Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get The Blues

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.

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.

“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!”