby's other live exhibit: Nancy, Janie's fellow cage dweller from
Charlie's slave depot.
Actually, Nancy made up only half of the exhibit; the other part was a Greek
statue of impressive physique, made of fake marble. Nancy knelt naked in front
of 'Apollo', her wrists and ankles bound and connected with thick white rope -
a sitting hog-tie. Her skinny body and heavily tanned skin contrasted
strikingly with the statue's pure white muscularity. She was intimately
connected to the statue - her mouth around his semi-erect cock. (Apollo
suffered the indignity of a detachable penis, so that an appropriate tool could
be employed for different scenarios.)
Nancy's lower lip sported a deep piercing thanks to an unfortunate experience
with the forest tribe during her unsuccessful escape attempt; thus was she
ideally suited to be Apollo's first partner. A short length of fishing line had
been looped and tied through Nancy's lip, reopening the wound, and then
threaded through a hole between Apollo's testicles and tied off inconspicuously
behind them. She couldn't pull away from the impressive girth of the statue's
member without tearing her lip. Most casual observers assumed it was only her
perseverance and obedience that kept her pleasuring the statue. Only those who
had bent down to examine her closely could see exactly why and how she was so
attached to it.
Being displayed in such a compromising position was the last thing Nancy
wanted. She was well known as the recaptured escapee, and considered by many to
have contributed to Rabbit Island's recent closure. One man, a particularly
odious Island committee member (and perennial opponent of Master Alex), seemed
intent on discussing a few matters with her:
"It's good to have you back, bunny!" He sneered. Nancy gave him a sideways
glance, before concentrating again on the delicately carved pubic hair in front
of her eyes. "Your stunt cost this island dearly. We closed the whole place
down just in case you contacted certain authorities. I voted against closing
because I knew a dumb bitch like you would either be killed or captured. And
here you are, back where you belong."
"No I don't!" Nancy attempted to say.
"Oh I ho?" he mocked. He enjoyed Nancy's discomfort, her bound hands twisting
and turning in the rope confinement. "How does it taste? You'd better get used
to it. Apollo will be a regular partner from now on. Have you heard what your
sentence is?"
Nancy shook her head to the tiny extent her mouth bondage allowed her.
"Six months without any human sexual contact. No men, no slaves, nobody. That's
right! Your lovers will be statues and machines, and I'll personally ensure
that any pleasure you receive will be far outweighed by pain. And when your
six-month sentence is over, mine will be the first cock you taste, although
you'll feel it rammed up your ass before you taste it! Yes, I've already booked
you!"
He savoured Nancy's helpless squirming, a victor gloating over his defeated and
enslaved enemy.
"You're probably thinking that because you're tied that way, we can't whip you
tonight, but you're wrong. The soles of your feet make a fine target. I've
never known a slave yet who enjoyed having her feet caned." He departed with a
sneer, reserving a glance of disgust for Janie in the jar as he passed her.
Pussygirl Lucy passed by, wiped away Nancy's tears and gave a comforting stroke
of her hair. As if the man's taunts weren't bad enough Nancy waited fearfully
for his return with the cane. He feet were already tingling in dreadful
anticipation.
The gallery became quiet when the buffet dinner was being served in the
ballroom. Feeling very alone, Nancy cast her eyes up at the statue, admiring
his sculpted abdominal muscles, broad chest and classically handsome face. She
imagined for a moment that he was real and soon found herself becoming moist
with arousal at such a prospect. No Rabbit Island man could match his physique.
For a fleeting moment she imagined his cock was becoming erect and found
herself working it with her mouth. At least he wouldn't hurt her. She bit down
hard on his white rubber-coated member, and sobbed quietly.
JUST DESSERTS
The buffet tables were wheeled into the ballroom and greeted with appreciative
but polite applause. Kate, as the dessert course, was left as an erotic display
while the meat buffet table was attacked with fingers and prodding forks. The
opaque contact lenses kept Kate in the dark, but her earplugs allowed just
enough sound for her to know she was in the midst of the party. Thankfully, the
ballroom was considerably warmer than the chill room. Her body, stretched out
for so long, was aching, her bound wrists and ankles deeply indented by ropes
that were not merely binding her but stretching her to her limit. Kate's only
consolation was that she'd be released when dinner was over. She braced herself
for the assault to come, her vaginal muscles bearing down on the banana, as if
to find comfort in it.
At Master Alex's table were Ranulph Markham, his companion slave Linsey,
Charlie the slave trader, bunny Rachel and Vince. After their recent
adventures, Vince had unofficially taken the role of Alex's sidekick and
bodyguard, or henchman,  as Alex liked to call him, joking that he'd always
wanted a henchman of his own.
For the first time in more than a year, Rachel wore real clothes, including a
glamorous little black dress  , which fully exposed her shoulders and drew
attention to the black felt choker around her delicate neck. Her wrists were
secured behind her with clear plastic straps, almost invisible if you weren't
looking for them. They were attached to a belt hidden beneath her dress. Rachel
discovered the dubious pleasure of being securely bound even when you look
free.
Sitting at a table with masters was partly a reward and partly a test for
Rachel; they were evaluating her suitability to become a pussygirl. She already
possessed two important attributes, being blonde and pretty, but she was
struggling with another - a smiling disposition. Even when happy she appeared
cool, laconic and quiet, and tonight she was in a sullen mood. Ranulph Markham
finally guessed it, reaching across the table to gently touch her arm. "You're
missing Cormack, aren't you?"
Rachel nodded, her eyes welling with tears. Sitting at a table with Alex,
Markham and Linsey had filled her with a longing to see his bodyguard Cormack
again. She blamed Markham for sending him back to London. Then Markham said,
"I'm sure you'll see him again," emphasising the word 'sure'. Rachel's mood
changed instantly, sitting proudly upright and sticking out her chest so much
that her oversized breasts were in danger of falling out of the dress.
Alex returned to the table with his dinner plate, and news of Kate. "You'll
find her when you go for dessert!" he sighed to his dining companions, clearly
very annoyed.
He released Rachel's hands from their straps so she could eat. She smiled
gratefully. Her sense of newfound privilege had obliterated any thought of
being a prisoner, a sexual slave on this island. In such matters timing was
everything, and Alex had decided it was Rachel's time. For the last year she
had been moulded by the Rabbit Island methods of punishment and reward.
Vince escorted Rachel and Linsey to the dessert table, where they encountered
Kate, laying tied and stretched along the table, her body surrounded and
covered with desserts and cheeses. She was blinking, but when Rachel touched
her hair and spoke, she saw a blank expression and vacant unfocussed eyes.
"She's wearing blind contacts, and her ears are plugged too," Vince happily
explained. "She sure is a dish, isn't she?"
Rachel's eyes were agog at the delicious spread before her, the aroma of
chocolate sauce invading her senses. She loaded her plate to capacity with
chocolate gateau and exotic fruit salad. "Poor Kate. She'd kill to taste food
like this," she said wistfully.
"Looks like she has a tangerine to keep her going," Vince joked, referring to
the fruit still acting as Kate's gag.
Meanwhile at the table, Alex muttered to Markham: "They should be taking better
care of Kate in her current condition."
"Condition? What condition? Say what you mean, Alex!"
"She has a bun in the oven, I believe you say it on your side of the pond."
Markham smiled, defusing Alex's grave countenance. "That's a relief. I thought
you meant she was sick. She looks as fit and healthy as any woman I've ever
met. Stop worrying, Alex! This is an evening for celebration. Enjoy yourself!"
Vince, Rachel and Linsey returned to the table, cutting short Alex's and
Markham's discussion. Linsey sat down and stared guiltily at her overflowing
plate, having been led astray by Rachel's enthusiasm.
Markham noticed. He couldn't fail to. "You're a greedy slave," he scolded his
companion slave. "You will eat it all, and tomorrow you'll spend three hours on
the treadmill!"
Alex had an idea. "What about a day of ponygirl training instead? That'll burn
off those calories."
Markham readily agreed, and Rachel, filling her mouth with tiramisu, was roped
in to partner her. She was relieved when Vince fixed her hands behind her
again, having managed to get in trouble within only fifteen minutes of freedom.
After dessert, the ballroom's lights dimmed for the parade of slaves  .
Each naked slave was led in at intervals of a minute before the next slave
arrived. They were led in at one minute intervals, handlers controlling each by
a leash fixed to her collar ensuring that they circulated around the tables for
the closer scrutiny and pleasure of the party guests. The bunnies had been
warned in advance that the sullen and uncooperative among them would be
participating in the subsequent caning competitions. That threat seemed to put
a smile on a bunny's face, even if merely a ploy to save herself from
punishment.
Their artificial smiles didn't extend to Rachel; until recently one of their
number. She received only the bitter scowl reserved for traitors. When you're
dining at a master's table, and filling your mouth with tiramisu, you're liable
to lose the respect of your fellow bunnies. It hurt, but Rachel knew there was
no turning back. Spending week after week in La Plata's breeding shed with Kate
chained at her side had forged a special friendship and a respect, and the
journey back to Rabbit Island on board the Slave to Fortune  , had sealed it:
There was more to life than being a bunny, even on Rabbit Island!
After the parade of slaves  , the new arrivals were taken straight back to
their orientation cells - one of which Jessica had tested a few days ago. They
would stay there for at least a week while a series of health checks and mental
assessments were performed. Meanwhile, it was open season on the established
bunnies. If they were lucky they would find themselves in somebody's bedroom,
and if they were unlucky they would be on the receiving end of a punishment
session. A few of them saw it the other way.
When the music started in the ballroom, Markham took Linsey onto the dance
floor. Much to her surprise Rachel was gallantly invited to dance by Vince.
Master Alex went outside to take some air. He approached the waiting ponygirls.
They were a foursome; hitched to a four-seat carriage, ready to take people
back to the newly constructed lodge extension three hundred yards away.
Whenever the Island had an evening event ponygirls were always on hand should
anybody demand transportation. It was equally a decorative role, something to
admire and talk about for those who'd walked out of the Lodge for fresh air or
a smoke. Fresh air was only part of Master Alex's reason for being there.
The two ponies at the front of the foursome were Debbie and Jessica. Behind
were Melinda and Diana. Alex admired the poise of the ponygirls, standing
stock-still in their tight leather harnesses as if they had been born to it.
For those with an appreciation of such things, these ponygirls weren't merely
women, but were objects of erotic beauty, and works of art. To some men they
were a potent symbol of the superiority of men and the subservience of women.
Alex stood face to face with ponygirl Jessica. She avoided eye contact but
glanced up and down his body, noticing his dinner jacket and bow tie. In her
own way, she was also formally dressed, wearing an ostrich plumed headdress,
her lips and eyes made up and her skin oiled and glittered. Everything about
her seemed to glisten in the moonlight. The word that came to mind was
perfection  . He hooked his fingers beneath the reins descending from her
nipple rings to her labia rings, and tugged gently. Jessica's nipple bells
rung, and Alex finally sensed a reaction from her.
"You like it when I ring your bells, don't you?" he said forcing her to make
eye contact, and inviting her to accept the double meaning. She didn't respond,
but he noted the way the leather bit resettled itself between her fine white
teeth. She was certainly listening.
While many visitors might crudely tweak and pull a ponygirl's nipples, nothing
affected Jessica like somebody running their fingers gently between her flesh
and the leather harness, and Master Alex did it with an intense reverence that
caused Jessica to tremble. And it wasn't just her that reacted. Alex's penis
stiffened.
"Hello Master Alex!" Riccardo said as he stepped out of the shadows.
Alex quickly gathered himself. "Riccardo. Just the person I was hoping to see."
"Me? Why?"
Alex put an arm around Riccardo's shoulder and led him into the darkness, away
from the notoriously nosy ponygirls.
"It concerns Kate."
"Oh?"
"She's pregnant."
"I see. She was in La Plata's breeding shed so I'm not surprised. What about
Rachel? She was also in the Breeding shed."
"She's all clear. It's only Kate we have a problem with. The committee will
make a decision tomorrow at noon."
"Decision?"
"We don't allow juveniles or children on the island. She will either have an
abortion, or will be sold, quite possibly back to La Plata."
"La Plata? That's crazy. She was responsible for Madame Cavallo's amputation
and was about to be executed when you arrived." Riccardo turned away, facing
into the darkness. "Alex, surely you can't allow her to be sent back there."
"It's out of my hands. I don't run this place any more, in fact I'm not sure I
have any influence whatsoever."
"Thanks." Riccardo faltered. "Thanks for telling me."
"I felt I should. It seemed only right... because according to Cavallo's
meticulous records, you are the father."
Riccardo stared into the darkness, his hand reached up to his eyes as if to
wipe a sudden tear. He took a deep breath. "If I am the father as you say, and
if I have a choice, I will not allow an abortion. My beliefs won't allow it."
It was exactly what Alex feared Riccardo would say. "In that case Kate will
have to leave the island. Please think about what is best for her." He patted
Riccardo on the shoulder and wandered back into the Lodge, not even glancing at
the ponygirls as he passed.
Had he done so, he would have seen a rare sight: A ponygirl's tears.
                               End of Chapter 26
                     Coming soon… Kate's fate is decided.
 (Still reading? Bless you! Please let me know if you are enjoying this story.
    Any comments, criticisms, suggestions and reviews are always welcome.)
Chapter 27. Kate is Auctioned
(Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)
The story so far:
(Ch. 22) La Plata. In the dungeon. Jessica faces the guillotine.
(Ch. 23) On board the Slave to Fortune.
(Ch. 24) The Slave to Fortune lands at Rabbit Island. Jessica in the cell
block.
(Ch. 25) The hi-tech cells. Stories of ponygirls in exile.
(Ch. 26) Just Desserts. Rude food.
THE SURGERY
Kate was untied from the dessert trolley, vowing never to eat a tangerine
again, having been gagged with one for the previous three hours. She was
permitted to eat the scraps of food left on table and her own body. Such was
her hunger she wasn't squeamish about eating the banana which had nestled
inside her vagina all evening. After being hosed and scrubbed down in the
kitchen's back yard she was permitted to dress and make her weary return to the
surgery.
Doctor Schmidt treated the lacerations around Kate's wrists and ankles, as well
as the deep indentations the breast bondage inflicted upon her. He did nothing
about the pinprick marks scattered over her breasts, deciding they would heal
just fine.
He wasn't particularly sympathetic towards his nurse. "Shall I tell you about
real suffering?" he asked her, not for the first time. And Kate, as on those
previous times, declined his offer and ceased her complaining. The doctor
dressed her wrists and ankles in bandages and surgical tape, more than would
normally be necessary for such injuries, but not all his patients had to sleep
in chains.
They had an unwavering nightly routine. At the doctor's command, Kate laid down
on a cushioned mat, which she had earlier removed from a cupboard and unrolled
into one corner of the surgery. A set of four chains were draped ready, each
fixed to the same metal ring in the wall six inches above the floor. The doctor
watched as Kate secured her own ankles and then her wrists into their
respective metal cuffs. It left her wrists chained loosely behind her back,
ensuring first that she wasn't free to wander, and second, that she would not
touch herself in the night. Kate pulled her pillow into position with her
teeth, and laid the side of her head on in.
The second part of their routine came later, when the doctor covered her with a
sheet immediately before turning off the surgery lights. This simple act was
the only tenderness he ever showed her. After covering her, he stroked her
tenderly, a touch too intimate to be parental but not sensuous enough to be
that of a lover. It was, Kate began to think, how someone strokes a much-loved
pet dog. Invariable she closed her eyes as the doctor petted her, his touch
affirming her place and her value as his nurse. She'd be deeply unsettled if
ever he failed to provide this simple comfort.
THE ROTATING EXERCISER
Ranulph Markham was a man of his word, which may be good news or bad, depending
on what he had promised.
For Rachel and Linsey it meant being dragged from their beds at six o'clock,
with not a hint of dawn in the sky. Bruce, who's own ponygirls were on the late
shift - not starting until midday - had volunteered to put them through their
paces.
Rachel and Linsey were firm friends after their time together on the Slave to
Fortune, and even as Ranulph Markham informed them of their punishment for
gluttony at the dessert table they shared a smile. Like many slave girls, they
were curious to discover first-hand what being a ponygirl was really like. All
that intimate harnessing, the elegance and poise, the discipline, the training,
and the firm way the drivers handled them. It looked easy enough, particularly
watching the likes of Jessica and Debbie going through their paces.
They were still smiling, even after Bruce had brought them into the chilly pre-
dawn air, and harnessed and bridled them. They revelled in the leathery caress
of the practical harnessing, biting and chewing on the real rubber-covered bits
between their teeth.
The fun didn't last. They weren't allowed to wear the heel-less pony boots as
they'd hoped. Normal running shoes would suffice. And instead of being
harnessed side-by-side in front of a cart, Bruce led them into the corral, the
grassy fenced-off area beyond the main lawn. There wasn't a cart for them in
the corral either, only the rotating exerciser, the merciless device used to
train new and unfit ponygirls.
The 'rotor' as the drivers called it, consisted of a central vertical pole,
which rotated at its base, and radiating from the top of the pole, two rigid,
braced arms, 15 metres in length and 6 feet above the ground. Bruce fixed
Rachel to the end of one arm, clipping the dangling cables to the securing
points on the back of her harness. Linsey received the same treatment on the
opposite side, 30 metres away.
Bruce wielded his horse whip, beating Rachel's thighs and calves until she made
some satisfactory high steps. He walked around the circuit with her, obliging
Linsey to walk at the same pace on the opposite end of the metal arm.
Then Bruce stood and waited for Linsey to arrive. Her ungainly attempts at pony
stepping had him tutting and shaking his head before she was even close to him.
She endured the lashing of his whip and his tongue as he taught her the basic
ponygirl steps. She hadn't been yelled at like that since the days of the
school hockey team.
"Get those knees up, you lazy slut. C'mon, work those thighs. Move it! Your
master has been spoiling you. If you don't get in shape he'll probably sell you
to a pig farm." His whip landed hard on her haunches, reminding Linsey that
this wasn't a game. If Bruce's aim was to make her cry, he'd succeeded.
After a few laps of near constant whipping, Linsey settled in a acceptable
trot. Like a donkey rather than a pony, Bruce commented. She found it hard
going, and bitterly regretted her greed at the dessert table. Bruce left her to
complete the circuit on her own, alone but for the distant vibrations of Rachel
being transmitted across the thirty metre span of rotor.
On the rotor's central pole Bruce set the counter mechanism to 100. With a
strike of his whip against Rachel's rump he sent them on their way: 100 laps of
a 100-metre circumference equalled 10,000 metres. Approximately 6 miles.
The two ponygirl tourists continued to plough their circular furrow in the
morning gloom. Bruce had gone for a coffee leaving the lap counting to the
counting device.
The Lodge was just a dark outline against the sky a hundred yards away, going
in and out of the ponygirls' view in the course of each circuit. While most of
the island's population of masters and slaves continued to sleep soundly in
their beds, Rachel and Linsey trotted in lonely isolation.
They learnt the hard way that they needed to work together, to run at a pace
both could maintain without causing the rotor to jolt and unbalance them. It
was easier said than done when your partner was thirty yards away, on the
opposite end of the huge rotating arm. Ponygirl life was proving a big
disappointment.
A half-hour later Bruce returned, far from pleased by their lack of progress.
He had a sure-fire way to get them running faster, swiping their butts with his
whip each time they passed him. They quickly learnt that the faster they ran
past him, the more difficult it was for Bruce to land a solid hit on their
rumps. He laughed at the look of terror in their eyes each time they
approached, seeing his whip ready and poised to strike.
There was however, one positive moment. Running the last few dozen laps, these
novice ponygirls experienced a mesmerising and unforgettable sunrise.
THE COMMITTEE
Kate slept well that night, appreciating that the doctor's bandages had
cushioned her chaffed wrists from their steel bracelets. She always rose after
the doctor, due to his holding the keys to her sleeping chains.
After she had made his toast and milky coffee, Kate commenced her work cleaning
the surgery. Every morning she spent two hours scrubbing floors, wiping
surfaces and carrying out other periodic tasks, in order to maintain the
surgery as she liked it. This morning the doctor seemed engrossed with a
textbook, and writing out notes, coughing and mumbling to himself as he did so.
Kate crawled naked on her hands and knees as she wiped the floor around and
under him. Dr Schmidt never said anything to her, but how could he not enjoy
having an attractive naked young woman happily scrubbing the floor around him
every morning?
