Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get The Blues

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.)