Bijoux, The Pony Girl

Bijoux, the Pony Girl

By Missy Crystal

 

Billy Joe is kidnapped, transformed into Bijoux and trained to become the newest addition to Mistress Margo's stable of pony girls.

 

My name is Billy Joe or at least it was up until five years ago, when I answered an ad in the newspaper. The ad said: "Young man wanted for domestic service. No experience necessary. Uniform and training provided. Generous terms." Domestic service didn't sound too hard and if they were willing to pay a lot they must be loaded and have lots of valuable stuff in their house. All I had to do was play along until they trusted me and then rip them off.

 

I went to a pay phone and called the number in the ad. A woman's voice answered. She asked me my name. I told her. She asked me how old I was. I told her18. Then she asked me my height and weight. I thought that was strange, but maybe they already had the uniform and wanted to be sure it would fit. I told her I was five foot seven and weighed 135 pounds. She asked me where I lived. I wasn't about to tell her I had just been released from juvenile detention, so I lied and said I was new in town and hadn't found a place yet. She asked me where I was calling from. I told her the address. She said I should wait where I was and a car would come for me. I couldn't believe it, a limo! This was too good to be true.

 

I was standing on the corner for about twenty minutes when a black car pulled up. The windows were tinted, so I couldn't see inside. The driver got out and walked around. It was a tall woman in a tight fitting black leather uniform, like the kind motorcycle cops wear. A zippered leather jacket with a high collar, pants that flared out at the hips, knee high boots with a thick high heel, gloves and a cap. She had long, dark shoulder length hair, red lipstick and dark eye make-up. She opened the back door for me and I got in. The door closed before I could say anything to her and a minute later I felt the car start off.

 

I settled back into the leather seat and looked around. The windows were not just tinted. They were blacked out completely. I couldn't see out and I had no idea where we were going. The partition between the front and back seats was blacked out too. I tried to talk to the driver, but she didn't answer. I tried the door handle, but the door was locked and I couldn't find the button. As I continued to look around, a compartment opened. Inside was a bottle and a glass. I opened the bottle and smelled it. Wow! Free booze. This is the life. I poured some into the glass and drank it. I was about to pour another when I started to feel dizzy.

 

The next thing I knew I was standing naked in a wood paneled room with paintings on the wall and fancy furniture. A beautiful woman was seated in a chair in front of me. She was wearing a red blouse with a black leather jacket over it, a long black leather skirt with a slit that exposed black stockings from the thigh down and high glossy boots. She had a funny hat on her head. It looked like a top hat with a piece of material hanging down in back. She had on gloves and was holding a riding crop. Her dark hair was in a single long braid down her back. For a second, I thought I was dreaming. A sharp slap across my face made me realize I wasn't. Then another slap and another and another. I tried to speak, but there was a something filling my mouth. Whatever it was, it was fastened behind my head and I could not spit it out. I tried to move, but my hands and legs were bound. I was totally helpless.

 

"A pretty filly," the woman said. "She will make an excellent addition to my stable."

 

Filly? She? Stable? What the hell was she talking about? I tried to move. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Four quick blows across my face knocked me down. Then my arms were grabbed and I was lifted to my feet.

 

"I am Mistress Margo. For the next five years, you will serve me as a pony girl. I like my servants young, so after that time you will be replaced, as you are a replacement for one who has finished her service. If you are obedient and submissive, then you will be released and rewarded with ten thousand dollars for each year in a bank account in your name. If you do not please me, then your time here will be most unpleasant and you will get nothing. These two women are your trainers. They will have complete control over you. Any disobedience or resistance will be severely punished."

 

Mistress Margo stood up and walked towards me swinging her riding crop. She raised it to my face and used it to turn my head from side to side, studying me. "Her name shall be 'Bijoux'. See that she is branded."

 

The two women turned me around and dragged me out the door. We went down a long corridor with wood paneling. As we approached the end, one of the panels slid open. There was a set of stone steps leading down. It closed quickly. When we reached the bottom, there was a plain metal door that slid open and closed after us.

 

"Do not even think about escaping," said one of the women. "It is impossible. The doors are all controlled by a microchip that is implanted in each of the trainers. The microchip also turns off the security system. If you try to open a door or to go through an open door without a trainer, the alarm will sound. If you set off the alarm, it is considered an escape attempt, no matter what the reason."

 

"The punishment for trying to escape is unimaginable pain," said the other woman. "You are welcome to find out for yourself," the two women laughed at their cruel invitation, "but you have been warned."

 

They continued dragging me down the corridor. A door at the end slid open as we approached and we entered a large room. The walls, ceiling and floor were all white. In the center of the floor there was a circular depression with a hole in the center. Suspended above it was a glass cylinder with tubes attached to it. Around the walls were cabinets with glass doors. Inside them were different types of instruments and devices that I assumed were intended for punishment. As I was slowly turned around, I saw a cart that had whips, canes and paddles next to a wall with rings set in it. Against another wall was a high backed chair with leg, arm and head restraints. Finally, there was a long, black leather covered table with poles extending from it that had clear plastic bags filled with liquid and tubes hanging down.