The phone rang.
As the doctor listened to the caller, Kate could sense by his telltale glance
that it concerned her.
He put down the receiver. "You must go to the committee room in half an hour,"
the doctor said in his typically neutral tone.
Kate finished up her cleaning, took a shower, made up and dressed in her white
stockings and suspenders, and skimpy white apron. Finally she pinned a clean
nurse's cap in her short blonde hair. She came out of the bathroom and turned
her back to the doctor to allow him to tie the apron strings at her neck and
waist.
"Hands," he said. She crossed her wrists behind her to await their binding. He
wrapped and tied a latex tourniquet tube around her wrists, holding them
tightly in the small of her back. Thus bound, she was properly presented for
her interview with the committee members.
Kate walked across the courtyard and entered the Lodge on her own, finding Erik
waiting for her in reception. His half-hearted smile had a subtext of pity that
she found disconcerting. He asked her to wait until summoned. "Talk to Nancy,"
he suggested.
Nancy could not talk back. She was held in a strictly roped hog-tie in the
centre of a low platform. The black straps and a bright red ball of her ballgag
harness complemented the immaculate white ropes perfectly. This was part of her
six months of punishment: a real-life bondage artwork, an erotic talking point
for people passing through reception.
The edges of Nancy's platform functioned as seating for people passing through
the reception area. Kate sat down at Nancy's side gripping her arm with her own
bound hands, unsure whether she was giving or seeking reassurance.
After ten minutes sitting in tense silence, the committee room door opened and
Erik ushered Kate inside.
Five men sat behind long desk facing her, including Master Alex sat at one end,
as if he had become a peripheral figure. Kate was invited to kneel on the floor
in the middle of the room.
"Do you know why you are here?" The Chairman, seated in the centre asked.
She swallowed, and said meekly, "Yes, I do."
"Then you know that this situation will not be allowed to continue."
Kate nodded and hung her head.
"You will be allowed to stay on Rabbit Island while your details are circulated
to other slave owners, in the hope of a reasonable offer. Priority will be
given to those who are experienced in handling childbirth and its resulting
transactions. It is highly likely that you will be sent back to La Plata, where
the child was conceived. I believe that Madame Cavallo is very eager to have
you back in her breeding stock, and has already made an offer. Another offer is
also in preparation, but I doubt it will exceed hers."
"Could I stay on Rabbit Island if I had a termination?" Kate asked.
"Terminating your pregnancy is not an option; rather it's your current role as
a nurse which will be terminated. Erik will escort you to the induction cells
where you will stay until the sale is concluded." He pressed a speaker button
on the desk. "Erik? You may take her to the cells now."
Kate glanced up at Master Alex, hoping he might say something. He wasn't
smiling, but nor was he impassive. He seemed uncomfortable; not meeting her
eyes, and tapping his pencil lightly on a notepad.
While Erik was escorting her to the cells, their paths crossed with Riccardo's.
Kate rushed to him pressing her body against his. She felt his arms fold
lightly around her, and yearned to do the same to him.
"They're selling me, Riccardo." Kate sobbed. "I didn't want to get pregnant. I
had no choice. I tried to resist, really I did! I don't want to go away from
here."
"You'll be fine," Riccardo casually consoled her. He wasn't as upset by her
news as Kate expected and hoped he would be. He kissed her briefly on the
forehead and walked off, saying he had a meeting to attend.
Erik pushed Kate into the cell, coincidentally the same one Jessica had
occupied. He untied her hands and made her strip. Kate cried, not for her
imminent nudity, nor that her bunny chains were laid on the bed waiting to
claim her again, but that her nurse's uniform, and all it signified, was being
taken from her. She was scarcely aware of Erik encircling her neck with the
leather collar. He snicked the padlock closed under her chin and spun her
around to fix her wrists in the cuffs dangling behind her.
He'd seen many slaves falling apart as they realised the hopelessness of the
situation, but never Kate. Not until now. Finally, she was broken.
* * *
"I need more time."
The chairman laughed. "And supposing you manage to raise the money. Then what?
She's a slave. There are security issues to consider. You can't return her back
to normal life. If she doesn't betray you, she'll betray the people of Rabbit
Island. We can't allow that to happen."
Riccardo was ready for that line of argument. "I'm negotiating with someone who
can provide the security."
The chairman tried a more sympathetic approach. "Riccardo. Are you sure you are
doing the right thing? Spending your whole life savings on a slave? It's even
more expensive to keep a slave than a wife with a shoe fetish. Believe me, I've
done both."
Others at the table laughed politely. Riccardo didn't, and nor did Alex.
Riccardo waited for the smile to drop from the chairman's face. "Sir, if I
place the highest offer, and meet the security conditions, then can I have
her?"
The chairman shrugged. "Yes."
"That's all I need to know. Good day, gentlemen!"
Riccardo made his exit without further comment, leaving the committee bemused,
but not impressed. They'd seen it all before.
"You can love a slave, but you can't be a slave to love," the Chairman
commented, glancing imperiously at the men on either side of him. The others,
including Master Alex this time, mumbled their agreement.
ALEX'S SECRET
Ranulph Markham took a coffee and bacon roll outside, and walked towards the
corral to check on the progress of his companion slave. He was just in time to
watch the last five laps. When the hundred laps were completed the rotor
automatically locked to prevent further rotations. Bruce noticed Markham's
disappointment and went to the central pole of the rotor to add ten more laps.
"It must have jammed!" Bruce joked as he whipped Linsey's backside to get her
running again. He walked over to Markham to continue the conversation, leaning
on the opposite side of the corral's wooden fence.
"Great job, Bruce. I do believe this'll do Linsey some good," Markham
commented. Watching his near-constant companion, running lap after lap in
nothing but a harness and a film of perspiration was arousing him. "What
happens next?"
"It's break time. I'll give them water, and a couple of sugar lumps, ten
minutes to recover, then I'll fix them to weighted sulkies for some strength
work. If you come back later, and she has performed well, you can take her for
a ride."
Markham laughed. "Now there's an offer!"
He took his leave from the corral and headed for Master Alex's office, where a
satellite internet connection enabled him to keep abreast of business affairs
in London.
Alex returned to his office, explaining the unfolding events of the committee
room to Markham. The wealthy Englishman had taken a liking to Riccardo and the
cute blonde slave, whose family home, he discovered, was only twenty miles from
his Hampshire estate.
"My friend, by rights she should be returned to La Plata. She's carrying a baby
that was bred to exact specifications, a Mediterranean man and a blonde woman.
These children all go to happy loving homes of people who can afford to give
them every advantage in life."
Alex gave a sigh. "If they could only see how that child was conceived!"
"That's not the point. Who are we to make moral judgements? Cavallo has her
business and her way of doing things and she's willing to pay a good price."
"And what about Riccardo?"
"He needs saving from himself. He should not be ruled by circumstance," Markham
said bluntly. Alex always admired and respected Markham's hard-headed logic,
the sign a successful businessman and slave-owner. Alex regretted remaining
silent, as Markham's pale blue eyes met his.
Markham turned the conversation. "You wouldn't ever find yourself ruled by
circumstance, would you?"
It was a rhetorical question, and a provocation. A simple yes or no wouldn't
suffice, and Alex knew it. He settled in his chair and composed his thoughts
for a moment.
"I never thought so, but times change and so do people. I'm tired of all the
travelling and leading a double life. I want to change my life, before it
changes me."
"And does this anything to do with your ponygirl friend?"
Ponygirl friend! Alex ignored Markham's gentle teasing, but couldn't stop
himself from talking about her. "She's not the cause of it, but she's an
indicator of my recent state of mind. It could have been any slave until..."
"Until what! Out with it, man, we've been here before."
Alex took a deep breath. "It happened six months ago. I was out for lunch in an
Italian diner in Brooklyn one day, meeting with Taylor Grange."
"Oh yes I remember him. How is Dr Grange, these days?"
"He's well, but this doesn't really concern him."
"Oh?" Markham was becoming intrigued.
"Taylor and I were talking about the far east, and my lecture tour to Thailand
and Malaysia. You know, just catching up on things. Then Taylor was bleeped and
had to rush back to Brooklyn Infirmary. I stayed to finish my lunch, having
time to kill before my next meeting…
"The proprietor of the joint, an Italian guy, struck up a conversation after
I'd complimented him on the food. He seemed happy, quite a joker in fact, but I
detected something troubling him. He'd probably heard us talking about
psychotherapy, and I assumed he wanted professional advice. It was also
possible that he'd read one of my books. Or perhaps he wanted me to sign one of
my books for him?
"But no, he hadn't any idea who I was, nor did he want to talk to a shrink.
Instead, he wanted to talk about Thailand. I asked had he been there. He said
no, but his daughter had. She'd gone there last year as a backpacker, but had
never returned, nor even made contact…
"I liked the guy; I truly did, and felt very sorry for his loss. He asked if I
could do something next time I visited Bangkok. You know, make some enquiries,
distribute some photographs and so on."
"Why didn't he travel to Bangkok himself, if he cared that much about his
daughter?" Markham asked.
"His wife was badly hurt in a car wreck, and he couldn't leave her. She broke
her legs and back but was recovering well. What struck me about him was his
passionate optimism that his daughter was still alive somewhere. I told him
that he should never give up hope. We went on to talk about other things, like
baseball. He was a New York Mets fan, and I'm a Yankee fan as I'm sure you
know. I joked I'd rather be at the Met than watching them. A typical Italian,
that comment piqued his interest as I suspected it would, given that he shared
his surname with Italy's most famous composer. We joked about that, and he
suddenly burst into song, La Donna è Mobile! He was pretty good, a fine lyric
tenor. I applauded him, and he tore up the check, tossing the pieces in the air
like confetti...
"I asked if he ever went to the opera. He said he hadn't been for a long while.
I told I knew somebody at the house who could get heavily discounted tickets. I
sent him a pair a couple of days later."
Markham feigned indignation. "You never told me you could get discounted
tickets!"
"Ranulph! I can't!" said Alex. "I just wanted to repay him for the meal,
without seeming to go overboard."
"I'm still confused. What does this man have to do with anything?"
Alex swallowed, recalling a particular moment. "As I was leaving the restaurant
he gave me a photograph of his daughter, and asked me once again to look out
for her when I next went to Bangkok. And if I saw her, to tell her how much her
mom and dad loved her."
Markham exhaled, and settled himself in his chair and rubbed his cheek. "The
photograph? Is it who I think it is?"
"Yes. I'm afraid so."
Markham just nodded, patting Alex sympathetically on the shoulder. "And that's
why you're so determined this ponygirl goes through the memory erasing
program?"
"Yes. I'd actually promised it to Jessica, I mean ponygirl Jessica, before that
chance meeting with her father. She'll be one of the first to go through the
program, not counting Cavallo's failed attempt to use it to long before it was
properly developed."
"Oh, you mean the armless girl. Janie?"
"Yes, Janie. She didn't make the grade as a ponygirl on La Plata, so Cavallo
decided to use her as a pawn in absurd game. She marked Janie with a Rabbit
Island tattoo, gave her the drug treatment and set her free on a beach in
Thailand. She expected that the trail would lead back to Rabbit Island." Alex
laughed. "Foolish vain woman. She almost got away with it, but then she
discovered that Rabbit Island fights back."
Markham gave a coughing laugh. "Well at least their slaves do. One of your
slaves cut off Cavallo's arms."
"Let's be accurate. Cavallo's own surgeons did it. Kate only engineered the
situation in order to save Jessica."
"My Lord! What is it with those two slaves? I can't decide if they're the
luckiest or the unluckiest people I've ever met."
Alex shrugged. "Perhaps they are the luckiest unlucky people?"
Markham paused to reflect. "Yes I like that! Makes for an interesting life I'll
bet. Now, let's get to the point. You want me to help Riccardo? But if I agree
to take on Calamity Kate and her new owner, I'd be surprised if Rabbit Island's
committee will ever agree to Jessica being released. If she was, those two
girls are certain to attempt to make contact in the future, and who knows what
chaos they could unleash on the wider world."
Both men laughed so much that Markham had to wipe away a tear. Alex composed
himself quicker. He was in the mood for business.
"I'd like to take that chance. Riccardo can work on your estate. He's a good
trainer and handler. Kate will have her baby, and the rest is up to you."
"You're asking a lot of me, Alex... but I'll do it. I'll provide the home, but
I'm not interested in buying pregnant slaves. What happens after the birth is
not my concern. I don't intend on opening a crèche. Can Riccardo match
Cavallo's offer?"
Alex picked up the phone to the reception desk. "Erik, can you bring Janie into
my office please?"
A minute later the office door opened. Janie entered, wearing a dress designed
by Carol to distract from her obvious disability. The front of the dress
scooped down from her shoulders leaving her breasts bare. She wore a narrow
black leather collar around her slim neck like a choker. Dropping from the
front was a chain, its shape reminiscent of an anchor in the way it descended
between her breasts, and then split in two, curving up to each of her newly
ringed nipples. The distraction certainly worked on Markham. Noticing there
were no other chairs in the office he invited Janie to sit upon his lap. His
arms were instantly wrapped around her neat waist.
Janie's memory, and her true character, seemed to improve with every day. She
was gregarious, confident and witty too, and had no need or desire to trade on
people's sympathies. Her sexual nature, a playful submissive and pain slut, had
also resurfaced. Seeing her sit on Markham's lap, both of them smiling and
flirting, Alex was satisfied that he had done the right thing in bringing her
to Rabbit Island, knowing that he might just as easily have administered that
fatal potion to her at their first meeting in Bangkok.
"Janie. Who was it that cut off your arms?" Alex asked.
"The sick bitch from hell. Cavallo. And just because she's joined the amputee's
club, doesn't mean she's no longer a sick bitch from hell!"
"I'm going to call her on the telephone now. Would you like to speak to her?"
Alex asked.
"Sure." She sounded surprisingly casual about it. (Alex already knew what her
answer would be.)
He dialled the number. It was answered, and after a brief transfer Alex was
speaking to the lady herself. He despised her, but that didn't hinder his
ability to engage in small-talk, having known her for many years. Then he got
to the point:
"I have somebody in my office who'd like to speak to you. Somebody with whom
you have something special in common. Somebody who has a remarkably good
memory, in spite of your best efforts. She's very talkative, and would dearly
like to have a chat about old times."
Cavallo was silent, utterly speechless. Alex imagined one of Cavallo's twin
helpers holding the phone while the other fanned her. Cavallo correctly sensed
that Alex had an agenda. "What do you want?" she snapped.
"What's done is done. We all need to look to the future, not revisit the past.
Don't you agree?"
"I suppose so."
"Then why do you want to buy a slave that has such terrible memories for you?
Withdraw your bid and I'll make no more of your conspiracy to incriminate
Rabbit Island."
More silence from Cavallo's end, until she said: "I have an order for a baby to
fulfil. $100,000"
If we pay you $100,000 compensation will you withdraw your bid?"
Cavallo agreed, and then abruptly hung up, depriving Janie of the chance to
speak to her.
GETTING TO THE CLIFF-TOP ON TIME
Kate was fully engaged with the feeder when her cell door opened. She panicked
as if caught in flagrante delicto, although actually she was doing nothing
wrong.
"Don't let me keep you from your lunch," Riccardo joked. He waited as she
carefully pulled her mouth off the penis-like tube. "How's the food?"
Kate shook her head. "I wouldn't know. I don't have taste buds in my throat."
She knelt down on the floor in front of him, and proudly stuck out her chest,
as instructed in Lucy's video.
"Listen Kate. I have to inform you that your sale has gone through. You'll be
leaving Rabbit Island in a few months."
"Oh shit." She mumbled at the floor.
"Your new owner doesn't appreciate that kind of language!"
Kate lost her temper. "Riccardo, what the fuck do you care? I thought you did,
but obviously you don't. I'm going to leave my friends here and might never see
them again, and you tell me I can't say the word shit?"
"I warned you, I don't appreciate such language."
"Beat me then! Punish me! I'm no longer a person. I don't care any more. I'm
sitting here in chains, sold off like a pregnant sow. Just a piece of
merchandise."
As Kate descended into tears, Riccardo stood motionless and quiet, waiting for
her outburst to subside.
She looked up at him and scowled. "What's so funny? Why are you smiling?"
"You're mine. And so is the baby."
Her face seemed to distort with confusion. "What are you talking about? You
said they'd sold me!"
"Kate, listen to me, you pregnant sow! They sold you, and I bought you. I'm
your new owner, and there's something else too. Tests have confirmed that I'm
going to be a father. You're carrying my child."
Riccardo had never in his life seen, or expected to see, a smile to compare
with Kate's at that moment. He helped her to stand, and they kissed with a
reckless abandon that could only lead to one thing. He pushed her back onto the
bed. Kate, with her hands pinned behind her, arranged herself on the bed as
best she could, as Riccardo hurriedly removed his shorts. She looked up at him,
panting with desire, desperate to feel his cock thrusting deep within her, as
if for the first time.
She wasn't to be disappointed; and even if it was the fastest fuck she'd had
since her teenage years, it was also the most passionate.
Afterwards, they lay squeezed together on the single bed, bodies entwined.
Feeling reborn. Riccardo's hand couldn't help but caress Kate's belly, with the
tender touch of his fingers. A belly of great significance. There was so much
to explain; at a time which he could hardly make sense of it himself.
Riccardo caught sight of his watch, suddenly shocked at how much time had
passed.
"We have to go. We've been invited to a wedding!"
Kate didn't comprehend the last remark, so she ignored it. Riccardo jumped up,
retrieving his clothing which was scattered around the cell floor, pulling on
his shorts and underwear and slipping on his shoes.
Then he grabbed Kate's nurse's clothes from his canvas bag. He didn't have the
key to her handcuffs so had to dress her himself, employing the same brisk
manner with Kate as he used when harnessing his ponygirls. First he clipped the
garter belt around her waist, then rolling the white stocking up her legs,
while Kate sat on the edge of the bed in a state of shock. Riccardo planted a
delicate kiss on her small stocking-covered feet before strapping on her wedge
heels. She stood up so he could dress her in her apron and tie the ribbons
behind her neck and at her waist.
They dashed from the cell-block as if making a jailbreak. His getaway
transport, pulled by ponygirls Melinda and Diana, was standing outside ready to
haul them in quick time to the cliff-top viewpoint a mile along the track.
Kate could scarcely believe the scene that awaiting them: A wedding ceremony,
complete with a bride in a white lace dress, and a groom in a suit and tie. It
was Mia the former slave, and José the gardener.
Also present were Master Alex accompanied by Carol, Ranulph Markham with
companion slave Linsey looking very glad to be back at his side; Charlie the
slave trader, with Janie at his side; Vince accompanied by pussygirls Lucy and
Anna, and Doctor Schmidt too.
Not attending the wedding as guests, but still playing their part, were
Jessica, Debbie, Sandra and Cathy. The ponygirl foursome stood ready to convey
the newlyweds' back to the staff quarters. The four-seater carriage and its
ponygirls had been specially decked out in white ribbons and flowers.
Another one present but not on the guest list was Rachel, as she continued her
pussygirl trials. Immediately after her release from the ponygirl's punishment
frame, she had been taken to the preparation room to commence her three-day
stint as a puppy. She seemed nervous and self-conscious, kneeling on tight
leash at Carol's right hand side. It didn't help having Lucy and Anna debating
whether it was good luck to have a dog at a wedding.
Kate now understood why Dr Schmidt was so preoccupied by his paperwork that
morning - he was preparing to officiate over this wedding ceremony.
Doctor Schmidt wasn't the only one with a ceremonial role. Charlie was to give
the bride away. Dozens of slaves had passed through his slave trading
operation, but he'd never seen one as transformed as Mia. It was difficult to
believe this woman was the sad drug-addicted whore he'd been obliged to take in
a part-exchange deal many months ago. For week after week she sat forlornly in
her small cage next to Janie's. And while he cleansed and cured her body, Janie
attended to Mia's broken spirit. Now she stood, a bride dressed in dazzling
sun-reflecting white, having a day she dared not dream of during her twenty
years of hell in a Bangkok whore house.
For a fleeting moment, Charlie considered quitting the slave trade for a new
business in the booming Asian brides market.
The doctor commenced the ceremony, his serious monotone according a formality
and gravitas to the proceedings.
