Indeed several handlers were already busy at the nearest corral. They had removed the top-most rail from a fence segment, and one was dragging the pull waggon closer. Those ponies completely harnessed were waiting nearby. The first one was 1308, a buxom lass with angry whip marks on her backside. As a handler led her to the fence, Kandrin pushed me in the girl’s old place, obviously jumping the queue.
“Take a good look.”
They made Zero-Eight bend over the now waist-high fence (always an unfortunate position). A staff member inside the corral grabbed her at arms and neck, thus making sure she kept her pose. Some sort of spreader bar went between her legs by means of leather cuffs, so the girl couldn’t kick out nor close her legs. The handler that had brought her forth rummaged around in the ominous boxes on the pull waggon, eventually producing a dark fluffy something. He shook it out, and the object revealed itself to be a black exemplar of those horse tail thingies. It matched the girl’s hair in colour, a fact that added a tiny bit of extra creepiness.
Somewhere to my right Kendrick felt called to comment on the scene.
“A pony just isn’t complete without its tail. Some would go so far as to argue that the tail is even more essential than the bit.”
His statement sounded like being based on or referring to a doctrine or ideology. As if what was about to happen in front of me was an initiation rite to some weird cult. Kendrick might not treat his ponies badly, but right now he was just as big a bell end as everybody else.
The actual tail part had its root in a urethane bulb the size and shape of a hen’s egg. With mounting horror I saw the handler coating the surface with a viscous substance. That damn thing better not be fastened the way I thought it would be!
The handler positioned himself behind the hapless inmate and put a foot on the spreader bar to prevent her from raising both legs at once whilst lying over the rail. Further stabilising her with his free hand on her coccyx, he placed the glistening tip of the bulb between her bum cheeks – and pushed.
I’d known it! I’d fucking known it! These bloody perverts!
The freshly tailed ponygirl tried to baulk and made some un-ponylike noises (for which she would surely be disciplined later). The handlers let her stand up, and one of them marched her away. She avoided eye contact, her face flushed and wetted by tears of shame. I could not take my gaze away, though. The surreal impression hit me again. Zero-Eight was now sporting a swishy tail, lodged in her rectum. Instead of just hanging straight down, its strands described an elegant arch. They swung smoothly back and forth as she walked past me with a gait even stiffer and more awkward than it had been rendered by the hoof boots.
Miss Cuntling’s crop made me snap out of it.
“Eyes forward! Focus, Seventeen!”
She gave my reins a tongue-mashing tug that caused my eyes to tear up as well.
I high-stepped behind her, towards my ultimate humiliation. Too painful were the ramifications of resisting my curb bit. And still too abstract was the imminent violation, even after what I just had witnessed. I’d never been into backdoor stuff, and never felt having missed out. If you are a fan of it, good for you. Each to their own. In my former environment Sandrine, my flatmate with the Red Bull addiction, had always been the one who appreciated the dark delights of bum love – although it regularly sounded like anorectal manslaughter. More than once I’d told her to bite a pillow next time. During a particularly loud buggering I had even stormed into her room and thrown an actual cushion at Sandrine and the bloke reaming her shit chute. Students of business administration might be able to squeeze sodomitic excursions into their schedules, but I’d been in the middle of my apprenticeship back then and had had to get up early.
Sorry I slept in, boss. My cohabitant became very vocal last night whilst being screwed in the arse by her well-hung boyfriend. – Don’t worry, Miss Wert. Happens a lot.
Now it was my turn of pillow-biting. Bit-biting. I felt my heart pounding against the insides of my chest. My steps became shorter, but Kandrin’s guidance was relentless. Already the port began to tilt again.
“I do that one,” she informed the handler next to us. “She can be a bit difficult. If you just hand me a tail, please.”
“One brunette coming up.”
He threw a glance further down my body.
“Yep, brunette indeed.”
One last metre, then one last high-step, and the rail was touching my harnessed waist. I involuntarily flinched back, but Kandrin shoved me against the fence. The burly bloke on the other side took the reins from her. As he lowered them, I had to follow by bending over. From behind Miss Cuntling kicked against my hooves to make me spread my legs. With my feet further apart (and standing on the inner edge of the horse shoes due to my boots’ rigidity), more weight came to rest on my rump. I emitted a low “umph” sound as the rail pressed itself deeper into my abdomen. The spreader bar was fitted to my ankles and my crotch strap undone. They had me in a really nice fuck-me position. I wriggled about in search of at least a hint of comfort.