 

After they had completed showing me the room, one of the women said, "We are going to let go of you. When we do, you are to stand there."

 

"Do not move and do not speak," said the other woman.

 

Since the only way out was locked and I was bound and gagged, it was not a hard order to obey. I felt them let go of my arms. The two women walked around and stood in front of me. They were both taller than I was. One had shoulder length blond hair. The other had shoulder length brunette hair. Both wore identical outfits: tight fighting sleeveless leather tops with a high color around their necks that opened to a very low neckline showing the tops of their breasts and a tight short skirt that did not quite come to their crotch, exposing black leather panties, laced up leather boots with a thick, high heel that came up to just below their knees and long black leather gloves. Their make-up was the same as the driver's, red lipstick and dark eye shadow.

 

"I am Greta," said the blond.

 

"I am Helga," said the brunette.

 

"There are two simple rules here," said Greta. "One, do not do anything without being told. Two, when you are told, do it immediately and without question."

 

"If you follow the rules, your time here will be tolerable," said Helga. "Obedience is expected and your pleasure will be in serving the Mistress."

 

"We are going to release you," said Greta as she walked around behind me.

 

First my ankles then my wrists were freed. My arms had been bound behind my back for a long time. I moved them forward to loosen them up. I saw Helga's hand moving, but it was too late. She delivered a stinging slap across my face and then a backhand slap that staggered me. Helga held my shoulders and returned me to a standing position.

 

"But..," I said, trying to explain about my arms, but before I could get another word out, Greta slapped me across the face and backhanded me again so hard that I saw stars.

 

Helga still held me by the shoulders and kept me standing.

 

"She does not learn, this new filly," Greta said.

 

"No," Helga agreed, "I think she will need much training."

 

"Do not move, EVER," Greta emphasized, "unless you are given permission."

 

"Do not speak, EVER," Helga emphasized, "unless you are given permission."

 

"Do you understand?" asked Greta.

 

"Yes," I said, wincing with the expectation of another slap.

 

"You will be taught to toss your head and neigh to respond," said Helga, "but since you do not know any better yet, you will not be punished."

 

"You may think that we are cruel," Greta said, "but we are not. The purpose of our punishment is to correct your behavior, no more and no less discipline than is necessary for you to be trained. The Mistress is careful to select trainers that understand this. She would be very displeased if we broke your spirit."

 

"Or your body," Helga added matter-of-factly.

 

"Walk over to the center of the room and stand in the middle of the basin over the drain," Greta told me. "An enclosure will come down. Stay perfectly still with your face forward, your arms above your head and your eyes shut. This is not a punishment. You will be showered with a strong cleansing solution. If it gets in your eyes, it will damage them. You will be of no use to the Mistress and you will be released. You will also be blind for the rest of your life."

 

I hesitated for a moment, trying to decide if I preferred being blind to being trained. I saw Helga's hand move and she slapped me across the face. Greta followed with another slap.

 

"She dos not learn, this new filly," Greta repeated.

 

"No," Helga agreed again, "I think she will need much training."

 

I immediately walked into the basin and stopped in the center. I heard the glass cylinder starting down and scrunched my eyes closed. Better safe than sorry, I thought. There will be time for me to figure out a way to escape. For now, I better play along. I heard a thump as the cylinder came to rest on the floor and immediately felt a stinging spay all over my body. I held my breath until I was beginning to get dizzy. Finally, the washing was over and I felt warm air drying me off. It was a funny sensation on my skin and my head felt strange. I took a cautious breath, but kept my eyes shut in case there was any of the solution left. The blowers stopped and I heard what I guessed was the cylinder going back up. I had already learned my first painful lesson and waited to be told what to do.

 

"Open your eyes, Bijoux," I heard one of the women say. It took me a second to realize they were using the name the Mistress had given me when I first arrived. I opened my eyes.

 

"Excellent," said Helga as she walked around the basin until she faced me. "The solution removes all of your body hair and stops it from growing back."

 

Oh my God! I thought to myself, that's why my head felt strange. Those bitches have made me permanently bald, not realizing that 'all of your body hair' meant my eyebrows, eyelashes and pubic hair too.

 

The women must have seen the startled expression on my face, because Greta said, "Do not worry, it will be replaced by a mane to the Mistresses specifications. You will make quite the pretty pony girl when your transformation has been completed."

 

I had not idea what a 'pony girl' was, but I did not like the sound of it or the thought of being turned into one. It seemed that everything that went on here was permanent and I could not imagine myself as a girl, let alone a pony. Then it suddenly struck me. They intended to turn me into a girl! Did that mean that they were going to cut off my cock and balls? I panicked.

 

Greta and Helga must have seen this reaction before and expected it, because they immediately stepped into the basin and grabbed my arms. They carried me over to the chair and strapped me into it. I was completely helpless.