Mia, partly concealed by a full veil, had her hands tied behind with a short
length of white rope, almost invisible against the white of the dress. The
doctor made some initial statements requiring short responses from José, Mia
and Charlie. Then Charlie untied the rope on her wrists, folded it neatly and
presented it to her. She gazed at the rope, a simple yet potent symbol of her
existence, literally in the palm of her hand. Just to have held it in her hand
for a moment was sufficient. She handed it to José.
Further vows were uttered by bride and groom until there remained one final act
to perform. José bound her wrists in front of her using the same white cord,
and presented her a small bouquet of orchids. The doctor pronounced them man
and wife, eliciting spontaneous applause from those whose hands were able to
clap. With perfect timing, Vince launched a daylight firework display that
rained down confetti on them all.
Markham and Alex talked over glasses of champagne and wedding cake, with Carol
and Linsey - companion slaves, past and present - standing attentively at their
side. Markham took in the scene of pussygirls, ponygirls, a nervous puppy,
masters, a slave trader, a doctor and nurse, a gardener and his bride and
declared: "Sheer folly, this wedding of yours, but jolly nice too!"
Alex agreed. It was a rare and special moment - not just the wedding but being
surrounded by the people he cared most about. Yet he had an unsettling feeling
too. This assorted group was just a fraction of Rabbit Island's population.
Most of them had chosen not to attend his 'folly', thus demonstrating how
peripheral and isolated he had become in the new Rabbit Island hierarchy.
The bride and groom were ready to depart for the domestic staff quarters, where
a celebratory Filipino barbecue and party awaited them. Frank helped them up
onto the rear seat of his carriage. With a wave and a thank you from José they
were off. Riccardo wiped tears from Kate's eyes as they watched the ponygirl
foursome trot off at a brisk pace. Four sets of jingling boot bells adding a
delightful soundtrack to their progress, until the sound faded into the
distance just as they did.
There was no rush or desire amongst the remaining wedding party to head back to
the Lodge. They had plenty to eat and drink, and this grassy viewpoint was
equipped with wooden stocks, pillars and frames, providing many avenues of
amusement to be explored. Markham pointed out to Alex - quite correctly - that
slaves become soft if not tested and disciplined, particularly after a light
day like this. Besides, he added, he'd taken a Viagra pill before the wedding,
and was ready for action.
They chained pussygirls Lucy and Anna to opposite sides of a vertical whipping
post, hands held high, the backs of their dresses unlaced and pulled down
around their feet in readiness for a whipping.
Linsey was undressed and tied within a spread-eagle frame so that everyone
could appreciate her exotic all-over body tattoo. The rough grass rubbed
harshly against her reddened rump, a painful reminder of her morning in
ponygirl training.
Janie ended up kneeling with her ankles in wooden stocks, her collar chained
tightly to a securing point between her ankles, presenting the masters with any
number of options.
Riccardo magnanimously offered Kate's mouth to all those present. Still locked
in her bunny chains, she was forced to kneel across Linsey's face, so she might
receive pleasure as she gave it.
Ranulph Markham was Kate's first client, unperturbed that he was standing
astride his companion slave being fellated by another woman. He soon put an end
to Kate's tentative sucking, gripping her short hair in his hand and pulling
her head harshly back and forward without let up until his semen exploded into
her mouth. It was just the way Kate liked it, but she could hardly tell him
that. Charlie was next, and then Vince, delighted and flattered that Kate
happened to have an orgasm as the same time as his own eruption.
Kate didn't find the task a hardship, sucking one man after the other, she
preferred it that way. One man was never enough. The hardest part was
concentrating while coping with Linsey's amazingly dexterous tongue on her
clit.
Her fourth customer was Doctor Schmidt. She savoured this rare moment of
intimacy between them, taking her time, treating his erect cock not just as
something to be mechanically worked to ejaculation, but as an extension of him
as a person, her boss, her guide. When his finger touched the front of her
neck, Kate knew what she was required to do. Changing the shape of her spine
and bending her neck backwards she took him into her throat. His fingers
lightly played against her neck, both of them savouring the knowledge that the
bulge in her throat was his.
Carol handed Charlie puppy Rachel's leash. The Chinaman had never had a dog
before, except for one time in a restaurant. He was at a loss as to what to do
with her.
Carol looked at Charlie with sympathy. "Just take her for a walk, throw her
bone gag for her to fetch, let her sniff and pee in the bushes. And don't
forget to stroke her and tell her what a good puppy she is! Tell you what, I'll
come with you while the pussygirls are getting their thrashing!"
Rachel crawled on the grass beside Carol as they walked along the cliff edge.
She was in the usual puppy garb: a purely decorative black leather body harness
and butt plug-tail, her hands balled into fists and covered in leather; and her
feet in the same leather covering. The thick spike-studded collar combined with
her blackened nose and heavy eye makeup to give Rachel that brutal-but-cute
look required of a puppy girl. In her mouth she had a bone gag, a large rubber
bone replica jammed between her teeth like a bit, and strapped around her head
to keep it in place.
Carol removed the bone gag and tossed it a short distance in front of her.
Rachel scampered off after it, gingerly picking it up between her teeth and
returning to her. She sat directly in front of Carol and rubbed the bone
against Carol's crotch. "What a good girl!" Carol said, taking the bone from
her and giving Rachel a chocolate drop in return. They walked past ponygirls
Diana and Melinda, still fully harnessed and attached to their trap, not even
giving them a second glance.
Even Charlie had become blasé about ponygirls over the last couple of days, but
puppy girls were new to him. He tossed the bone-gag, and Rachel chased after
it, soon losing her canine inhibitions now that she was alone with Carol and
Charlie. He recoiled in shock when Rachel returned and thrust the bone firmly
and deliberately into his crotch. Carol and Charlie continued to toss the bone-
gag for Rachel while they compared notes on their similarly bizarre lives. She
promised to give him make up lessons the following day after he commented on
what a good job she'd made of Mia the bride. He realised that if he could make
a slave girl look her best it would increase her sale price.
BUNNY BAGS
By the time Carol and Charlie returned to the party, the Rabbit Islander's
favourite pastime, a game of bunny bags, was under way. Kate, Lucy and Anna had
been staked out, spread-eagled alongside Linsey, to create the appropriate XXXX
shape for the game. All of them were blindfolded, firstly to protect their eyes
from the sun, but also to heighten their suspense and shock when the bags land
on them. And not wanting to leave out Janie, her ample breasts provided a handy
repository for the wooden clothes pegs needed for this variant of bunny bags:
red pegs on her right breasts and green on her left.
Determined to exact revenge for the Ryder Cup defeat, Alex and Vince were
taking on the Anglo/European axis of Ranulph Markham and Riccardo. Doctor
Schmidt acted as referee.
The first part of a bunny bags game is harmless. The players attempt to toss
the small bean-filled bags onto the bellies of each bunny from a distance of
five metres. The shock when one of those lands on her breasts or belly never
fails to produce a squeal, and the blindfold ensures, quite literally, that the
bunny never sees it coming. If a bag lands on her, the bunny has the
prerogative to try to buck it off, however such action usually results in the
amusement of the players and the subsequent tightening of her ropes.
Depending on how the sixteen bags in each round have landed, scores are marked
up by attaching clothes pegs to their nipples. With $2000 at stake, the men had
more to worry about than the bunnies' protests about their nipples. As long as
they were large enough for the pegs to clamp onto, the men were happy.
The object of the second part of each game was to dislodge your opponent's pegs
by aiming a bean bag straight at them. It required a strong and accurate throw.
Most shots missed the peg but hit the breasts or ribs sideways on, often
causing bruising. (After a bunny sustained a cracked rib last year, the weight
of the bags was reduced this season.)
A good hit makes an audible 'clip' as the peg comes off the nipple, sometimes
tumbling several feet into the air. The peg's clip sound is immediately
followed by a sudden cry of pain from the affected bunny, and a whoop of
delight from the thrower.
Although they weren't gagged, it didn't serve a bunny to protest; she'd merely
single herself out for more attention.
Carol was never much into sport, unable to appreciate the finer points of bunny
bags, despite having been one of the spread-eagled participants on several
occasions. She'd never actually tossed a bunny bag, and nor did she know if any
woman had. Nonetheless she conjured with a delicious image of those four men
tied down in place of the bunnies and having bean bags thrown at their
genitals. They'd squeal every bit as much as those bunnies.
She was an animal lover, in her element with something at the end of her leash,
something that needed care and attention and responded to petting... like
Rachel. The new puppy girl was beginning to get into character, and bonding
with her new protector.
"I think she's ready for her first reward," Carol said to Charlie, who wasn't
much of a sports or animal lover. Having had too many chocolate drops already,
Rachel sensed what that reward might be. Carol put her in 'show' position - a
eject doggy posture with tail and head held high. She knelt down to one side of
the puppy and reached a hand behind and between her legs, her other hand
keeping Rachel on a very short leash.
Puppy Rachel felt Carol's thumb pushing aside the leather harness strap to slip
into her sex, leaving the fingers free to work on her clit. "Keep your chin
up!" Carol said, loud enough that everyone turned to look. A firm tug on her
collar further reminded Rachel who was in control. She bit down on her bone gag
as Carol's busy fingers took her to the point of no turning back. There was
simply no point in resisting, she grunted, she growled, she rocked her hips, a
doggy as she could be, all to win Carol's compliment of "what a good bitch you
are!"
And then Carol stopped, wiping her wet thumb of Rachel's buttocks. "Stay!" she
commanded, leaving Rachel to maintain formal doggy position, still facing
towards the men, and on the brink of orgasm. Carol kissed Rachel's ear and
whispered: "Perhaps in your kennel later, when you show me what your tongue can
do, I'll finish off what I started."
"Your ponygirls, Riccardo, they move a lot," Charlie commented as the bunny
bags game was changing ends.
Riccardo looked up and saw that Charlie had a point - Diana and Melinda seemed
agitated. When he walked over and stood in front of them, their heads were
facing downwards, not wishing to make eye contact in the way ponygirls usually
did. He ran a finger in the groove between Diana's ringed labia. The reins were
still threaded through the rings even though he knew it could cause irritation
or possibly stimulation. He held his wetted finger up to Diana and wiped it
harshly across her cheek.
Markham approached the ponygirls, while Alex and Vince stayed with the bunny
bags, discussing tactics. "Are they okay?" he asked his team-mate.
Riccardo shook his head and sighed. "These two used to be Bruce's ponygirls. He
warned me about this. They're fully harnessed, blinkered and turned to face
down the trail and still they get turned on. They're both as wet as leaky
faucets. Now I understand why he recommends using the spreader bar when they
are parked up."
He retrieved the spreader bar from its storage point under the driver's seat.
It was a five-foot long black iron bar with four leather, buckling cuffs
attached. Markham bent down to help strap it around the backs of Diana's and
Melinda's pony-booted ankles. Riccardo pulled out a small lump of chalk adding
three more vertical strokes to Diana's thigh.
While the party continued, Diana and Melinda stood embarrassed, immobilised and
sexually subdued by their combined spreader bar. Carol and Charlie stayed on a
bench looking out to sea, drinking white wine and beer respectively, with an
attention-seeking puppy girl at their feet.
The bunny bags game was eventually decided. The score, for readers who need to
know this kind of thing, was a 27-22 win to the Americans, and two sore breasts
and nipples for each of the female participants.
As the shadows of the sun grew longer, the group of six men, six women, two
ponygirls and a puppy reluctantly left their idyllic scenery to stroll the mile
or so back to the Lodge. Riccardo took Charlie in the passenger seat of the
pony-trap, taking the long route back to give Diana and Melinda a much needed
run.
Rachel the puppy girl crawled obediently at Lucy's side, thankful that the
doctor had bandaged her knees. Linsey clung devotedly upon Markham's arm and
Carol had a similar grip on Alex, as assertive as a submissive could dare.
It was nice to have a woman on his arm, Alex thought. It felt good to have
arranged a marriage too; and of course he was happy Riccardo had acquired a
suitable slave - one who was carrying his child. Kate, walking alongside and
talking to Dr Schmidt, seemed to be the happiest person on the entire island.
The irony, that the happiest person on the island was a slavegirl, wasn't lost
on him.
"You seem deep in thought, Alex," commented Carol.
"I am, but that's not so unusual, is it?"
She squeezed his arm, seeing through his non-committal reply. "If you ever want
to talk about it, you know I'm here for you. Anytime."
They must have walked five paces before Alex replied. "Thanks Carol, I could
well take up your offer."
The events of the day, the people around him now, and Ranulph Markham's earlier
probing and prompting, had given Alex much to think about. He had to make a
decision, and there was no easy option.
                               End of chapter 27
 Coming soon… The falcon position, Jessica's madness, jealousy and punishment.
    (Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any
      comments, criticisms, suggestions and reviews are always welcome.)
                       Chapter 28. The Falcon Position
             (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)
The story so far:
(Ch. 24) The Slave to Fortune lands at Rabbit Island. Jessica is put the cell
block.
(Ch. 25) The hi-tech cells. Tales of ponygirls in exile.
(Ch. 26) Rude food.
(Ch. 27) The Ponygirl exercise program. A wedding. Rachel the puppy-girl. Kate
is auctioned
After the leisurely walk back from the wedding and cliff-top party Alex and
Charlie entered the reception area to check for messages. While waiting for the
receptionist, Alex inspected the new gallery exhibits at the back of the lobby.
Apollo, the large erotic statue, had acquired a new lover. A young woman had
her back pinned against his impossibly manly chest, and her arms and legs
entwined backwards around him. It left her clear of the ground, supported by
her coarse rope bondage and partly by Apollo's upturned penis lodged deep
inside her anus. Her long dark hair was bound ponytail-style with a leather
cord, pulled over the statue's shoulder and secured to her bound wrists behind
Apollo's back.
Her naked body, writhing ever so slightly on her erotic impalement, seemed to
invite attention. This was an exhibit where touching by visitors was
encouraged, although her sex was marked off limits by an arched line of red
lipstick. Alex reached up to grasp both her nipples, tugging and squeezing them
and watching her open-mouthed arousal at the treatment. Her exposed and shaven
sex gaped, glistening and needy.
"She wants a man!" Charlie observed.
"She'll get one, but not just yet." Alex laughed. It was a pity about the don't
fuck the artwork  rule, but without such a rule she'd have been in a sorry
state by the time Alex arrived. Meanwhile the reception desk had a bidding book
running for the visitors who fancied having her after she was detached from
Apollo.
A few feet away from her was another exhibit: Nancy's six months of automatic
torment continued. Today she was marking time, quite literally. One wall of the
gallery had become a living clock, with Nancy its hands, her body stretched
within a revolving disk. To make the time more visible she was painted with a
three inch wide black line that went from her sex, between her breasts, fully
up her face to culminate in an arrow shape on her forehead.
She was upside down at the time of Alex's visit, indicating that it was half
past the hour. Charlie was about to move on and back to his suite, but Alex
suggested he stick around for another minute. Instead of a clock chiming the
half-hour, Nancy received electric shocks from electrodes taped to her nipples.
Two series of shocks and two shrieks of anguish from Nancy signalled that the
time was half past five.
"Two cries from Nancy means it's half-past. On the three-quarter hour she'll
get three shocks," explained Alex.
"What happens on the hour?" Charlie asked.
Alex grinned. "That's orgasm time!"
They moved closer to inspect the finer workings of the clock. They studied the
V of Nancy's slim and tanned legs, the kind of thighs made for running your
fingers up and down, except for Nancy the pleasure of a man's touch was
forbidden. Alex showed Charlie the large vibrator filling Nancy's sex. "You
should return in half an hour, she puts on quite a show apparently!"
A committee member happened upon them. "Howdy Alex, I sure hope the wedding
went well. I heard that the bride, after working twenty years in a whorehouse,
wore white," he said with evident disgust, "and what's this rumour that you'll
be taking Sunday communion services soon? Jesus, it's all happy families with
you these days, Alex."
"So it seems," said Alex shrugging it off with a smile. Although unfazed by the
personal insult, he was annoyed that the man couldn't show more courtesy for
Mia. After all, she was a free woman now, an employee on the island, not a
slave.
"On the subject of communion," the man continued, just as Alex thought he was
going, "you really should try the girl they've put in the O box. Boy, can she
blow! Now that's what I call a religious experience!"
The thought of sharing a woman's mouth with this man, however unwilling on the
her part, didn't appeal to Alex. The new committee members, like this cowboy,
third generation oil magnate, were not to his liking, and nor, particularly
recently, was he to theirs.
A NEW POSITION
Jessica and Debbie had just settled down to a relaxing evening in the pony
quarters. Their tack polishing was nearly done and Debbie was looking forward
to using their latest luxury - a pack of playing cards - safe in the knowledge
that, due to their following morning's shift, they were not available for
selection in evening and night-time activities. So when a cardboard box arrived
from the Lodge with their names on the instruction sheet, she assumed it was an
administrative error.
"The Lodge needs an efficient secretary," Debbie joked. "I could have their
offices running properly in no time!"
Diana read the instructions aloud. " Jessica and Debbie. Falcon position. Room
172. 9 pm to 11 pm.  It's pretty clear. I don't think we should argue with it."
Jessica sighed. "Falcon position? Never heard of it. So what's in the box?"
Diana looked into the box and frowned. "Not much." She held up a leather hood,
with laces spilling from it. "Just two hoods and your own sets of bunny
chains."
Jessica and Debbie 'hmmmed' in unison. This binding was disappointing. Spending
their days in harness or totally naked, ponygirls revelled in the chance to
dress up, even if it was corsets, or the rubber and latex garments favoured by
some.
Diana and Melinda were disappointed too. There wasn't any rope tying to do. The
task of binding their friends and fellow ponygirls used to disturb them, but
they had to comply under threat of punishment (and perhaps more importantly)
loss of privileges. After the first few tie-ups they grew accustomed to this
treacherous task, both binders and victims, and the bondage became an intimate
ritual between them. The masters would bind them anyway, so surely it was
better done with the love and understanding of other ponygirls?
The instructions on the typed-out sheet were not merely guidelines, they were
explicit, and expected to be followed to the letter. "It says hoods first,"
Diana sighed. It meant they couldn't chat while the binding proceeded.
"Haven't seen these before," said Melinda, examining the hood in her hands. She
stood behind the seated Debbie, loosened the laces and offered it to Debbie's
face. The inside of the hood had a built-in gag; a matchbox-sized protrusion of
rubber. Debbie took a quick swig from a water bottle and allowed Melinda to
push the rubber gag into her mouth. She smoothed it over Debbie's face, neck
and head, and started lacing the back.
"Oh god, there's no holes for the mouth and eyes," cried Jessica. But in the
middle of the mask there was an opening for the bottom half of Debbie's nose to
poke through. "Are you okay, Debbie?"
Debbie nodded. Jessica swigged her water and submitted to the same treatment
from Diana. Jessica bit down on the rubber insertion as Diana tightened the
laces at the back of her hood. Even in a room with friends she already felt
alone in the pitch-blackness of the falcon hood. Reaching her hand up to touch
the hood, she felt like a stranger to her own body.
Next came the bunny collar, engraved with her own name. Because it covered the
neck section of the hood it fitted tighter than usual, but not so tight as to
worry her. The chain from the collar hung coolly against her spine. When the
collar's padlock went 'click', there was not going back. Keys were not
supplied. Diana, now more captor than colleague, tugged upwards on the chain to
make her stand. Not wanting to test their friendship Jessica put her hands
together behind her back allowing Diana to handcuff them.
Jessica and Debbie stood side-by-side at the door connecting their quarters to
the Lodge. Ten minutes elapsed before Erik, the Lodge's handler, came for them.
He clipped a Y-shaped leash to Jessica's right nipple ring and Debbie's left
and tugged. In the darkness of hoods they followed him to room 172.
                                      ***
It was a normal guest room, nicely furnished like any four star hotel, and
nothing Jessica and Debbie wouldn't have seen before. Erik unclipped their
nipples and separated them by a few paces. He made them kneel, a light tap of
his toe against the shin being the accepted signal. Then another touch of
Erik's shoe told Jessica to open her knees. She sat and waited.
These rooms, so like hotel rooms in most respects, had certain extras not found
at the Holiday Inn. Whilst normal hotels had more drawer space than you would
ever require, many of the drawers in these room were already in use. One drawer
was full of rope, hanked so neatly you'd think it has never been used. Each
rope carried a tear-off paper band, stating its length in feet and metres. (The
Island's committee still hadn't agreed whether to standardise on metric or
imperial.)
