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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.)
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