“Hold her tight. I mean it, mate. Really tight,” Kandrin ordered.
The handler inside the corral grabbed my leather-bound arms and rotated them backwards, thus adding additional strain to my already burning shoulders. I tried to compensate by bending over further, but that fat cunt only kept going until my joints creaked. I was sure he would dislocate something any moment and thrashed my head about in rising panic. Despite my increasingly desperate protests (or presumably because of them) he maltreated me even more, really leaning into it. With my arms now describing an utterly unnatural angle to my back the stress was overwhelming, reaching all the way around into my chest. He left one large hand near my wrists, where it was provided with plenty of leverage. His other hand found my reins again and reefed them, this time from behind. Immediately the metal within my mouth rotated backwards. I nearly lost it as the port dug into my palate.
I was being introduced to the true hardships of a curb bit. The tongue sports a multitude of nerves and blood vessels, but at least it’s a flexible muscle. Now the bit was attacking the roof of my mouth instead; a thin layer of flesh over bone. And since my rib contusion I knew how sensitive the latter could be. Bone isn’t just stony skeleton-stuff, it’s a complex arrangement of living tissues, with nerves and blood vessels of its own (and yes, I got that from the Interweb).
The handler was using these exact characteristics against me. Instinctively I tilted my head forwards to turn with the port and lessen the strain on the shanks. But he counteracted me by varying the angle he pulled the reins at. I was forced to bend my neck far back to escape the blinding pain whilst he was keeping my shoulder joints at the verge of hyperextension. Even the idea of baulking was delusory in this twisted predicament position with nowhere to go. Never had I felt so helpless and controlled in my life.
Without the slightest sign of haste Kandrin held the artificial tail against my hair to compare the colours. Of course she offered me a close look at the butt plug end on this occasion. By now I almost wished her to shove it up my arse and let me be done with it. Not five seconds later I felt her putting weight on the spreader bar. Then her free hand parted my buttocks further.
“Relax and have some slippery thoughts.”
A cold horror washed over me as I recognised Kandrin’s intention to forgo coating the bulb. Sandrine’s unwelcomed yet noteworthy statement about the three paramount elements of preparing for anal penetration sprang back to mind: Lubrication, lubricant and lube. That sadist Kandrin would grant me none of them. I had antagonised her, and I had been paying for it ever since. The crop, the spark stick, the curb bit had collected my debts. Now it was the turn of the tail plug.
I tried to relax as the cold pressure was building up against my anus. But my body, that stupid twat, was betraying me. Maybe it had yet to fathom how dire the consequences of resistance would be. This wasn’t another cavity search; the item demanding entry was big and alien and un-lubed. Yet or maybe therefore I couldn’t help but tighten up. It made the final blow to my already shattered dignity – and to my rectal integrity – even more agonising. Lube or no lube, the bullet-like tip was forcing its way through my anal ring, supported by Kandrin twisting it left and right. I bit down hard on the rubberised bearings as I was pried open. The plug gained another centimetre, and the effects on my dry anal passage were devastating. Soft, tender lining clinched to the artificial surface, was dragged with it. Fresh tears sprang to my eyes as the violation continued mercilessly. I had taken the horrid bulb to almost the widest girth, and to the point where my anus was about to rip. My cries of anguish went unheard whilst I remained subdued by the hurt in my mouth and shoulders.
Miss Cuntling chuckled, seemingly surprised by the amount of work she had to put into my tailing. She toned her twisting down for a pumping motion, thus sawing the intruder back and forth (in retrospective it did have a rapey vibe to it). She gradually increased the pace and concluded in a savage push. The bulb popped past my anus, and the tortured ring of muscles snapped tight around the tapered stem. The intrusion took my breath away. Having eventually gathered enough air again, I gave a sharp wail that informed the whole camp of my new status regarding anal virginity.
“Okay, get up, Seventeen.”
On Kandrin’s demand the handler released my arms and reins. As I rose, head glowing with embarrassment and exhaustion, the plug shifted within me. I felt my sphincter muscles convulsing around the base of the tail, as though not knowing how to deal with the intruding object. Kandrin led me away, making room for the next girl in line (who, by the way, had turned as pale as ashes). High-stepping only further encouraged the plug to convey its presence. After a short distance it triggered something in my rectum. The sensation of complete fullness acted as stimulus to visit the bathroom. I was in for some serious cramping. I became also worried about possible scissures from the brutal insertion, as they could become entry points for infections.