Erik selected a couple of two-metre lengths of red rope. From the drawer below
the rope he took a couple of black leather belts. He slammed the drawers,
startling both of the blind ponygirls.
Jessica waited, listening to faint sounds of activity, and sensed that Debbie
was being rigged. A few minutes later it was her turn.
First, Erik used the leather belts to strap each of her thighs to its
respective ankle. Then he used the rope for an altogether more intimate
bondage. Exactly beneath Jessica's sex was securing point, a D ring which
folded flush with the floor until needed. He flipped it up and looped the red
rope through it. From there he threaded the rope through all of Jessica's six
labial piercings, then upwards. She could hear her nipple bells tinkling as
Erik slipped the cords through her nipple rings. He pulled up the slack and
Jessica shivered as she felt the friction of rope on her labia and the
sensitive tips of her nipples. He tied the two ends together in a bow-knot
between her breasts and allowed the remaining ends to dangle decoratively
towards her belly.
Then Erik took a tray of a dozen large candles from a drawer, lit them and
placed them around the room. He switched off the ceiling light, enjoying how
the light and shadow of the candles reflected on the ponygirls' toned skin. He
was very pleased, and considerably aroused by his creation. The ponygirls
seemed so serene, as if pacified by this intimate bondage. These two strongest
of female slaves, sitting restrained and suppressed, gave the room a powerful
aura of eroticism. Satisfied with the result, Erik left Jessica and Debbie to
their evening entertainment.
As soon as she heard the door close, Debbie gave a 'clear-the-throat' cough.
Jessica coughed in imitation and instinctively knew they were similarly rigged.
But how, she wondered, will somebody take her or punish her in that position?
There wasn't a clear expanse of skin for whipping, and access to her mouth,
sex, and anus was denied by her bondage.
Jessica tried to move, filling her lungs and lifting her chest. The rope
connecting her rings to the floor limited her chest's upward movement. She
tried turning her torso and felt the rope running across her most sensitive
flesh for an inch or two before tugging again. The falcon position, Jessica
began to realise, was designed specifically for ponygirls, or those with such
piercings. If she stayed motionless she could barely feel the rope, but if she
moved, her nipples were tugged and her labia were rubbed, and the worst thing
about it was that it felt good.
The door opened.
Jessica and Debbie ceased their struggles and sat up straight, as if to
attention. The man's footsteps (undoubtedly a man's, Jessica thought) stopped
between and in front of the two of them. It was an inspection. The room was
silent, broken only by their deep nasal breathing, almost in unison. He admired
how their chests slowly expanded each time they breathed in through their
noses. As ponygirls, in peak physical condition, they had excellent lung
capacity and body strength, particularly in their thighs, and this bondage was
designed to show it off, perhaps also to mock it.
He looked closely at Jessica and found something deeply erotic about her
slightly broad nose, exposed and displayed while the rest of her face remained
hidden, encased in leather.
If she had been blindfolded, her wet and sensual lips would have the attention;
drawing a man to them with their subliminal representation of even softer,
moister lips below.
If she were gagged, it would be her eyes, the window to her soul, the betrayer
of her desires, which made a man need to possess her.
This time it was her nostrils. They moved and flared; her nose twitched more
that he ever noticed before. Whether it was the deep nasal breathing, the fear
and uncertainty of what was to come, the discomfort, or perhaps it was simply
the arousal caused by her most intimate of bondage. He almost reached out a
finger to touch.
Master Alex left the room after barely a minute, closing the door softly behind
him.
The door opened again shortly afterwards. A man and a woman entered. He, in
formal black tie, she in a glittering evening gown, her hands bound behind her
with a red silk scarf.
She was his lover, a guest on the Island just like him. The man had visited
several times before, for her it was the first time.
"Untie me please, honey! Please don't make me beg."
He laughed. "That's exactly what I was going to do; and you'll be begging for
more than that pretty soon."
She wriggled out of his embrace as they entered the candlelit bedroom. It took
her a few moments to register that they weren't alone. She gulped. "Oh my god!"
He smiled, and pulled apart his tie. "What do you think?"
"What are they? I mean, who are they?"
"Oh, just a couple of ponygirls," he said, displaying a man's annoying habit of
being nonchalant about something of which he was so obviously proud. "I thought
it would be nice to have some erotic decoration. What do you think?"
She exhaled, still confused. "I don't know. I mean, wow! These are really
ponygirls? Jesus, have you seen how they're tied?"
"Sexy isn't it? It's called the falcon position. Just like in falconry, where
they keep their birds hooded and secured, we now have a similar thing for
ponygirls." He squeezed his lover from behind, nuzzling her neck. "Don't worry
babe, they're perfectly safe. You can see their hands are cuffed and chained
behind them."
She leant over Jessica to confirm that the falcon position was hopelessly
secure.
The man grabbed her and the silk scarf dropped from her wrists with one tug of
his hand. He unzipped the back of her dress, slowly peeling it from her
shoulders until it slipped down, creating a glistening pool of fabric around
her feet. She faced him, resplendent in a tight white basque, stockings and
suspenders.
They embraced and kissed passionately, giving their lovemaking an inexorable
momentum. They fell onto the bed, a muddle of desperate grasping limbs. His
hands ripped off her panties with a single violent tug.
"Aren't you going to tie me up?" she gasped.
"You want me to?" he asked between kisses.
"Yes! Yes!"
He scampered off the bed, retrieved the red silk scarf, and hastily bound her
hands to the headboard. And then he was on her, and inside her.
They fucked with a mutually uninhibited passion, a conversation of ecstatic
moans. Meanwhile Jessica and Debbie knelt, blind and motionless falcons barely
ten feet away. Every time Jessica moved she felt the ropes rub and tug against
her labia and nipples, restricting her, yet tormenting her too. That, combined
with the mid-coital cries coming from the bed, had set Jessica into a rhythm of
sympathetic arousal, aided rather than hindered by the intimate roping of her
rings. The combination of leather straps blinding her thighs, the smooth
implacable metal of her handcuffs and the close-fitting hood and its rubber gag
seemed designed to provoke as much as restrain her, Jessica couldn't help but
respond to such provocation.
The couple's orgasmic crescendo came, and soon subsided and slipped into loving
caresses.
"What's that noise?" the woman whispered.
"Noise?"
"Like little bells! I keep hearing it."
The man turned his head towards Jessica and laughed. "It's one of the falcons.
Her nipple bells. I think she wanted to join us! Or maybe she's giving a
musical accompaniment?"
The woman was still lying on her back, her fingers idly toying with her silk
binding connecting her wrists the bed. She could have freed herself if she had
wanted to. "The poor thing. I feel sorry for her."
The man rose from the bed and stood in front of Jessica, his diminishing penis
just inches away from her. He grasped it in his hand, yanked it several times,
and made as if to spurt on her - the upper swell of her breasts made a fine
target. "Another time perhaps," he said wistfully before returning to the bed.
The couple made love again, and again they heard the tinkling of bells. This
time they chuckled, joking that perhaps they were there for the ponygirls'
titillation, rather than the other way.
Having downed the last of the bottle of champagne, they dressed and left the
room to return to the party in the Lodge's main hall.
                                      ***
Jessica and Debbie were alone once more. This time they fully felt the awful
constraint of the falcon position in their folded legs. Both sought the comfort
of even a minor change of position, but their struggles only served to remind
them of the cruel elegance of their bondage. The patience and endurance they
learnt as ponygirls was put to the test.
Ten minutes later Erik returned to the room. He untied the rope which had
tormented Jessica for the last hours, tossing it and the leg belts into a small
laundry basket (to be tidied by the 'rope-maid' in the morning.) He allowed the
ponygirls to sit on the bed and stretch their legs for a moment before clipping
the Y-leash to one nipple of each and leading them from the room.
Jessica assumed they were heading back to their quarters, but thirty paces down
the hallway Erik tapped on a door and unclipped the leash from her nipple. She
felt a man grip her arm and pull her into the room, closing the door quietly
behind them.
While she stood nervously in the middle of the room, the new captor quietly
circled around her, inspecting her. She felt the leather flap of a riding crop
trailing over her breasts; then suddenly it rapped sharply on her flesh above
her sex. She gasped; the muffled sound demonstrating the effectiveness of the
hood and its built-in rubber gag. The next swipes of the crop were on her
buttocks, surprising her more than hurting. Her pulse and breathing rate
increased as she stood waiting for the next blow to land, not knowing where
that might be, or how hard. Bound only in her bunny cuffs, she might have
resisted or cowered to deflect the blows, but the blindness of the hood made it
an unfair fight.
The crop struck her upper arm, then the back of her thigh, then her belly, and
then on her shaven mound. And with each hit Jessica recoiled and her nipple
bells jingled. Her unseen assailant just laughed.
He unlocked her handcuffs. Jessica assumed it was to bind her to something
sturdy, but that didn't happen. Instead he continued teasing her with the
riding crop. Even with her hands free she couldn't protect herself, unable to
guess where the next blow might land. He didn't even intervene as she pressed
her right arm across her breasts and cupped her left hand over her sex. It
still left ninety percent of her flesh available to him.
The crop struck the back of her left hand, protecting her sex. Jessica
responded by moving it, assuming that was what the master's demanded. The next
blow landed on her clitoris. Jessica cried with pain, recoiled, and moved her
hand to cover sex again. Next time, she resolved, she wouldn't move it.
The crop struck her hand again, and Jessica, in instinctive obedience, moved it
away again. Then she moved it back to cover her sex before he could strike
again. She cursed this man's stupid power game. He laughed, and swatted her
hand, but this time much harder.
He walked behind her, striking her buttocks and admiring how decorative the
empty handcuffs looked, dangling the length of her spine from the chain
connected to her collar. He poked the riding crop through the crack of her
thighs until it touched her labia and the palm of the hand attempting to
protect it. Jessica had to allow the crop to rub back and forward under her
anus and sex. She had simply run out of arms.
"Hold your hands out to your sides!" commanded the voice behind her.
Jessica complied instantly, lifting her arms like wings, knowing too well the
cost of disobedience. She felt a gentle breeze in her left armpit as he
crouched to walk under her arm. She bit down on the rubber gag and waited for
the crop to land. It didn't. Instead, she felt his lips kiss the back of her
left hand, which a minute earlier had been kissed by the crop. Why would a man
kiss her hand, Jessica wondered. It seemed so cruel, mocking her like that,
taking advantage of her because she was blind.
She felt both his palms on her breasts, squeezing them gently, rubbing against
her hard nipples, taking his time. Then his hands slowly slipped down to rest
on her hips.
Meanwhile her own hands were still held awkwardly at her sides. It wasn't fair
to treat a ponygirl like this, she wanted to say. As a slave under his control,
she preferred the certainty of bondage to the torment of partial freedom.
Then Jessica sensed a trembling and an intensity in the man's fingers. He was
becoming aroused. "Is it you, Alex?" She wanted to ask. She reached out her
hands and touched a man's naked body in front of her. She deduced he had the
right amount of chest hair, and tracing down to his stomach found the scar she
had often seen but never touched.
Alex led her to his bed, not as a slave but as a sightless lover. Her hands
touched something! She had touched it before, with her lips, her breasts, her
sex, her thighs, but never before with her hands - Alex's erect penis. She
caressed it as a blind woman might and felt it grow impossibly large as her
fingers ran up and down it. Perhaps it was the falcon hood... affecting each of
them in different ways?
He pushed her down on the bed. Jessica felt his weight upon her. He pulled her
hands out to her side, gripping her wrists, bondage made of a man's muscle as
he crucified her with his own body. The loose handcuffs were digging painfully
into the flesh of her back. Alex's cock, so large in her hands, just moments
before, seemed every bit as large as he thrust it into her, conquering her from
within. Only able to breathe through her nose, Jessica began to struggle for
the oxygen her body's arousal demanded.
Alex slowed, allowing her to quieten beneath him as he continued to take her.
He came while she was still a distance from her orgasm and tonight he wasn't
inclined to remedy that situation. His need came first and hers nowhere, at
least not her physical need.
Afterwards, they lay on the bed, Jessica's leather-encased head resting on
Alex's shoulder, his left arm under and around her. She pressed her body
against his side trying to create a seamless join from ankle to shoulder. She
had a bizarre thought, almost laughing out loud, wishing that they could be
zipped up together through the full length of their bodies.
Alex studied her perfectly formed nose, the lower half protruding in isolated
splendour from the tight-fitting leather hood. He liked how her nostrils flared
during her arousal, enjoying the similarities with a bunny's namesake. He'd
kissed her nose several times while he was making love to her and almost
succumbed to biting it one occasions. As she lay pressed tightly against the
side of his body, he licked it, leaving it cool and wet. She responded by
pressing herself even closer to him.
A knocking at the door shattered their intimate repose.
Alex rose from the bed, helping Jessica to sit and then stand up. His hands
grasped hers, but only to refasten them into their cuffs. He briskly rubbed her
body with a towel, drying her of perspiration, and led her to the door. She
seemed to wilt, and Alex sensed her upset at being ushered out of his room
after barely half an hour, but he didn't want to break the working ponygirl
curfew, having already stretched the rules by taking her to bed. He almost told
her that tomorrow, with the change in her shift pattern, he planned on keeping
her for the entire night.
Jessica felt the leash being clipped to her nipples again, and prayed that the
next destination would be the ponygirl quarters. She heard a quiet, almost
conspiratorial 'Thanks Erik' from Alex just before the door closed.
As she was led back to her quarters, Jessica tugged resentfully against the
handcuffs that had once again ensnared her. Something Kate said a while back
echoed in her mind:
"The same handcuffs can feel different depending on who puts them on me. I can
still feel a man's spirit within the handcuffs hours later. Sometimes, if the
man has been nasty, it leaves me feeling uncomfortable and upset, as if he
still has a hold on me. But if the man was passionate and treated me well, it
feels like I'm still in his embrace."
Jessica finally understood what Kate meant. And when Erik released her from the
hood and the cuffs upon their arrival at the ponygirl quarters she felt there
was something missing: No longer 'embraced', as Kate might say. Jessica went
immediately to the bathroom and splashed cold water over her face and head.
Debbie was the only one awake in the quarters, listening to a string quartet on
the sixties-style all-in-one box record player and playing solitaire with the
newly acquired playing cards. She had developed a taste for classical music
since becoming a ponygirl, but since all of the LP's was classical, that wasn't
so surprising. 'Just another means of controlling them,' Debbie had said when
the record player and its collection of records first arrived. Since then she
had become the record player's most avid listener.
Jessica sat down next to Debbie and smiled. "What's the music? It's nice."
"Beethoven's string quartet opus hundred and thirty-one," said Debbie before
sensing that something wasn't right. "Since when have you been interested in
music? Come on Jessica. What happened?"
As a ponygirl pair Debbie and Jessica shared everything - their running, the
cleaning of their tack, the praise and punishments from their driver, and not
least, their knowledge of what was happening around them and to them. To run
successfully together meant knowing how the other one was feeling; being in
step in both body and mind.
"Out with it! What happened to you?" Debbie demanded.
"I was taken into a room. The man pushed me onto his bed and fucked me."
Jessica shrugged her shoulders. "No big deal really."
Debbie gazed at Jessica, patient but insistent. Usually Jessica was far more
forthcoming in talking about her enforced assignations.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" asked Jessica.
"A man? Who? What did he smell like? I need to know!" Debbie probed.
Jessica smiled coyly and then whispered, as if to thwart an eavesdropper.
"Alex."
Debbie tutted, and shook her head in disapproval.
Jessica looked away, knowing she couldn't begin to explain what had happened to
her.
The Beethoven quartet continued to play, and both just listened. Jessica hadn't
realised how nice the music was until then.
                               End of chapter 28
           Coming soon… Jessica's madness, jealousy and punishment.
    (Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any
      comments, criticisms, suggestions and reviews are always welcome.)
               Chapter 29. The Straightjacket and the Bunny Hop
             (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)
The story so far:
(Ch. 25) The hi-tech cells. Tales of ponygirls in exile.
(Ch. 26) Rude food. Alex tells Riccardo of Kate's pregnancy.
(Ch. 27) The Ponygirl exercise program. A wedding. Rachel the puppy-girl. Kate
is auctioned
(Ch. 28) The falcon position.
                                      ***
Today was the day of the famous Rabbit Island bunny hunt. Twenty naked females
had been let loose upon MacDonald's Peak, the rocky outcrop at the highest
point of the island. The bunnies were handcuffed and ballgagged, and also wore
heavily tinted swimming goggles, which not only protected their eyes from gun
shots but limited their vision, turning a bright morning into twilight.
A meeting point for the ‘hunters' had been established where the trail passed
the base of the peak, a convenient place where three pairs of ponygirls and
their trailers were parked up waiting for the paintgun-equipped predators to
bring in their catches.
Needless to say, it wasn't a fair contest, at least not between master and
bunny. Not only did the pellet from the paint gun sting terribly on contact,
but the sticky yellow paint caused an awful burning of the skin if not removed
within a minute of the hit. Therefore a ‘killed' bunny would usually come
running up to her killer pleading to have the paint wiped from her, thus
submitting to her capture.
Ponygirls Jessica and Debbie had sneakily manoeuvred their pony cart around a
few degrees so they could witness a little of the scene their blinkered view
provided. They watched ponygirls Melinda and Diana's trailer being loaded. Five
naked bunnies were laid belly-down onto the single-axle trailer, each hog-tied
with leather cords and facing in alternate directions to compact their overall
form to the size of the trailer. Then a net was cast over them and fastened to
cleats under the lip of the traile, ensuring that none were lost in transit.
This wasn't just a competition for the masters, but also for the bunnies. The
winning bunny was the one who evaded capture for the longest. For Jessica this
was a time for mixed feelings - last year, as a bunny, she had won. The winner
was assumed to be the most rebellious and most able or willing to resist; and
yet that rebellion, at least for the winner, was met with reward and privilege
rather than punishment. Jessica remembered how they dressed her in the
colourful finery of a picture-book slavegirl, and how she sat at Master Alex's
side during a evening of festivities. She even drank from his champagne glass.
In retrospect, Jessica realised it was a master-stroke of psychology, something
which had eroded her resistance to such an extent that less than a year later
she was a highly trained ponygirl about to carry this year's winner to her
dubious prize. Jessica felt ashamed of her weakness as she watched the final
two bunnies succumbing to the leather-thonged hog-ties they would endure for
their journey back to the Lodge.
“This one's the winner,” one of the men announced, pointing down to a feisty
blonde who continued to offer resistance, even when in the grip of a stringent
leather cord hog-tie. Jessica immediately felt a pang of jealousy. Despite her
cruel binding this woman was still free in spirit - a fighter. And tonight that
spirit would be rewarded and corrupted by privilege just as Jessica had been.
She would be tasting champagne and caviar at the side of a master. And that was
what troubled Jessica. Would that master be Alex? It felt as if her reign as
bunny hunt champion had just expired.
Jessica felt a slight jolt as a bunny was loaded onto the trailer behind her.
Others followed, each lashed down in place, their bellies hard against the
wooden planking of the trailer bed, soft feminine flesh pressed against the
fellow captives. Jessica felt a strange shiver of erotic excitement at the
drama of five trussed-up bunnies behind her.
Frank tugged on the reins and pressed the whipper button, and Jessica's
buttocks stung from the mechanical whip it unleashed. She and Debbie crouched
slightly and pushed with their thighs until their heavy load began to roll
forward. Only because the route to the Lodge was downhill were they we able to
pull such a heavy burden.
Soon they were making a steady pace back to the Lodge, the trailer seeming to
have a momentum of its own behind them. The hog-tied bunnies were asleep,
lulled by their own exhaustion, the swish of the trailer's bicycle wheels on
the gravel track and the jingling rhythm of bells from the ponygirls' boots.
Frank was an excellent driver, able to guide and prompt his ponygirls through
the numerous bends in the trail with a minimal loss of momentum. Quite simply
he possessed his ponygirls in body and mind, as thoroughly as their harnesses
gripped them. His tugs on their reins, and the resulting twitches in their
nipples and labia were like a secret code, instructing, encouraging, praising
and criticising. To think that ponygirls were brainless couldn't be further
from the truth. The concentration required to interpret a driver's commands
left Jessica and Debbie mentally as well as physically exhausted.
They reached the cobbled courtyard of the Lodge. Its hard stone surface
combined with metal studs on the bottom of ponyboots to make a distinctive
hard-edged clipping sound that echoed around the surrounding buildings. The
noise was by design - it was the sound that signified the arrival or departure
of ponygirls.
The ponygirls stood motionless, trying to catch their breath as they were
relieved of their load. Men released the cargo of bunnies from their hog-ties
and marched them to the hose-down area.
Jessica and Debbie were taken to the ponygirl punishment frames for five
lashes. Just five faults in a day was pretty good, but Frank made each lash
count, pausing to puff on his cigarette between each stroke. Jessica was
grateful for the rubber-covered bit between her teeth, clenching on it with
each stroke on her buttocks.
Frank led his ponygirls back into their quarters, pushing them through the
iron-barred door of the tack room. Their fist-shaped hands seemed to twitch in
the anticipation of being freed from their mesh coverings. Frank pulled the
mitts from Jessica's hands and unbuckled the strap holding them in the small of
her back. Then he unbuckled the two leather bands that encircled her upper arms
and chest. The rest of her ponygirl bondage, and all of Debbie's, Jessica would
have to do for herself.
Debbie stood patiently fully bitted and harnessed while Jessica removed her
harnessing. Only then, with a teasing smile, did she attend to her partner. It
wasn't wise to take any liberties from her advantageous situation, as next time
it might be Debbie who was first released.
When both were naked except for their butt-tails swishing against their inner
thighs, they headed to the bathroom for a cold shower. Only then did they
gently pull out their butt-tails, which they cleaned as they showered.
Ponygirls had no clothes except for harnesses and boots, so after drying
themselves they sat naked at their communal table for a late lunch. A bowl of
raw power vegetables and fresh bread had been provided, together with two
plastic glasses of orange juice. They ate and talked about their day, not so
much about their human cargo but about how well they'd managed to haul such a
heavy load.
After lunch they went straight to work polishing their tack. The sense of
irony, that they should lavish so much care on the leatherware that kept them
in total subservience to a pony driver, had long since evaporated. The leather
harnesses and boots had to shine, or punishment would follow. It was that
simple.
They'd only just finished tack cleaning when the bell rang on the door that
connected their quarters to the Lodge. It wasn't out of politeness but simply
to alert them that something had been delivered.
Debbie retrieved the delivery, and placed the box on the table. “It's for you,”
she said, reading the printed instructions taped to the lid.
Jessica grimaced, fearing that it might be the falcon hood again, but then
Debbie's quizzical expression made her think otherwise.
Debbie gazed at her sympathetically. “Sorry, Jessica, it looks like your time
is up. They've finally discovered something the rest of us have known for a
while.”
“What?”
“You've done well to keep it from them, but sooner or later they'd know.”
Jessica was becoming increasingly concerned. “Debbie, what is it?”
Debbie held up the main item in the box - a shapeless garment of heavy white
canvas with numerous leather straps hanging down. “I believe they call this a
straightjacket. You are officially mad!”
Jessica smiled. “Oh, that's okay then. I thought it was something serious. It
may surprise you, but I've never worn one of those before.” She might have
added that she'd wanted to wear one for as long as she could remember.
Debbie managed to hold it up in the correct orientation. “Hold up your arms
Jessica, we only have ten minutes.”
The straightjacket was the real thing, tailored to fit a woman's form. As
Jessica pushed her arms into it and Debbie pulled, it seemed to swallow her up.
Debbie spared no effort in ensuring the straps at Jessica's back were buckled
to their tightest notch, while its wearer flapped her canvas-encased hands in
front of her. The strap at the neck, buckled behind, had the appearance of a
collar. When Debbie commanded, Jessica crossed her hands at her waist so the
straps could be tied around the opposite hip. Even acknowledging the fact that
Debbie might be punished if Jessica's bondage wasn't tight enough, she
approached the task of binding her friend with a certain relish.
Jessica looked down to see a strap hanging down to her knees: the dreaded
crotch strap. Debbie stood in front of her, and first fastened a strap over
where her arms crossed over her belly. This was designed to prevent the
escapologist's technique of passing her arms over her head. Debbie lifted the
crotch strap to Jessica's lips and made her grip it between her teeth. She
returned to the box and lifted out a two-foot length of red ribbon.
“I wonder what this is for?” said Debbie with a sneer, holding up the ribbon as
if it were a worm she'd just dug out of the ground.
Jessica knew exactly what it signified, and so did Debbie. It meant an imminent
summons from Master Alex.
“Please don't tie knots in it,” Jessica begged, “last time you did that, Master
Alex needed a knife to cut me free!”
Debbie knelt in front of Jessica, and threaded the red ribbon through her labia
rings, like lacing a shoe. “Jesus - what a pervert!” she sighed.
“He's okay. He just thinks it looks pretty,” said Jessica through gritted
teeth, she was still biting down on the end of the crotch strap.
“I meant you!” Debbie laughed and blew lightly onto Jessica's sex, making her
quiver. “Does Master Alex kneel down and untie the ribbon with his teeth?”
“Uh uh,” Jessica replied shaking her head slightly. He hadn't so far.
Debbie finally took the strap from Jessica's mouth and brought it between her
legs, ensuring that the bow and ends of the red ribbon spilled out on either
side of the strap as it passed under her crotch. After a harsh tug that brought
Jessica onto her toes, Debbie buckled the end in the middle of Jessica's back.
“Now try to escape!”
Jessica twisted her torso a few times, then shrugged to indicate she was
defeated.
“Good! I hate those pathetic things these escapologist wear. Honesty I've had
sweaters that were harder to remove than some of those so-called straight-
jackets. How does it feel?”
“Tight,” said Jessica grimacing, “thanks to you! And don't you dare say it
suits me!”
“Okay, let's just say, I think Master Alex will be delighted at seeing you
safely strapped up for his private pleasure. We all know about that red ribbon.
It means don't wait up for Jessica, she won't be coming home tonight.”
Jessica blushed. “He likes ponygirls and enjoys teasing me, that's all. Just
look at me, all strapped up! I'm nothing to him except a toy. If he wants to be
with a real woman he has Carol, and who can blame him?”
“Oh? So Diana told you what she saw yesterday?”
“Yes. Master Alex and Carol, arm in arm, just like a regular couple. I'm happy
for them, really I am. They're a good match don't you think?”
Debbie shook her head in disgust. “That's not what you really believe, is it?”
“She's a free woman, and a lovely person as well, and I'm a ponygirl. Debbie,
we're prisoners here. It's not a dating camp, at least not for us.
“It's worked out that way for Riccardo and Kate.”
“He's bought her. That's all. She's still a slave, and now he's a slave-owner,”
said Jessica becoming increasingly irritated. “I'm just trying to please Master
Alex so keeps his word and releases me next year. I hope their memory washing
procedure works completely. Then it'll be like this whole thing never
happened.”
“That's what you think? Methinks it's time for the gag before this madwoman
speaks any more nonsense.” Debbie held up the ballgag harness. “Open wide!”
The doorbell rang, and Jessica, freshly gagged, walked herself towards the door
where Erik was waiting to escort her.
“Jessica,” Debbie shouted, causing her to stop and looking around. “Don't
underestimate Master Alex!”
                                      ***
The afternoon's festivities took place outside on the Lodge's main lawn and
corral. Ponygirls seldom went outdoors without a harness, so Jessica was
pleased to be in the sunshine, even though confined by a straightjacket.
Erik led her to a raised seating area overlooking the lawns. She knelt by a
‘master chair' - a heavy wooden chair equipped with securing points so that a
kneeling slave could be chained to it. Erik did just that, clipping a length of
chain to a D ring at the front of the straightjacket's collar.
Jessica found that having her collar chained to a master chair seemed to settle
her, perhaps because she knew nothing much would be required of her. She could
sit and take in the afternoon's events as a spectator, and might even be fed
with morsels of food and drink. All she needed to do now was sit up straight
and give the master an occasional glance of submissive adoration, whilst trying
not to dribble on his thigh.
She looked around, taking in the scene assembling on the lawn before her eyes.
Sturdy poles, whipping posts, suspension frames, and stocks stood in readiness
for the arriving bunnies. The bunny hunt was merely a warm up for these
proceedings, a sporting way to gather them together for the upcoming
entertainment. Jessica was amused by the facial expressions of the bunnies as
they were herded around, under the gratuitous whip-wielding supervision of the
handlers.
The newer bunnies seemed wide-eyed with terror whilst the older residents
(those that Jessica knew from her time as a bunny) chatted quietly together,
sometimes sharing a smile in response to a joke shared between them. They'd
seen it all before, or at least hoped they had.
The handlers were going to each bunny, fitting heavy padded ankle bands to join
their ankles, so that all they could do was hop. With their hands cuffed behind
them, they were in a precarious situation, in constant danger of losing their
balance.
“Hey sweetie. How are you?”
Jessica was startled. She hadn't seen Alex approaching. He sat down and ran his
hand over her leather-strapped head as if she were a pet dog. She scowled back
at him and shook herself as if to complain about her tight bondage. Alex
wouldn't have expected any less from her. He leant back to examine the strap
arrangement at the back of Jessica's straight-jacket.
“What a neat bundle of fun you are, Jessica. You've given me a hard-on.” Alex
pointed to his crotch just in case she didn't know where it was. Jessica gazed
at pyramid shape in his shorts, perhaps for too long, her ballgagged mouth a
mere nine inches away. She found herself dribbling, as she often did when she
wore a ballgag.
“Maybe the bunny hop race will take my mind off it?” Alex suggested, sitting
forward in his chair and squinting to read the numbers written in marker pen on
the bunnies' thighs. He laughed. A few of them were practicing, trying to hone
their hopping technique. Some fell over onto the grass and needed the handlers
to help them to their feet again.
Despite the amusement of the audience of Master, for the bunnies it was no
laughing matter. The result of the race determined their fate for the evening.
The large wooden frames looming over the lawn gave warning of what a poor
performance in the bunny hop would bring.
“You see that skinny blonde girl over there?” Alex pointed with an outstretched
arm.
“Uh huh,” said Jessica.
“Can you read the number on her thigh?”
Jessica lifted her eyes to the heavens in disbelief. She obviously had better
eyesight than he did. “Eh-ing!” she managed to say through her ball-gag.
“Eighteen? Thanks. I fancy that one. Quite a good little hopper don't you
think? Yep. I'll put my money on her.”
The bunny tripped and fell moments later, causing Alex to curse and Jessica to
have sudden breathing difficulties. It really wasn't wise to laugh when wearing
a ballgag. Alex quickly reacted, thinking Jessica was choking. He fumbled with
the gag straps until she shook her head to indicate she was okay.
The bookmaker came by with his clipboard while Alex's bunny was still on the
ground.
“A thousand dollars on number eighteen,” Alex said with confidence.
“A thousand? We're paying out each way on four places.”
Alex barely hesitated. “Okay, make it five!”
The bookmaker wrote down the details. “So that's forty thousand for a win, ten
thousand for a place. What about number thirteen? Nobody's bet on her yet.” He
pointed at a dark-skinned woman, hopping very tentative as if perpetually on
the verge of falling. It was Lina. Alex agreed to back her with a further five
thousand.
Jessica couldn't help feeling a shiver of guilty excitement. Forty thousand
dollars at stake on a hopping race!
The hopping bunnies were mustered at a chalk line on the grass while the
announcer explained over the public address: “The race is over 150 yards -
that's 75 yards out, around the marker post and 75 yards back to the starting
line. If a bunny falls over she can get up again if she's able, but no outside
help is permitted. In the case of fallers, final places will be awarded based
on the distance she has travelled.”
The announcer had a gun, not a starter's gun but a real revolver. “Get ready!”
He pointed the gun in the air and fired.
The bunnies hopped away, some at a desperate racing pace whilst others were
more cautious. A few collided and brought others down with them, provoking some
choice language from the bunnies and either laugher or shouts of ‘get up' from
their backers. Bound hand and foot, that was easier said than done. Only those
bunnies prepared to lean on another fallen body managed it.
Alex's blonde bunny reached the halfway marker post just a few places off the
front, her hair billowing in the breeze with each jump and looking really
rather attractive. Alex joined the cacophony of yells as the punters tried to
spur on their bunny. Jessica was kneeling upright, straining for a better view
and cursing the ballgag in her mouth.
Any lingering doubts about the seriousness of this race were dispelled when
Alex's blonde was on the receiving end of a deliberate shoulder barge from
another bunny. She hopped a few more times, trying to keep her balance, and
then fell headlong and dramatically into a flower bed, all but disappearing
into the flora.
Alex joined the growing ranks of disappointed punters, but not for long. His
attention was taken by the dark-skinned bunny making steady progress through
the depleted field. She was almost smiling. Alex stood up and yelled Lina's
name, and she appeared to respond.
Lina stumbled just yards from the finish but somehow collapsed over the line in
third place. Alex fell back in his seat, breathless with excitement. He smiled
at Jessica, and kissed her head, instinctively wanting to share the joy of his
win with somebody. And for that reason he quickly unbuckled the straps behind
her head.
Even with the straps hanging free the large red ball was still lodged firmly
behind Jessica's teeth. Alex carefully prised it from her mouth, and
immediately kissed her hard on the lips.
Jessica was cynical; she knew a sport-loving man like Alex would kiss anything,
even another man, when their team wins at sport. Nonetheless, his kiss was
good, firm and passionate, and the way he looked at her was even better. She
returned a closed smile.
“I don't know what's happened, but you look beautiful today, and it's not just
the straightjacket.” Alex teased.
“Perhaps, Sir, it's because all day I've been strapped into a tight harness and
had to pull a cart like an animal, running at least six miles, and at the end
of the day I was beaten for not being good enough!”
That's what Jessica was tempted to say. Instead, having been called beautiful
while she was embarrassed and ashamed of her cruelly cropped hair, she simply
looked towards the ground and said “thank you.”
Imitating the manner of companion slaves, Jessica moved her body so it leant
against Alex's leg, her cheek pressed to his thigh. He seemed to like it.
Alex's attention returned to the lawn, where six of the bunny hop losers were
literally roped into a ‘best hog-tie' competition. The six master competitors
had fifteen minutes to use as much or as little rope as they wished to produce
a hog-tied bunny with rope bondage as beautiful as it was inescapable.
One man went for classic simplicity with his bunny, in-line wrists and ankles,
seven loops around each limb and three in the cinches. Two men opted for the
damsel-in-distress look with elbows, wrists, ankles and knees tied. It was a
strict tie, particular on the elbows, and produced excellent ‘wriggle-appeal'
that they each hoped would seduce the judges. The other three men opted for
deluxe hog-ties in various styles, including shibari body harnesses and breast
bondage.
While the hog-tie competition continued, the other competitors in the bunny hop
were being dispersed to the other equipment. Alex noticed his disappointing and
costly blonde hopper being taken to the Torture Garden, where a secluded relief
zone had been set up.
Lina, having done well in the bunny hop was being tied to the dancing
framealong with four others. Her hands were tied in front and then hoisted
above her head, and tethered to a high horizontal pole. It wasn't an arduous
position, providing the bunny didn't mind dancing.
The music started - a fusion between Turkish cengi and Indian ragas. Nervously,
the five bunnies in the dancing frame began to feel the rhythm of the music,
aided by a zealous crop-wielding dance-master. Soon their hips were moving,
some at the threat of the crop, while others seemed to enjoy dancing and took
the opportunity to impress.
Alex's eyes were soon attracted by the sight of naked women dancing, and Lina's
erotic gyrations and her smile had him spell-bound - she seemed to be able to
swing her hips from side to side as if they were directly wired to the rhythm
of the music. After a while all five dancers were swaying and gyrating, each
learning from her adjacent dancers.
Jessica, even confined to her straightjacket, enjoyed the music too, whilst
also being curious about the hog-tie competition just a few yards in front of
her. Knowing that the bunnies were unwilling participants in these events
didn't bother her these days. She had gone through the same and worse, and in
retrospect had to admit that some the experiences were very stimulating.
To be chained to a master's chair was a privilege. It meant she was free to
take in the visual spectacle with impunity, knowing that she belonged to a
master for the evening. With her laced-up labia, and Alex's stated desire for
her, Jessica felt life had some certainty to it, until at least the following
morning.
Alex suddenly kissed Jessica's head, and walked off in the direction of the
Torture Garden. She studied his rear view as he walked, sharing brief words
with random people as he went. Jessica was unsure whether she was jealous of
him, or the people he was talking to. She knew the blonde bunny, the failed
hopper, was in the Torture Garden and she felt her stomach slowly knotting.
Alex was doing almost exactly what Jessica expected. Today, having seen Jessica
in her straightjacket and Lina dancing, he needed relief if he wasn't to spill
his seed in his pants during the course of the evening.
One of the handlers was supervising the five bunnies in the relief zone. Alex
showed him the betting slip. “What can I get for five thousand bucks?” he asked
with a wry smile.
The guy frowned, playing along with Alex's joke. “Number eighteen huh? I assume
you want a little payback. She's over there being worked on by the pussygirl.”
Five women were fixed at two-metre intervals each fully bent over a leather-
topped wooden A-frame, their five wriggling asses creating a view to inflame
any man. Pussygirl Anna was a ‘fluffer' to the bunnies, making sure they all
stayed wet and worked-up, ready for men who needed relief, like Alex. Anna was
crouched behind number 18 with a vibrator against the blonde's clitoris.
The blonde cried out for mercy - or was it fulfillment - as she reacted to
pussygirl Anna's expert attention.
Alex stood over them, raring to go. “Thanks Anna, I'll take it from here.”
Anna smeared a generous finger of KY jelly over number 18's anus, just in case
Alex preferred to use that passage. She smiled and curtseyed, then moved to the
next bunny for more fluffing.
Alex did use the blonde's rear passage, but not in the way Anna expected. He
rolled up his betting slip into a tight cigarette shape and pushed it into the
blonde's anus, leaving just a short stub exposed.
He stood back a moment and licked his lips, then dropped his pants and plunged
himself into number 18 ready vagina. The girl tugged vainly against her bondage
of leather and chains, causing the clatter of padlocks against the wooden frame
to accompany Alex's exertions. After withdrawal, Alex cleaned his flagging
penis by wiping it against his partner's buttocks. Then he left her, still with
the rolled up betting slip protruding from her asshole.
Alex returned to the lawn, almost dazzled by all the events in progress. Across
the other side of the lawn, where Jessica sat, the hog-tie competition was
being judged. Closer to him was the suspension frame. Five bunnies were bound
and hanging upside down awaiting a full-body birching - their punishment for a
poor showing in the bunny hop.
Four bunnies who had performed slightly better in the hopping race were being
laid out for a game of bunny bags. Men were hammering iron stakes into the
grass so the bunnies could be spread-eagled between them. There was something
about the sound of a sledgehammer against the stakes that seemed to heighten
the anticipation of the game. The tradition was that players themselves would
hammer in the stakes, while the naked women who were to be stretched between
them looked on with a dreadful anticipation of their own. Alex, who was due to
play in one of the later games, stayed a while to help.
As soon as the first four stakes were hammered into place, the first reluctant
bunny was prodded into position between them. Her hands were released from her
steel hand cuffs, only to have separate ropes immediately wrapped around each
limb. They laid her out on the ground and with one man kneeling at each stake
pulling her wrists and ankles to their respective stake like a four-way tug-of-
war. Only when the girl was gasping with strain did Alex, Vince and the other
men tie off their ropes. It wouldn't take long to have the next three bunnies
staked out side by side, each of them sharing two stakes with her neighbour.
While Alex was staking out bunnies, the sensual rhythmic music of the dance
competition played through the public address, and those tied to the dancing
frame continued to gyrate in the hope their performance would bring reward or
some kind of favour from the onlookers.
The music fell silent just as the fourth bunny was being staked out. After
confirming the start time of his game, Alex visited the other recipient of his
bunny hop wager.
The five dancers stood, hands tied high over their heads, recovering their
breath. Lina smiled as Alex approached.
“You're a good dancer.”
Lina looked up coyly. “Thank you, Sir. I enjoyed myself. It's been such a long
time since I danced.”
Her hips were made, not just for swaying to the music, but for a man's hands
and eyes to rest upon. Alex kissed her lightly on the lips, feeling a tingle of
pleasure which she shared. “Perhaps you could dance privately for me sometime?”
She glanced downwards but Alex detected a smile. “Sir, I would like that very
much. Tonight?”
He chuckled. It felt like they were making a date. “I'm busy tonight, but soon
I hope.”