We stopped in front of the sulkies. 1308 had already been harnessed to the first one, and the group leader nodded towards her.
“Have you noticed the nice fall the tails have to them?” I had. Kandrin knelt down behind me and continued without waiting for my response. “That’s because unlike with other horse tail plugs their strands come out of the base at an upwards angle. Adds that certain bit of realism. Spread your legs.”
She fiddled about with my own tail, guiding it through the split of my crotch strap. I gasped as she pulled the leather belt tight and would have risen on my tiptoes if I weren’t already there. Her action had forced the plug even deeper up my rear.
Kandrin sniggered at my sexy little yelps of distress and closed the buckle.
“We don’t want anything to come loose when you are raced really hard, do we?”
She stepped around me and cocked her head interrogatively.
“Do we, Seventeen?”
I had received gait training half of the morning. I’d seen the Twoers pulling the carts. I knew what was in store for me. But that woman had a way with words, I had to give her that. “When you are raced really hard” turned my throat dry, in spite of all the saliva I was producing around the bit.
Miss Cuntling let her gaze travel over my body, very pleased with herself in general and with her work on me in particular. To have a new ponygirl in full tack for the first time was obviously a special occasion and worth being preserved for the future. She fished her mobile phone out of her thigh pocket and aimed its camera at me. The device emitted a fake shutter click. With a smug expression she showed me the result.
“What say you?”
You remember me writing I am not prone to violence? Scratch that. If I hadn’t been restrained, I would have rammed that phone so far up her arse that she’d have shat apps for three days.
“Oh, right. Too complex a question for a pony. Never mind.”
Being naked, harnessed, having a steel bar in my mouth and an anal plug up my arse wasn’t demeaning enough – I had to be the source of her amusement as well. And it wasn’t even the worst part: This was the first time I saw myself in my pony gear. The figure on the display looked like something from a fetish nightmare, but so did Zero-Eight next to me. It was the knowledge of said figure being me that hit me so hard. My appearance contradicted each and every aspect of the mental image I used to have of myself. In my world view Alex Wert was independent and individualistic, critical and unfaltering in her beliefs, a girl with a rogue (read: non-conformist) spirit and a distinct desire for freedom. A girl who just because she’d stopped by at some smut on the internet harboured no serious interests whatsoever in bondage and whips and “50 Grains of Shite”.
I took it this was all part of the programme.
For better or for worse, my line of thoughts was interrupted as Kandrin manhandled me between the shafts of the second cart. Sporting only one axle, the sulky was to be kept in balance by the draught animal (that would be me). There was however a contraption mounted underneath in case I fell. Very foresightful. My waspie provided anchorage points for the shafts, two for each bar. I didn’t feel so big a difference with the shafts attached left and right, because for once the harness did a good job. What little weight the aluminium construction bestowed upon me was carried and distributed by my leather yoke.
Miss Cuntling removed my leading reins, but my relief was short-lived. Quickly I found myself fitted with a new set, consisting of two separate reins. The curb reins were meant for the shanks. The snaffle reins used the ends of the mouthpiece and therefore had no leverage. They would cause the bit to work the corners of my mouth when pulled back. Unlike the leading reins before, these straps were not clipped to the rings of shanks and bit, but run through them. Kandrin fastened their free ends to the sides of my bridle, thus enabling a pulley effect with the rings serving as deflexion rollers. Now any amount of pain could be delivered literally single-handed by my driver.
With me completely harnessed to the sulky, it was time for another photo. Maybe Miss Cuntling was creating an album: My First Pony. She did not bother showing me the picture this time. I knew I looked like the girl I gaped at during lunch – maybe worse, given the double rein contraption. If nothing else, I was spared the bells so far.
I yelped again as Kandrin tugged at my new tail, sending another shock up my already churning intestines.
“Everything okay back there?”
I stomped once, not in the mood for some lengthy discussion. However, my plan of being left alone for a few minutes to regain my composure did not work out. Perhaps she had some kind of fixation since she kept playing with my tail, brushing it and twirling the strands around her finger whilst overseeing the pervy activities around us.
At least one of us was having her fun.