Lina looked across the lawn to where Jessica sat. “She's very beautiful, even
with such short hair. I believe she has a gentle and yet powerful spirit. A
person of honesty and loyalty.”
The first part of Lina's comment was self-evident, at least to Alex. The second
part made him pause. Lina was a perceptive woman. Enough for her words to cause
him a little discomfort.
He kissed her again, and this time their lips lingered, each seemed to be
tempting the other with more.
Before returning to his seat Alex collected a glass of chilled white wine and
plate from the buffet.
“I feel better now,” Alex said as he sat down, “you're not driving me quite so
crazy.”
Jessica said nothing.
“Sip of wine?”
The glass was offered to her lips. Jessica sipped and quietly thanked him.
“You seem subdued. Anything wrong?”
“I'm a prisoner on an island. I'm strapped up in a very tight straight-jacket
and fastened to a chair by a heavy chain. Why should anything be wrong?”
Her sarcasm, however, had long since lost its impact on Alex. He chuckled and
kissed her head. “You in that straightjacket and chained to my chair feels very
right to me!” He took a large gulp of wine. “See the dark-skinned dancer over
there?”
“The one you were talking to? The dancer. Who is she?”
“She's called Lina. You met her a year ago. Remember when you escaped and ended
up in a police station? She was one of those who was punished with you.”
Jessica studied her for a moment. “Yes, I remember her now. I think she was a
prostitute.”
“You're wrong. She was in prison, punished for not believing in God. She used
to be a teacher. When your friend Nancy escaped, she landed up in the same
police station as Lina, and because her papers were in order, or rather the
ones she stole from Karen, Nancy was allowed to continue her journey. In fact
the police were so helpful they offered her a ride to the capital because they
were transferring Lina to their prison at the same time.”
“For not believing in God?”
“That's right, although her crime was exacerbated by her being a teacher. While
Nancy and Lina were being driven to the capital, their car was hijacked by
kidnappers who took them to a jungle hideaway. They thought they'd get a ransom
for Nancy, but then they discovered out the passport wasn't hers.”
“So how did they escape from the kidnappers?”
“They didn't. The kidnappers contacted the Island. We paid the ransom, and
Vince and I brought them back here. Do you know something else? She doesn't
have a clitoris after being circumcised as a child. Apparently it's a custom in
these parts.”
Jessica winced, unsure whether Alex was trying to spook her. They were
interrupted by Carol, who seemed in high spirits. Alex rose politely to greet
her.
“Hello Sir. Hello Jessica. I love the straightjacket!”
Jessica gave a reluctant smile by way of reply.
“Hi Carol. Having fun?” asked Alex.
“Yes I am,” she said emphatically. “Thanks to what you did to me today. Oh my
god, Sir, you really know how to treat a woman. If I can do anything to return
the favour...”
He shrugged modestly. “It's my pleasure Carol. Any time.”
She gave him a brief affectionate kiss on the lips and then moved on, not
wanting to outstay her welcome.
Alex's continued explanation to Jessica on the matter of Lina's circumcision
was curtailed by a tap on his shoulder. His game of bunny bags was about to
commence.
For the next twenty minutes Jessica was alone, watching the bizarre events like
an invisible spectator. The first, second and third places in the hog-tie
competition lay mostly ignored in front of her. The three bunnies had long
since been defeated by their award-winning bonds. They still struggled and
writhed a little, but mainly out of self-pity and frustration.
The centre of the lawn had been taken over by the precision caning competition.
Five women, bent and fastened over wooden A-frames were having their buttocks
and thighs marked. Each carefully considered strike of the cane designed to
etch the skin with a perfect red line parallel to the line caused by the
previous strike. Jessica found herself becoming aroused by the cries that
followed each blow. It was one thing to be beaten, but quite another to be
decorated as an artist would a canvas, and then to carry the evidence of that
perfect beating for several days afterwards. She would have gladly swapped
places at that moment. Better to be the recipient of a sadist's cane than
publicly humiliated by Master Alex.
Alex returned to his seat, his wine glass refreshed.
“What's wrong?” He asked Jessica.
“Nothing, Sir.”
“You seem a little pensive.”
“Just thinking, Sir.”
“Wine?” He offered the class to her lips.
She shook her head.
“If you don't tell me what's wrong I'll have you punished.”
“Too busy to do it yourself?” Jessica muttered.
Alex laughed, loud enough for those standing nearby to turn and stare. “Feeling
neglected? Or perhaps jealous?”
Jessica rolled her eyes in disdain.
“Strike two,” said Alex.
“Jealous? Of you? You're a Master. I'm just a mad ponygirl. I know my place.”
Alex shook his head sorrowfully. Jessica had used up her generous sarcasm
allowance. “You've struck out!” He raised his arm to signal to Erik who was
standing nearby.
Erik came over. Alex whispered an instruction to him. He nodded to indicate he
understood, then bent down to unclip Jessica's collar from his chair. He helped
Jessica to her feet.
“No!” Jessica cried softly like a spoilt child as she was led away. It wasn't
supposed to be like this tonight.
                                        
                               End of Chapter 29
            Coming soon … Jessica's punishment, the end of an era.
Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any comments,
  criticisms, suggestions and reviews are always welcome, and encourage me to
                                   continue.
Chapter 30. The Cure for Jealousy
             (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)
The story so far:
(Ch. 26) Rude food. Alex tells Riccardo of Kate's pregnancy.
(Ch. 27) The Ponygirl exercise program. A wedding. Rachel the puppy-girl. Kate
is auctioned
(Ch. 28) The falcon position.
(Ch. 29) The Straightjacket and the Bunny Hop
                                      ***
Alex passed several hours at the Bunny Hop festival before returning to his
room mid-evening. He brought back a companion. Lina's swaying hips had worked
their magic on him. She was dressed how Alex preferred his women - naked except
for a slave collar and hands neatly roped behind her.
His bedroom suite was in darkness, save for the ghostly reflection of the night
sky on a wall mirror. Alex made Lina stand to wait in the middle of the room
while he went to the bathroom. She giggled to herself, hearing him humming a
tune as a splash sounded from the toilet bowl. Then, sensing Alex's imminent
return and what would surely follow, she had the urge to check herself in the
mirror. Moving toward the moonlit mirror she kicked something soft.
She recoiled, and in the gloom barely made out somebody sitting on the floor.
The toilet flushed and Alex entered the bedroom, turning on the main light.
Lina looked warily between Alex and the hooded and bound woman on the floor,
wondering what kind of game she had been ensnared into.
“Don't worry about her,” Alex said dismissively, “she's here to learn.”
“What can she learn like that?” Lina asked.
Alex pushed Lina hard against the bed post at the foot of his four-poster. “The
cost of her jealousy.” With practiced ease and a compliant victim he soon had
Lina re-tied with her hands above her head with her back resting against the
bed post.
Jessica was fixed into the falcon position exactly as she had been the previous
evening. Alex knelt down in front of her to inspect her bondage. It was every
bit as tight as he expected: the hood, with only a hole for her nose, the belts
keeping each leg folded under itself, and of course the red rope rising from
the floor and threading through her labia and nipple rings. It was, Alex
thought, a fine way to subdue a jealous ponygirl.
As Jessica took each deliberate nasal breath the rise of her chest cavity
caused the intimate rope to tug on her nipples, reminding her that not even her
breathing was free.
Lina swayed her hips and hummed a passable version of the tune she'd earlier
been dancing to. Alex turned around and smiled at her. It felt good to be
seduced like that, and already aroused by Jessica's state of submission, he
undressed as Lina continued to dance and hum.
“Your skin matches the colour of the wood. I think I might keep you permanently
chained to my bed post,” Alex joked.
“I don't mind,” said Lina coyly.
“You'd have to be taken away sometimes, for bathroom visits and to keep you
smelling as nice as you do now.”
“And will you make love to me every night, Sir?”
Alex nodded thoughtfully. “I think I probably would.”
Lina's dance turned to an anticipatory squirm as Alex pressed his body against
hers. He found her body as soft and warm as her face. She squealed as he
entered her, his erection lifting her onto her toes as he did so. Her bound
hands, tied about her head, made involuntary random shapes like a kind of
erotic sign language. On the brief moments when Alex pulled his lips away from
hers she audibly gasped for breath as if surfacing from water.
For Lina, it was almost perfect, but how could Lina tell him she also liked to
feel coarse rope biting around her ankles? Perhaps he might do that next time,
she hoped. Alex grunted quietly, like a gentleman, as he came. and stayed
inside her, enjoying the sensuous union of her soft and warm body against his.
That was when he heard the tinkling of bells two yards behind him.
Jessica had tried to sit still, but just couldn't. She imagined it was her tied
to the bed post instead of Lina, as indeed it was supposed to be before Master
Alex's fit of pique.
“No, please don't do that!” Lina begged desperately.
Alex had picked a light cane from a drawer, glaring at Jessica. He smacked it
firmly against his hand to gauge its weight.
Lina repeated her plea, but it was too late. Alex swung the cane with full
force against the top of both Jessica's breasts, two inches above the nipples.
A whoosh of the cane was followed by a sickening thud as it met Jessica's
flesh. Alex had no need or desire to deliver further blows.
The sudden terrible pain on her breasts felt like violence rather than
punishment. Jessica became enraged, her whole body erupted beyond the point her
bonds allowed, as if engaged in mortal combat with the metal, rope and leather
of the falcon position.
Lina started to sob. “Stop her. She's going to get hurt!”
Alex could only stand back, biting his lip, as he waited for Jessica's temper
to subside. The tightly laced hood, with its built-in rubber gag rendered her
attempts at shouting incomprehensible.
Defeated by her inability to take in enough air, Jessica's shouting and her
struggles gradually subsided; although, Alex observed, the heavy red mark
running across both breasts seemed only to get more pronounced.
Finally Jessica's head dropped until her sturdy collar dug into her chin, and
she slumped forward as if in a faint.
Just as Alex was about to relent and pull off her hood Jessica began to sob,
her chest palpitating with each staccato outburst of her breath.
Lina gazed down piteously; her face glistening with her own tears. She glared
angrily at Alex, but felt some pity for him too. His naked body was the least
of what he'd revealed to her that evening.
Alex picked up the telephone handset that hung on the wall beside his bed.
“Erik? Can you collect the ponygirl from my room as soon as you can.” Erik
queried something, and then Alex spoke again. “No, I don't mind what you do
with her. The torture garden would be fine.”
Appearing flustered, Alex hurriedly pulled on a polo shirt, shorts and sandals
and muttered “I'm going for a drink,” as he walked out of his bedroom.
A half hour later he returned to his room - fortified and calmed by a couple of
generous measures of Glenlivet at the bar. Jessica was gone. Erik had taken her
as requested.
Lina was still standing tied to the bedpost. She was trembling. Alex just sat
on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. After a silent ten minutes,
he released her from the bedpost and took her to bed. After binding her hands
and feet, they neither talked nor even touched, and were soon asleep.
                                      ***
The next night, Jessica was again in Alex's room, and again secured in the
falcon position. She hated this recurring torment, particularly having
experienced Alex at his most loving one night, and cruel the next. Although
having been hooded before leaving the ponygirl quarters, Jessica could sense
Alex's room by the barest hint of his deodorant in her nostrils, and for the
first time ever, the delicate smell made her fear what might be in store for
her.
Alex arrived, and from the muffled sound through the leather hood Jessica could
tell he had somebody with him. She prayed it wasn't Lina again.
It was a bunny - a blonde girl Jessica would have recognised had she had the
privilege of sight.
“Kneel on the floor, head down, and wait!” Master Alex commanded gruffly.
The girl, with her arms crossed behind her in a Japanese rope harness, did
exactly as she was told. While Alex went to the bathroom, she glanced briefly
at Jessica, but there wasn't much to see; just another falcon. She'd seen them
before. They just knelt, passive and anonymous, like ornaments. This one, she
observed, had a horizontal welt etched on top of each breast, evidently the
result of a single harsh blow. She might have been surprised to know it was
inflicted by the man of this room, having been on the Island long enough to
learn that Alex was far from being the cruellest master.
The toilet flushed, signalling the end of Alex's necessary ablutions. The
blonde touched her head to the floor to await his command. Alex grabbed the
intersection of several ropes on the girl's back, pulling her to an upright
position. She turned her head, noticing he was naked. She took in the lean,
slightly pale body, quite adequate for a man in his fifties, settling on his
crotch and his semi erect penis.
“Turn around!” Alex said, almost amused that her eyes would dwell on him like
that.
He stroked her thick sun-bleached hair, which had been plaited and tied to the
other ropes at her back. Alex enjoyed the symbolism: a woman bound by her own
crowning glory. She should be grateful that such a binding were possible, he
mused, thinking of Jessica's cruelly shorn head beneath that leather hood.
“Stick your tongue out!”
She did so, and Alex - standing behind and leaning over her - could verify for
himself that what others said about her was true. Her tongue was the longest
he'd seen in quite some time. Its length was broken up by a large steel barbell
pierced one inch from the tip. Although the Island inflicted a variety of
piercings on its bunnies, whether for usefulness - such as pony piercings -
punishment, or to add a particular attraction, this piercing came with the
girl, so to speak. Alex was amused that the blonde had decided to have her
tongue pierced when no other part of her body was so adorned.
“Open,” Alex said offering a ring-gag to her lips. He wedged it behind her
teeth and buckled the retaining straps around and over her head. “That looks
good on you,” he added when securing the chin strap. Harness gags always looked
better on blondes, Alex felt.
The bunny become aroused merely from Alex stroking her leather-strapped head
with his hand. He kissed her on the top of the head, kissing the leather strap
as much as he did her hair. Alex chuckled to himself, recollecting how he
pushed his betting slip in her anus the day before.
“Spread your legs and lean forward, slut,” he instructed his kneeling slave as
he reached into his toy drawer, “time for some good vibrations.”
Alex switched on the vibrator, allowing its humming sound to fill the air as a
prelude. The slut's anticipation seemed to grow merely from the sound of it.
Alex bent down behind her and pressed it against her labia, gradually letting
it find its own way to her clitoris. His objective was teasing, not torture, so
he modified his movement based on her reactions. It was easy to gauge. His left
hand resting on her back had been gripped by her bound hands, as if holding on
to him for life.
His cock grew to fullness, poised barely a foot away from her entrance. He
paused the vibrator, sensing the blonde was rapidly approaching her climax.
Suddenly he tugged on her plaited hair, forcing her sitting upright. He moved
himself in front of her and pushed his erect cock into her ring-gagged mouth,
pulling her head harshly back and forward several times. Gasping and dribbling,
her blue eyes dancing wild and distracted, she was highly aroused by such
treatment and needed no further encouragement to work his penis.
A few feet to his left was Jessica, not exactly moving, but trembling; yet not
enough to cause her nipple bells to ring. Her skin was flushed red, Alex
noticed as he pulled his straining cock from the blonde's mouth.
He gripped his penis tightly in his right hand, aimed it at Jessica's collared
neck, and spurted.
A string of semen was splattered down her leather-covered face. More landed on
her shoulder, both breasts, and onto her thighs. After taking a few long deep
breaths, he returned his penis to the blonde's mouth with a gruff instruction.
“Clean it!”
Alex sat on his bed and gazed at Jessica as an artist might scrutinise his most
recent strokes upon a canvas. Between them sat the bound and confused blonde,
disappointed that she hadn't been the object of Alex's ejaculate.
Finally Alex spoke to the blonde. “Now you can clean her.”
He watched intently as the blonde shuffled the few feet across the floor to
Jessica. She licked tentatively at the semen spattered leather hood, her
licking made awkward by the ring gag, but her long and agile tongue served her
well. She didn't require further instruction or correction as she moved to
Jessica's shoulder, her first physical contact with this seemingly impassive
ponygirl.
She reached Jessica's breasts. Both needed cleaning. Tenderly she dabbed her
tongue against the spillage of semen that had intersected with the horizontal
welt across the breast. She felt she was licking the ponygirl's wounds as much
as giving a erotic display of submission to this enigmatic master.
Jessica gave a throaty groan of resistance, fearing she was being provoked, but
the blonde continued to lick, moving down to the nipple, gratuitously teasing
this substantial and erect ringed nub, circling and then flicking it upwards,
causing the nipple bell to ring. Behind her, Alex had moved for a better view,
now sitting at the foot of the bed and leaning forward in rapt attention.
“And the other breast,” said Alex unnecessarily, perhaps just to remind the
girl of his presence.
She moved as requested, but not before attempting to remove a small glob which
had landed on the knotted rope linking Jessica's breasts.
Her tongue reached Jessica's inner thigh to clean the last spillage of Alex's
cum. She looked up at him, noticing that he seemed pleased with her display,
and evidently aroused by it too. Her reward was to be roped in a very tight
spread-eagled position on his bed, for the purpose of a vigorous uncomplicated
mating.
That night Erik removed Jessica and the blonde from the room so that Alex could
sleep alone.
CLEARING UP
Alex was packing boxes in his office when he heard a knock, tentative yet
familiar, at the door.
Carol entered upon hearing his permission. She behaved with her usual coyness
which belied her intimate friendship with Alex; and she had her usual intensity
too, something that seemed to give gravity to the most mundane of
conversations.
Alex smiled, surprising even himself.
“You think I look alright?” Carol asked, her hands held up at her sides like
wings.
She was dressed in black leather trousers, so shiny it might have been mistaken
for latex. The silhouette of a black pushup bra showed provocatively beneath
her silky white blouse. High heels and a slim red leather collar completed her
sexy ensemble, with its hints of both dominance and submissiveness. It was a
vast improvement on Carol's usual wardrobe of shorts, tee shirts and summer
dresses.
“It was the committee's idea,” she said apologetically, “they think I should
appear more dominant when I'm working with the bunnies.” She fingered the half-
inch wide collar snug about her neck, “it's permanent. Look, you can't even see
a join.”
Alex already knew of these infinity collars, with their seamless interlocking
ends. Once snapped together the joint was almost invisible, and there was no
evident means of unlocking it. Within the leather were layers of thin steel to
repel attempts to cut through the collar.
Then Carol fingered the two-inch hoop earrings she wore. “And these are
permanent too,” she frowned, “they fixed them on me this afternoon.”
“You look nice,” said Alex honestly, “very cute.” Very cute indeed for a forty-
year-old, he thought.
In fact, he regretted that she hadn't dressed like that before. As a retired
companion slave, with little need or desire for men, Carol was reluctant to
dress provocatively, much to the dismay of the Island's committee members. For
reasons unknown to Alex she had finally relented to their demands. He liked the
result, particularly her shapely buttocks in the leather trousers.
“Still packing?”
Alex sighed, forbidding himself the temptation of a sarcastic reply as he
placed a heavy textbook into an archive box. He looked up at the empty
bookshelves above the desk. “I had no idea I'd accumulated so many books here.”
“Got room in your box for a stowaway?” Carol asked, almost whispering.
Alex hmmm'd, knowing where the conversation was leading. “She can't hear you.
I've had her ears plugged.”
Carol looked down to her side at Jessica, kneeling in the falcon position for
the fourth consecutive evening. Jessica had the same hood, the same handcuffs
and the same roping of her pony piercings, and now she was deaf as well as
blind, mute and immobile.
“Still not cured her of jealousy?”
Alex smiled. “I think the last three nights would have done it.”
“She has to want to be cured!” said Carol with a wag of her finger. “For some
bizarre reason this poor thing likes you. Is that so terrible?”
Alex sighed, as if irritated with the line of questioning. “Let's just say it's
unhelpful. She needs to rid herself of such notions. Tomorrow I'll be leaving
the island for six months. Soon after that she'll be freed, and back into her
own life with all memories of this experienced wiped from her mind. ”
Carol was taken aback by Alex's annoyance. “I feel guilty. She thought we were
lovers. My requesting that you tie me to a frame, beat me hard and vibrate me
is hardly a relationship. We're just friends. Why didn't you just explain that
we've never been lovers?”
“A Master doesn't explain himself to his slave.”
Carol smiled, and let Alex's Freudian slip pass without comment.
When Alex returned his attention to packing the last of his books, Carol knelt
down in front of Jessica and began running her fingernails over Jessica's most
tender places, her inner thighs, her breasts, her belly. It was fun, Carol
thought, teasing this beautiful and beautifully restrained body and watching
how it began to respond.
“You have a pretty nose,” Carol said to Jessica. It seemed to twitch, perhaps
in response to Carol's scent rather than her words. Her fingers continued to
provoke Jessica's body, encouraged by the slightest movements. Then Jessica
leant forward slightly, placing her breasts in Carol's hands to be further
teased and squeezed. Carol giggled as her fingernails continued to arouse
Jessica's flesh. Inevitably Jessica's nipple bells jingled as Carol massaged
her breasts. “I bet I can make you come,” she whispered to Jessica.
“Stop it, ” Alex interrupted, “the falcon position is for decoration, not for
sex acts.”
“Aw, come on, sir. Who's going to know?” Carol asked.
“Everybody... given the ponygirls' tendency to gossip. Have you heard how they
talk when they're sitting at the table polishing the harnesses? Sometimes I
think they know more about this Island than we do!”
Reluctantly Carol obeyed, leaving Jessica slightly agitated and confused by her
treatment. “Perhaps I'll see you in the bar for a nightcap?” she asked
hopefully.
“In half an hour,” Alex reassured her as she left. He finished packing shortly
after Carol's departure, and then with nothing else in the room to distract
him, turned his attention to Jessica.
“Carol's right. Who's going to know?” Alex sighed. “Besides, after last night I
owe you one!”
He knelt in front of her, reaching out to grip her breasts. Jessica couldn't
possibly fail to notice the difference between Carol's and Alex's touch. He
repeatedly squeezed her breasts knowing she liked that. The rope linking her
nipples and labia to the floor hindered the progress of Alex's hands and yet
the awkward progress of his hands against her rope-linked treasures seemed to
arouse them both. Even though Jessica's labia were linked and laced with red
rope Alex managed to insert two fingers into her moist sex.
“You like this, don't you Jessica?” Alex teased. “Being tied up and helpless.
Being forced to come. Unable to make any choices for yourself.”
Jessica groaned, as if in agreement with his statement.
Alex's fingers continued to work deep within her. “Come for me, Jessica.”
She groaned again and her nasal breathing became faster and shallower. Her body
was warm, almost hot, and seemed to tense and twitch. That was what Alex liked,
a woman tugging against her bonds and the resulting muscular tension
heightening the intensity of her orgasm.
Jessica came with a gentle shudder and a languorous muffled sigh which left
Alex in no doubt of his success.
He cleaned her perspiring skin with a handkerchief, musing on the fact that
their final contact for many months, should have been for Jessica's pleasure
rather than his own.
                                      ***
The following morning a Sea King helicopter landed in the corral, the deafening
noise of the rotors shattering the island's peace, until it too fell silent and
tranquillity was restored.
Two ponygirl carts approached it, each hauling trailers laden with the luggage
of several departing guests.
Frank and Bruce helped load the boxes from the trailer into the side bay of the
helicopter, while Alex and a couple of guests said their parting words to those
bidding them farewell.
Vince and Dr. Schmidt were there to see Alex off. The doctor was sad at losing
his intellectual companion and occasional chess opponent, while Vince was
losing the man he felt a duty to protect. He rather enjoyed being Alex's
sidekick and self-styled ‘henchman'.
But their feelings were nothing compared to ponygirl Jessica who stood
motionless in her tight ponygirl harness, unsighted by her position but at
least able to hear the conversation, and Alex's last words to Frank before he
boarded the helicopter were unmistakable:
“Take good care of the ponygirls, won't you?”
                               End of Chapter 30
   Coming soon... six months later. Master Alex visits Rabbit Island. Kate's
                                  departure.
Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any comments,
  criticisms, suggestions and reviews are always welcome, and encourage me to
                                   continue.
 A SPECIAL MESSAGE: wabbit, I miss you terribly. Please write and let me know
                                 how you are.
Chapter 31. Jessica's Desire
             (Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)
The story so far:
(Ch. 26) Rude food.
(Ch. 27) The Ponygirl exercise program. A wedding. Kate is auctioned. Riccardo
wins.
(Ch. 28) The falcon position.
(Ch. 29) Jessica's madness, jealousy and punishment.
(Ch. 30) A cure for jealousy. Alex departs Rabbit Island.
The journey from New York to a remote island in the South Seas never seemed to
get any shorter for Alex, and this time, having being away from Rabbit Island
for six months, it felt longer than ever.
He was seated next to an elegant forty-year-old French woman in business class,
all the way from New York to Bangkok. Charming and sexy she certainly was, but
Alex had concluded that Madame Marie Dupont was not sexually submissive. That
wasn't to say that he didn't find her attractive.
Sitting next to somebody for hours on end, watching them talk, eat, drink, read
and sleep, one can feel an attraction, or at least a human intimacy with almost
anyone. Alex preferred Marie when she slept, when he could read in peace, and
enjoy the sight of the gentle rise and fall of her shapely sweater-covered
breasts. He mused on whether she might wish to join him in the mile-high club.
It's remarkably easy to engineer a conversation in that direction and to elicit
an answer without actually having to ask the question. He'd done it before, but
alas not for ten years, he thought wistfully.
It so happened that Madame Dupont propositioned Alex shortly before landing in
Bangkok. Clearly she had used the previous hours as a kind of dating audition.
With two days of business meetings and two nights to occupy her in Bangkok,
Alex seemed a pretty good catch - a gentleman, well mannered, and able to hold
his drink. She preferred younger and fitter men but was prepared to make an
exception.
But Alex had other plans in Bangkok - meetings with professionals in his
specialist field, he explained by way of apology to Madame Dupont. She assumed
he was referring to psychiatry as Alex had neglected to mention his other
specialisation in slave trading.
                                      ***
Charlie's slave depot had changed location again, although still within the
environs of Bangkok. A wealthy businessman had provided him with secure
basement accommodation in a secluded mansion. The rental terms were good -
consisting merely of payment in kind. Alex had been concerned that Charlie
should be dependent on somebody else's hospitality, but upon seeing the mansion
for the first time, his doubts evaporated. The owner, a steelworks tycoon, was
at home at the time, and immediately offered Alex overnight hospitality of
considerably more luxury than Charlie's caged slaves enjoyed in the basement.
Alex always enjoyed his inspection of Charlie's current slaves, together with
the stories of how they had come to be acquired.
“Brazilian!” said Charlie, pointing at two cages, both occupied by pouting,
big-breasted beauties who seemed sullen and resigned to their fate. They both
sat up straight in their cages, thrusting their breasts upwards as if inviting
Alex to touch them. Their hands were fastened in steel cuffs behind them, and
around their necks each wore a dog collar, the leash of which was wrapped
around the top bars of the metre-high cage, obliging them to sit upright and at
attention.
“Noite boa! Como é você?” said Alex.
They smiled nervously, thrilled at hearing their own language, their bright
searching eyes met his, wondering if Alex was their saviour or merely their
next owner. They were disappointed to learn that he was nothing more than a
casual visitor.
Several Asian women occupied the next few cages. “Korean, Thai, Vietnamese!”
said Charlie, proud of his varied menu. They only looked up at Alex because it
was Charlie's instruction, otherwise they hung their heads, depressed, subdued
and without hope.
“Quite young,” observed Alex, although with smaller breasts the age of younger
Asian women could be deceptive.
“You want one for Rabbit Island?” Charlie asked hopefully. “Maybe two?”
Alex pondered, his thoughts occupied with the Thai girl he'd just inspected,
and the possibility of taking her to his bed. “I'll phone them tonight to ask
if they're buying.”
They reached the last of the six cages, occupied by a pale-skinned woman with a
black cotton hood over her head.
“This one trouble!” Charlie pronounced with a foreboding shake of his head. He
liked obedient women who sat quietly in their cages until sold. His hand
reached into the cage to pull off her loose-fitting hood. The woman shook her
full-bodied corn-blonde hair from her eyes.
“Please, you have to get me out of here,” she begged Alex, even though she must
have heard the preceding conversation.
Charlie rapped on her cage with his crop. “No talk!” She twisted angrily in her
cage, glaring up at Charlie as if he were her mortal enemy. Alex enjoyed this
girl's spirit and passion.
“New Zealander?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Backpacker?”
She nodded again.
“Got more adventure than you bargained for, haven't you?” Alex stated with a
sympathetic smile.
Her eyes welled up with tears.
She looked good in a cage, Alex thought. The wild ones usually did.
Horribly jet-lagged, Alex took nobody to his bed that night, retiring exhausted
immediately after supper with his new-found friend, the Thai steel magnate.
                                      ***
Alex was wrong. The journey from New York to Rabbit Island may have felt long
but had actually got shorter, thanks to the Island committee's decision to
purchase a helicopter for the purpose of transfers from the airport. It did
periodically disrupt the tranquillity of the island, but the saving of several
hours by road and boat was a price worth paying to the weary traveller.
One Rabbit Island tradition remained. A pair of ponygirls in their ceremonial
splendour stood to attention awaiting the helicopter's passengers as it did for
the boat's. Alex smiled from the helicopter as he looked down to see the
ponygirls' plumes being blown by the helicopter's down draft. He was content to
allow his fellow passenger - a stranger up until that journey - the chance to
ride with Bruce and his ponygirls. Alex gladly took the five minute stroll to
the Lodge, revelling in the island's blissful silence, the clean air, the
fragrant tropical plants; things he had latterly appreciated about the Island
as much as its erotic slavery.
In the front lobby of the Lodge pussygirl Anna was acting as receptionist,
greeting Alex from behind a newly installed marble counter. He felt strange
having to be checked in like any other visitor.
There were subtle changes to the decor, he noticed. The pale colours on the
walls and the erotic artwork looked striking, and he had to admit they'd done a
good job without him.
One artwork in particular attracted Alex's attention. On a low plinth was a
white plaster statue of a kneeling woman with her knees spread and hands placed
palms up on her thighs. It wasn't an exceptional piece in itself, but there was
something intriguing about it. He realised what that was when the statue's eyes
moved. Pale blue eyes followed him as he passed in front of her. He walked
around the living statue looking for a join, but found it to be seamless, as if
she had been coated in plaster and left to dry.
Alex had once visited a slave collector in Italy who had done that very thing,
creating a replica of the ‘three graces' using three Japanese teenagers he had
acquired the previous week. He thought back to that incident, and the fact that
those slaves almost died from dehydration after two days.
“It's a mould,” pussygirl Anna explained. “It's made in several pieces and then
fixed together around her while she is sedated. Then it takes an hour to fill
and paint over the joints. She can stay that way for a whole day. You don't
recognise her, do you?”
Alex studied the breasts. They were on the small side, but shapely and with
prominent upturned nipples. “Lucy?”
“You've got it! Tomorrow it's my turn again.” Anna said, seemingly not too
upset about spending day in plaster. “I kinda enjoy doing it. It's like being
invisible, watching people come and go, talking about me while I'm totally
encased and unable to move.”
Anna's enthusiasm surprised even Alex. After all, she had come to the Island as
a prisoner two years ago. His theories o the proper training and rewarding of
natural submissives, were beginning to bear fruit with the likes of Anna and
Lucy.
“Any ponygirls available this evening?” asked Alex. (It was wise to book your
private entertainment in advance during busy periods.)
Anna consulted a large ledger book. “Sorry, they're all booked tonight, but I
can get a bunny brought up from one of the camps for you.”
Alex declined the offer, indicating that he would take a self-service option if
he found himself in the mood.
“While your room is being prepared, perhaps you'd like to visit the blonde girl
in the O-Box?” Anna suggested, her green eyes gazing intently at him, making
Alex wonder if she was working on commission. “Go through the door at the end
of the gallery.”
It wasn't a bad idea, Alex thought. A relaxing expert blowjob would be welcome
after a day travelling. He had missed the peculiar thrill of the O-box in the
intervening six months.
The neat wooden plaque on the door read: “O-Box, please book at reception.” It
was a small windowless room, carpeted and decorated with red and gold wall-hung
rugs that reminded Alex of a New England fall. In the opposite corner of the
room a small drinks cabinet with an ice bucket and a selection of glasses on
top called out to Alex's thirst.
In the centre of the room was the O-Box, complete with blonde as promised. She
was facing away from the door, her head protruding from the polished wooden
case - her prison and his seat. Alex noticed her hair, cut square at the
shoulder, and the type of blonde that would inflame any man. His cock instantly
stirred, but first he needed to fix himself a gin and tonic from the bar.
First there was the ‘plink plink' of two ice cubes, a small measure of gin, and
then the olfactory delight as tonic splashed on the gin sending out a
distinctive juniper aroma. Alex took a sip as he turned around to face the girl
in the O-box, then coughed as the much anticipated drink went down the wrong
hole.
She just smiled. “Welcome back, Sir.”
Alex continued to cough, until he was finally able to take a much needed drink.
“Thank you Jessica. It's good to be back. I didn't recognise you at first.”
He liked Jessica's new appearance, all the more for knowing that she was
somehow humiliated by it. “You look nice,” he said, glad to have a topic of
conversation, “but I prefer you as a natural fiery brunette.”
One thing Alex liked about the O-box was that the occupant's face was always
beautifully and sexily made up. It was vital, bearing in mind that everything
below her collar was hidden from view in the box. Jessica's eyes looked larger
and brighter, and her lips more luscious than he remembered. Somebody had gone
to considerable effort working on Jessica's face, and that was Carol, Alex
assumed.
Jessica was biting her lip. “You're not angry, are you?” she asked.
“That I've been set up like this?”
She nodded.
“No, I suppose not. Although somebody will be punished for it.”
Jessica watched nervously as Alex unbuckled his belt and pulled down his
trousers. Often, the men using the O-box just unzipped their flies and pulled
out their tackle, but Jessica preferred it when they took off their trousers
first.
Alex sat astride the wooden case so Jessica's head was between his spread
knees. He slipped his feet through the rope loops near the bottom of either
side of the case and instantly the slack disappeared holding his legs in place.
Alex showed little sign of concern as he slipped his penis and balls through a
rope loop on top of a one-inch block. Again, the rope went tight.
Jessica swallowed nervously, waiting for the moment when Alex inserted his own
wrists into the loops at the top sides of the case. As soon as he did so
Jessica's hands pulled the cords that lay within easy reach of her fingers,
looping them over a conveniently placed hook fixed to the inner wall of the
box.
He was her prisoner, trapped by cords she controlled, and with his penis within
biting distance, and growing closer to her lips of its own accord. And yet he
wasn't acting like a prisoner. He seemed as relaxed as any O-box visitor she'd
ever had. Jessica opened her lips and craned her neck forward, compelled to
take the glistening cock in her mouth as she had been trained.
“There's something I want to say,” Jessica said quietly, not daring to look up.
Then she moved her cheek against the side of Alex's cock, feeling its spring-
like resistance in the straining flesh, and then she repeated it on her other
cheek. She made it feel like a kiss or a caress, symbolising perhaps that his
cock was more than just something to be sucked.
“What did you want to say?” Alex asked.
Jessica replied: “I've just said it,” and then opened her lips wide to engulf
him, to take him as fully in her mouth as she could. Alex did what all men did
at that point - started thrusting his hips. The undeniable tug against the
imprisonment at the base of his cock did at least half the work. All Jessica
had to do was feast upon him as she had been trained, as if a man's semen was
the very stuff of life.
Master Alex came with a shudder and groan, and slave Jessica swallowed and
licked him clean; a formality accepted without question by both of them.
Then there was silence and stillness. Usually the O-girl released the tension
in the loops at that point so the man extricate himself, as there was no reason
to detain a post-coital man on the O-box longer than necessary. But Jessica
just stared sullenly at Alex's belly as if in a trance, waiting for him to
become restless, mentally willing him to tug on his temporary bondage, to feel
the helplessness that she so often felt.
For more than two minutes Jessica waited for a reaction that never came. Alex
just looked patiently down at her until he felt the loops around his penis,
wrists and ankles finally become slack.
“I suppose I should punish you for that,” he said casually whilst putting on
his trousers. Then he left the room, saying: “Thanks Jessica, that was nice.”
“Well, I'm a nice girl,” said Jessica to herself as the door shut.
SURGERY
Alex heard a squeal, even before he entered the surgery. Kate came bounding up
to him like a child, although her tumescent belly reminded Alex of how far from
that she was. More than six months into her pregnancy Kate was glowing with
health under Dr Schmidt's attentive pre-natal care.
Kate hugged Alex's chest in genuine delight as his return, and Alex shook the
doctor's hand whilst he was still entwined. Carol waited patiently for Kate's
retreat and gave Alex an affectionate peck on the cheek. She looked at him
fondly. “We've missed you Alex. This place isn't the same without you!”
“Who's this?” Alex asked of the naked and bemused woman spread out upon a
hanging frame. She was hung by her wrists and ankles and spread so that her sex
gaped open like a ripe fruit, ready for eating.
“A new ponygirl,” Carol excitedly informed him. “We're fitting her pony rings.
As you can see we've just done her nipples, and now we're going to do her
labia.”
The dangling woman, her mouth wedged open by a thick bit-gag, struggled against
her heavy leather bonds, but all she could do was sway a little. She was
powerless to prevent her enforced entry into the sorority of Rabbit Island
ponygirls.
“A frisky one,” Alex observed. “Doesn't look so happy about becoming a
ponygirl!”
The dangling woman agreed with an angry comment her bit-gag couldn't contain.
(The gag's primary purpose was to give her something to bite on while she was
being pierced.)
The doctor grabbed her thigh. “A good strong body and a fighting spirit. She's
ideal. Nobody wants a meek ponygirl.”
The woman gave up her struggle, defeated as much by that awful logic, as by her
bonds.
Carol and Kate continued the piercings while Alex and the doctor sat down and
talked.
“Who's she for?” Alex asked.
“Frank. She'll be ponygirl Jessica's replacement. A good match in height and
weight with Debbie.”
“So you think Jessica's removal will go ahead?”
“I'm certain,” said the doctor keeping one eye on the piercing operation as
they conversed. “The Dresden project has performed selective amnesia in several
patients. The results are excellent, although not perfect. I expect that a two
year span like Jessica's will involve losing three years of recent memory.”
The newly recruited ponygirl screamed as Carol pierced her labia. Nurse Kate
tried to comfort and quieten the girl whose eyes had gone wide with shock at
the sudden pain on her sex.
“I'll bet you'll be sorry to lose your nurse,” Alex said.
The doctor sighed as if in mild pain. “It's good that she is going. To stay
longer would be difficult.”
Alex observed (not for the first time) the way Dr Schmidt glanced at Kate, and
understood what he meant. The doctor was her master and supervisor, the one who
might occasionally punish her, and the one who chained her up every night and
released her every morning. And Kate was the one that kept his surgery in even
better order than he demanded, made his coffee just how he liked it, and
generally adored him as something between a lover, a master, a boss and a
father.
The doctor and Carol fixed the girl's remaining piercings. Each ring had to be
soldered to create a perfect ring, which when soldered closed could only be
removed by cutting.
Kate took Alex to the other side of the surgery and whispered: “Did you know
that Jessica had a new admirer, although I hate to use that word.”
“I'd heard.”
“You have to do something before Master Beattie hurts her... I mean really
hurts her next time!”
“I've only just seen her,” said Alex puzzled by Kate's fervour, “she seems
fine.”
“She's not! She got a terrible bang on the head a couple of days ago. Didn't
you see the stitches?”
Alex shrugged. “She was wearing a wig.”
“I should be happy but I'm worried sick. Tomorrow Riccardo and I are leaving,
but I'm terrified of what might happen to Jessica. You're going to look after
her, aren't you?”
Alex was just about to explain that he no longer wielded power on the island,
but upon seeing Kate's watery eyes he responded: “Of course I'll look after
her.” He kissed her tenderly on the forehead.
RICCARDO'S LEAVING PARTY
Alex arrived late at the party having snoozed on his bed for an hour or two and
then taken a long walk along the beach. The only thing left on the party's
agenda was drinking, and the revellers had gained a considerable head start on
him.
Needless to say, Riccardo's fellow pony drivers Frank and Bruce led the way,
raiding the Island's limited stocks of strong bottled beer, determined to
ensure that Riccardo departed the island with hangover from hell.
Also present in the bar were Kurt and Vince (Alex's self appointed henchman),
involved in another group of heavy drinkers which included the aforementioned
Master Beattie. Predictably, the conversation was loud and coarse; and not the
kind of environment Alex revelled in. Taking a gin and tonic from the bar he
moved to the tranquil atmosphere of the lobby.
Erik was untying the girl who had been hog-tied for the last eight hours. Her
strict bondage was merely one of the lobby's decorative features, a centrepiece
of a low platform that provided informal seating.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” the red-haired girl said quietly to Erik,
none the worse from her extended bondage ordeal, but very glad to be out of it.
Alex didn't recognise the girl; acquired during the previous six months, he
supposed.
Another woman was standing nearby, her hands and feet already bound neatly in
white rope in preparation for her turn on the hog-tie platform. She had the
dubious honour of the night shift. Alex knew this one as Karen Galtz, the
journalist who had got more than she bargained for when she landed on the
Island.
While Erik was fixing Karen into position, Alex's attention was taken by the
living gallery's only other exhibit: Nancy was kneeling in front of Apollo (the
white statue), her mouth filled by his hard semi-erect member. Her binding was
simple, bound hand and foot by coarse brown rope. The loop of fishing line
through her lower lip and attached behind the statue's balls maintained her
intimate union with the statue. Alex detected Nancy's eyes attempting to follow
him as he walked around her but the intractable cock in her mouth soon
curtailed her wondering gaze.
“She's waiting for Vince,” said Erik.
“Oh?”
“He said he'd visit before she was released.”
Alex laughed, thinking of the time when he and Vince rescued Nancy from the
jungle tribe following her disastrous escape attempt. In order to hasten their
progress out of the jungle Vince had cuffed his hand to Nancy's, whilst Alex
did the same with Lina. Spending two days nights thus attached had apparently
created an attachment of a different kind, although Alex seemed to remember the
constant petty arguments between Vince and Nancy.
Alex observed that Nancy had a wire coming from her sex and a small control box
taped to her thigh; and Karen, now hogtied on the platform, was similarly
equipped. Erik turned the small knob on Karen's control, causing the dildo to
vibrate inside her. She trembled in response, confirming to him that the unit
was working.
“Who needs remote control toy cars when we can have remote control women!” Alex
joked. He sat down next to Karen and took the remote control in his hand.
“Don't make her come, will you?” Erik advised, “but please go ahead and tease
her.”
With a drink by his side, Alex couldn't think of anything he'd rather do than
tease this hog-tied woman. Karen's lithe body, wriggling like a fish on a hook
and gave him the sense of playing a musical instrument as he raised and lowered
the intensity of the vibrations.
Riccardo's leaving party sounded ever more raucous, but Alex was content to sit
and play with Karen, who seemed to be responding to his gentle attention.
Hearing somebody step from the bar into the lobby, Alex turned around to see
Vince standing there. What surprised him was Vince's relative sobriety, given
the general atmosphere that he was very much part of.
He gave a brief acknowledgement to Alex, then addressed Erik: “I think
Beattie's had too much to drink tonight. What shall we do about the slaves in
his room?”
Erik nodded and walked through the door from which Vince had emerged, in order
to verify Vince's claim. Such decisions as removing slaves from rooms had to be
Erik's own.
Alex expected to enter into some conversation with Vince, but the guy had
somebody else on his mind - Nancy, kneeling in front of the statue.
Vince knelt down behind her, entwining his body around hers, his hands grasping
bare breasts, his lips nuzzling at her neck. It was more than a tease, it
seemed like an embrace; one that Nancy could not reciprocate, nor could she
return his kisses, her mouth belonging to the statue. Alex smiled as he looked
upon the scene of two improbable lovers.
The tool of their lovemaking was the vibrator with Nancy's sex, which Vince set
into gentle motion.
Erik returned from the bar. “Care to give me a hand, Master Alex? Looks like
Vince is busy.”
Vince looked up and winked at Alex as he walked by. He always said he was a
‘man of action, not words', and never was it truer than at that moment.
                                      ***
There were two slaves in Beattie's room. One - obviously a ponygirl - was fixed
into the falcon position.
The other slave was spread-eagled against the wall, so tautly stretched that
her feet did not touch the floor. Her skin glistened with dark oil that
accented every muscle and sinew. Her head, with its short dark hair, was
girdled by an array of straps, which supported a leather blindfold and ball-
gag. She twitched and moaned, and her head rolled as if trying to relieve
herself from the torment. There was a cruel beauty to her position,
particularly in the enforced split of her muscular buttocks that caused Alex's
cock to stir.
Erik started to untie the falcon girl, leaving Alex to handle the spread-eagled
one. With her wrists and ankles fitted into heavy support cuffs it was simply a
matter of unclipping them from the securing points so that her feet could take
her own weight again. Alex couldn't help running his hands up her oiled torso
as he reached up to release each hand. Released, but immediately reattached
behind her back.
By that time Erik had the falcon slave, still encased in a leather hood,
standing beside him. He dropped the removed rope and leather belts into the
rope-maid's basket. “I'll take this one back to the ponygirl quarters, you do
what you want that one. She's not working tomorrow morning.”
It almost annoyed Alex, realising Erik and Vince had concocted such an
elaborate ploy. Rather than being Master Beattie's drinking buddy as he
thought, Vince's objective was simply to get Beattie drunk and incapable, thus
leaving Erik with no alternative but to remove the bound slaves from his room.
Drunken abuse of slaves was simply not permitted on Rabbit Island.
Now, thanks to Vince, and much to his surprise, Alex was escorting Jessica to
his room.
“I'll be back in a minute,” said Alex leaving Jessica standing in the middle of
his bedroom. She appeared to be agitated, unable to stand still, but her
anxiety was understandable, Alex thought. He went to the bathroom and took a
pee, flushed the toilet and quickly washed his hands. They were literally
itching to get hold of his captive.
Alex liked to see a woman's head in straps, which was at least part of the
aesthetic appeal of ponygirls. It wasn't just the psychological powerlessness
he assumed they felt, it was the way the cross-section of straps seemed to
separate and accentuate each feature of the face. Jessica's full lips stretch
around the large red ball in her mouth was a particular attraction, as was her
shapely, slightly retrousse nose, framed by straps in the same way a woman's
sex is by a garter belt.
Having had his fill of the sight, Alex decided to remove Jessica's head
harness, sensing her agitation as if she wanted to say something to him. She
immediately looked down to see him rubbing his crotch.
“It's called hot oil. I'm covered in it, and I think there's some on you too.”
“Jesus!” Alex exclaimed, “I wonder why my cock was itching.”
He dragged Jessica into the bathroom, turned on the shower and pushed her under
it. Then, hurriedly removing his clothes he joined her.
Jessica gasped in ecstatic relief as the hot water eased her itching skin. Alex
squirted shampoo onto a sponge and cleaned them both.
After cleaning her front, he made her turn around and pushed her hard against
the shower wall, vigorously rubbing her arms (still linked by leather cuffs),
her back and her thighs. Then it was Alex's body that Jessica felt pressed
against her, and his face buried in the nape of her neck, biting and kissing
with a ravenous hunger.
Suddenly Alex pulled Jessica out of the shower and pushed her down so she was
kneeling against the toilet bowl, her belly spread over the closed lid.
At such a moment, with both their bodies dripping onto the tiled floor, and
with only one possible outcome, Jessica wished she had been gagged, fearing
what she might say.
It turned out to be “Oh my god,” which she repeated with varying tones as Alex
fed his cock into her willing sex, and pumped her with a desperate abandon.
Alex ejaculated with a roar of relief leaving Jessica moments away from her own
orgasm, her whimpering, which he knew well, told him so. To the victor: the
spoils of orgasm, to the conquered: exquisite frustration.
“Please can I cum,” Jessica begged, rocking her belly on the toilet seat as if
Alex's body was still upon her. She became self-conscious of her nipple bells
ringing every time she rocked.
“Go ahead,” said Alex as he dried himself with a large white bath towel. He
knew she couldn't - not without his assistance or a suitable positioned object.
“Some things never change,” Jessica sighed, accepting her familiar role as the
vanquished. She watched Alex dry himself, hoping that her turn would come,
savouring the fact that in this respect at least, Alex was her servant.
Being towelled dry by Alex was every bit as pleasurable as she expected, in a
way even nicer than the shower and the resulting fuck. It was hard not to
smile.
Alex suddenly seemed at a loss, disappointed that their coupling had happened
so suddenly, instead of the elaborate sex and torment games he usually
favoured. “What to do now?” he muttered to himself as he rubbed the towel
through the crack of Jessica's buttocks.
“We could just talk,” Jessica offered with tender hopefulness.
                                      ***
Jessica was sat at the foot of Alex's bed looking around the familiar-yet-
different room. It was the same room Alex occupied as a permanent resident, but
had subsequently been converted into another visitor's hotel room. Alex had
gone for a drink and a snack leaving her to await his return. He'd taken the
precaution of linking her ankle cuffs together, commenting on the usefulness of
their built-in snap-locks, like the ones on her cuffs.
As soon as Alex left the room Jessica bunny-hopped to the full-length mirror,
standing sideways-on and taking in her profile. Like all ponygirls she was in
exceptional physical shape and felt as healthy as she had ever known. Having
her arms cuffed behind her caused her shapely breasts to thrust forward as if
at attention. She had to admit that the nipple rings and their infuriating
bells did add a nice erotic embellishment to her body. She then hopped back to
the bed - her nipple bells jingling - and waited quietly for Alex's return. It
did occur to Jessica that if she rolled onto her belly and bent her ankles back
- like a hog-tie position - her fingers might just be able to reach the clip
connecting her ankles together, yet she didn't attempt it. What was the point,
she reasoned with herself.
Alex returned twenty minutes later carrying a tray, which he set down on a
small round table to one side of the bed.
“You're not properly dressed,” he said. Just as Jessica's brow furrowed at his
comment he held up an item she hadn't seen in six months: A red ribbon.
She opened her knees and stayed still and quiet as Alex laced her labia rings
is a criss-cross design, tying a bow at the bottom so that the ribbon ticked
her thighs. “That's better,” Alex commented as if that one act had transformed
Jessica from naked to properly attired.
“It tickles,” said Jessica, “but I like it. You're the only one who laces me
like this.”
“It's not so strange is it? Women wear earrings and bracelets and necklaces to
make them look attractive. Seeing a woman's sex laced like that looks more
beautiful than any jewelry I can image.
“I'm not sure the high-class ladies of New York would feel the same way.”
Alex chuckled. “I have a friend who's wife dresses like that ever day, and she
works on Wall Street. Of course nobody at work knows about it. Just her and her
husband.”
Jessica looked down at herself, biting her lip in thought. “That would be kind
of cool, wearing this under normal clothes... for the right man of course.”
“Get in the chair. Let's eat,” said Alex decisively, gesturing to the soft
visitor's chair on the other side of the round table. Jessica hopped a couple
of times and fell back into the chair. A tall glass of sparkling mineral water
with a straw was obviously hers. There was also a plate of canapés Alex had
raided from the bar's buffet spread, most definitely placed in the centre of
the table as if it was to be shared. Having earlier washed and dried her, Alex
was now hand-feeding her. Jessica promised herself that she would be the
perfect guest; no moods or sarcastic comments! It wouldn't be easy.
Alex took a sip of his red wine. “So what did you want to talk about? Anything
you want!”
“You've been in New York?”
“For part of the time.”
“How are the Mets doing?”
“It's still pre-season.”
“Do you have a wife or girlfriend?”
“Divorced a long time ago. No girlfriend, but I'm not without company in New
York. I have many connections to suit my taste.”
“You mean women who like...”
“What I like!” Alex finished off, saving Jessica's blushes.
Jessica felt more uncomfortable talking about life in New York than Alex did,
so she changed the subject: “How is Riccardo?”
“Drunk! He's just gone to bed.”
“I'm glad Riccardo and Kate are happy, but I'm sad they are leaving.”
“Your time will come soon enough. It's only another three months. You'll be
back in New York for the baseball season,” Alex said cheerily.
“But they're going to wipe my mind. I won't remember Kate, or Debbie, or anyone
else! It'll be like this place never existed.”
“That's good isn't it? You'll have your life back - your family and friends and
career. Isn't that more important?” Alex pushed a smoked salmon and cream
cheese canapé into Jessica's mouth.
Jessica savoured the morsel for a few moments, and then said: “Don't you think
Kate's a lucky girl? Riccardo owns her, but he adores her, and she's carrying
his child. A few nights ago, after this incident with my head, I had to spend
the night in the surgery under observation because of my concussion. Doctor
Schmidt was funny! I was shackled to the top and bottom of the bed, and he said
that Kate had to keep a close watch on me, so he shackled her alongside me. The
two of us were stretched out on a single bed like sardines.
Alex cracked an indulgent smile, keen for Jessica to continue her titillating
story.
“The way we were fixed, all we could do was kiss and rub our bodies together...
and talk of course. We talked for hours and in effect we said our goodbyes,
making sure we left nothing unsaid. Eventually Kate fell asleep, and I rubbed
against that wonderful kicking belly of hers,” Jessica paused, her eyes welling
up, “hoping that some of her luck would rub off on me.”
Alex stretch out a hand, offering a paper napkin to Jessica's face, and wiping
away a stray tear.
“And now I have a so-called admirer in Master Beattie. The other night I
thought he was going to kill me when he banged my head against the floor. With
him it's not about punishment and training, it's about hurting me. You saw how
he had me stretched against the wall. He was going to lash my back when he
returned this evening.”
Alex looked sympathetic. “He's a cruel man, I know.”
“Not half as cruel as you Sir,” said Jessica, immediately occupying herself
with a sip of water, leaving Alex to mull over her words. For the first time
ever she had left him dumbstruck.
She broke the awkward silence with a sad smile. “And not half as handsome
either.”
That last line turned out to be a conversation killer, and Jessica couldn't
believe that she'd said it (even though the latter part was certainly true.)
Eventually Alex stood up and kissed her forehead. “I'm tired. Lay on the bed
Jessica.”
Having recounted her tale of two sardines in a bed Jessica wasn't surprised to
find herself similarly fixed on one side of Alex's much larger bed. She felt a
guilty thrill as Alex grabbed her ankles, pulled them towards the foot of the
bed, threaded a rope through the D rings on her ankle cuffs, and then tugged on
the rope to remove any kinks from her body. Jessica always found having her
ankles tied or secured to be many times more erotic than her wrists.
Alex ran his hands slowly up the length of Jessica's body, savouring her curves
as one can do only when a woman is tied tightly and unable to interrupt the
progress of his hands. He covered her with the quilt and went to the bathroom,
leaving Jessica to explore the tightness of her bonds and the unreachable
tickle of the ribbon against her inner thighs. Alex liked to call it the “good
girl” position, leaving Jessica to wander whether it was a reward for being a
good girl, or because stretched out on the bed in that strict fashion she had
no option but to be one. The latter, she knew from experience, was certainly
true.
The room went dark upon the flick of a switch and Alex climbed into the other
side of the bed. Soon he was asleep, proving he was as tired as he said. So
tired that he hadn't even touched her. Jessica battled against her bondage, not
with any expectation of escape but simply in the hope that her body - her
buttocks, could touch him. It seemed to sum up their peculiar relationship: He
was so close but still out of her reach.
                                      ***
Jessica roused from her slumber realising that Alex had just tied her hands
behind her back. What she thought was a just vivid morning dream had in fact
just happened. It was a fait accompli - little point in her making resistance
as Alex removed her ankle cuffs and neatly roped her crossed ankles together.
She pretended to be asleep, thus able to feel the thoroughness in Alex's
ropework. He drew a rope between her bound wrists and ankles a slowly pulled
them together. Jessica's back began to arch until her fingers were touching her
feet.
Alex pulled her bound body across the bed until it was positioned where he his
hips and thighs had lain. Jessica couldn't carry the lie any longer, but she
did a good job of acting shocked at her predicament, tugging indignantly at the
ropes that bundled her up in just the manner that Master Alex preferred.
He said good morning in a condescending manner, as if castigating her for
sleeping in, and then said: “Open up!” The ring-gag was dangling invitingly
from his fingers in front of her nose.
Jessica frowned and made a croaking protest. “I'm tired, Sir.”
“Open!” Alex repeated at double the volume of the previous command, leaving
Jessica in no doubt that this was the last time he would say it. She opened,
and Alex fitted the leather-covered ring behind her teeth and buckled the
straps behind her head.
Concerns for her comfort always came second to her erotic beauty (as Alex saw
it), Jessica felt fortunate indeed if they ever coincidenced, such as with her
ribbon-laced labia rings. With gags, except for ponygirl bit-gags, it never
did. She hated the way they stretched her jaw, the difficulty of breathing and
the humiliation of drooling down her chin. Her evident discomfort and
embarrassment seemed to add to Alex's perverse opinion of beauty.
Alex resumed his position on the bed propped up to a seated angle with the
addition of Jessica's redundant pillow. Jessica was between his legs, his
flaccid penis just inches from her nose. Jessica knew this game all too well,
and watched, almost mesmerised, as Alex wrapped a leather cord around the base
of his ball, knotting beneath them. That act of constriction brought his cock
semi erect and brushing against Jessica's wide-open lips. A moment later she
tasted it, as it lay heavy on her tongue. Alex looped the leather cord to
either side of the ring gag and pulled out the slack, forcing more penis into
Jessica's mouth.
While Jessica lay hog-tied and gagged with his penis, Alex casually read some
journals, indicating to her that she was merely an appendage, a toy for his
pleasure, a soft wet mouth with a helpless body attached. He'd done this to her
a dozen times in the past two years and Jessica still didn't how she felt about
it.
She liked the touch of his legs around her sides, there was a certain comfort
and protection in that. She liked it when he occasionally petted her head, and
when he read the baseball results out loud. As a reluctant but experienced
connoisseur of how ropes had been applied to her limbs, she sometimes liked the
feel of the bondage, with a grudging admiration for the rope-tiers ability.
She hated wishing that Alex would do this to her every day!
The door knocked, and opened when Alex pressed a buzzer by his bed. At such a
time Jessica was grateful the bed covers had her completely concealed but for
the peculiar landscape of covers her contorted body created above.
Kate smiled at Alex and silently dropped her nurse's apron to the floor. She
delved into a drawer and retrieved a large vibrator, holding it up for Alex's
approval, promptly given. Stealthily, she took up a place between Alex's
ankles, pulling up the covers as she went, exposing Jessica's bound wrists and
ankles.
“Nice rope-work, Sir,” Kate commented, revealing her identity to Jessica. “She
loves to be tied like that, but she complained that she'd never had an orgasm
in this position,” added Kate mischieviously.
Alex tutted. “What a slut!”
Jessica's garbled protest met only with laughter, even more so as she attempted
a futile defence with her bound hands as Kate teased her buttocks with the
vibrator. Then the vibrator moved gently to her sex, transmitting its
vibrations through the labia rings. Still laced together they afforded Jessica
protection from penetration but not from surface stimulation.
Kate took her time with Jessica's arousal, making sure she didn't come to the
boil too soon. This was a moment to be savoured rather than rushed, and Kate
even hummed a gentle song as she continued her caress. A wet patch began to
form on the bed sheet beneath Jessica's sex. When Jessica started whimpering
rhythmically, Kate joked with Alex about Jessica wanting to sing a tune of her
own. That was when she saw that Alex's eyes were closed, and she recognised the
look, like the grimace of mild pain.
That's when Kate knew she would get two birds with one proverbial stone.
Jessica was squirming with a wild abandon that strong bondage seemed to
encourage rather than prevent, and the effect on Alex was all too clear. What
Alex and Jessica's orgasmic duet lacked in harmony it made up with ecstasy.
Kate brought a small towel from the bathroom and put it under Jessica's belly.
Then she slipped into bed alongside Alex, snuggling up to his side, obliging
Alex to put his arm around her rather than have it trapped at his side.
Nobody spoke. Kate couldn't bear to look under the covers at her friend. Their
private goodbye the previous morning was enough, and was how she wanted it to
be. Alex felt Kate's belly against him, and recalled Jessica's comments about
hoping some of Kate's luck would rub off on her.
Alex had been musing on Jessica's words during the night, having invaded his
dreams: Luck! Sometimes people confuse luck with karma, and yet those words are
opposites. The defining quality of luck is that it is undeserved, whereas karma
is deserved, or earned. And what of fate or destiny? Alex hated both those
words, sensing in them a morbid finality. Is our destiny deserved or
undeserved? Changeable by our force of will, or immutable? In the hands of some
god, or prey to the will of fellow man? While Jessica yearned to be as lucky as
Kate, Alex knew that luck would have little to do with her future.
He had often been accused of playing god, and usually just smiled in response.
                               End of Chapter 31
                        (Phew! Only two chapters to go)
Review_This_Story || Email Author: Aurelius


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