 

"Remember, Bijoux, you will not be punished if you are obedient. This is merely to keep you from moving while your appearance is changed to suit the Mistresses. We never know what she has planned for her pony girls. No two are ever alike. You will be fitted with a wig and your make-up applied by one of the Mistress' estheticians. After that, one of the Mistress' costumers will dress you in your training outfit."

 

Just then, the door opened. The woman who entered was dressed in the same uniform as my trainers, except that it was white. As she came closer, I could see that her black hair and makeup were also done the same as my trainers.

 

"You must stay perfectly still while I tattoo on your makeup and brand you. The Mistress demands nothing less than perfection in the appearance of her pony girl maids. If you move and spoil my work, there will be severe consequences. The last trainee whose makeup displeased the mistress was made to wear a mask that she was never permitted to remove. It was not too long before it drove her quite mad."

 

I felt her swab something cold over my left eye followed by a hum and then felt the sting of the tattoo needle as she started on my eyebrow. It was painful but bearable and the thought of being made to wear a mask until I went crazy was additional encouragement to hold still. I could feel the arch she drew as she expertly moved over the top of one eye, then the other. After my eyebrows, she worked on my eyelids and then moved on to my cheeks and finally my lips. By that time my face felt like it had been stung by a thousand bees and it took all my concentration not to move. Finally, she stepped back to view her work. She walked from side to side, checking every detail. She seemed satisfied and returned to stand next to me. I felt her drawing letters above my left breast.

 

"Please check and make sure that I have spelled her name correctly. A mistake would be most painful for me and your trainee."

 

Greta studied the clipboard and then handed it to Helga. She studied it too. Then both nodded their agreement, that the name was correct. I felt another cold swab and the sting of the tattoo needle. It was a slow process as she traced the letters.

 

"The mistress has decided this one is to be a palomino," she announced. "Close your eyes lightly. Stay perfectly still and do not open them while I attach your eyelashes. I warned you what would happen if you moved while your makeup was being applied. You are welcome to find out if it is true."

 

What was it with these women? I guessed that making it seem like I had a choice was part of my training; to make me believe it was up to me whether or not I was punished. Well, I thought, it's better to play along for now. When I disobey them, it is going to be over something that will me get out, not get me hurt.

 

I closed my eyes. I felt pressure on my left eyelid and then on my right eyelid. She waited a minute.

 

"Open your eyes," she ordered. She moved in front of me and looked intensely at my eyes. "Close, Open, Close, Open, Close, Open. Good."

 

She moved around beside me and then I felt something cold and wet being spread over the top of my head. What must have been a wig was placed on me. I felt her adjusting its position and was surprised that within a minute the movement began to be painful. The final tug almost made me cry out.

 

"Your eyelashes and wig are made to the Mistress' specifications from a special synthetic hair that will retain its color and shape for as long as you wear them. They are attached with a surgical adhesive that bonds with your skin. Your eyelids and scalp will be torn off if you try to remove them without the solvent." Instead of suggesting I try it, she gave another long, painful pull on the wig to demonstrate.

 

"It is time for the newest addition to the Mistress' stable to see herself," she said to my trainers, holding a mirror in front of me.

 

I gasped at my reflection. Staring back at me was a pretty face framed by smooth bangs and long straight golden tan shoulder length hair, matching long, thick eyelashes, thin black arches over her eyes, black eyeliner, rosy cheeks and bright red lips. She tilted the mirror down and I could see that on my chest in big black script letters with a flourish was "Bijoux." It was all I could do to control myself. Oh my God, I thought. This is permanent. When I get out of here everyone will think I'm a flaming faggot. How did I get myself into this and how the hell am I going to get out of it?

 

My opportunity to think about escape was cut short by the sound of the door opening and out of the corner of my eye I saw the esthetician leaving and another woman entering. When she got nearer, I saw she wore the same uniform, but this time it was red. She was carrying a bundle of clothes, which I guessed was my training outfit. If it was like anything else that had been done to me so far, I would not like it.

 

"Has she been prepared?" she asked.

 

"No, she just finished having her makeup applied," said Helga.

 

"We are about to do her internal cleansing," said Greta.

 

Internal cleansing? What in the hell was that? Then it struck me. They were going to give me an enema! I had absolutely no control over my body, not even taking a shit.

 

"We are going to release you from the chair. Remember the rules, Bijoux," warned Greta. "We will not remind you again."

 

"Your face is too fragile to slap," warned Helga. "But there are other places that are even more painful should you choose to be disciplined."

 

Sitting naked with my legs spread, it did not take much imagination to figure out what parts of me she meant.

 

My two trainers began to release the restraints. The costumer stood by and watched with no expression. Since I was naked and the women were all bigger than me, there wasn't much I could do to resist, so I just sat in the chair quietly.

 

"Stand up, walk over to the basin and relieve yourself," I was told.

 

That reminded me it had been a long time since I went to the bathroom and now that I thought about it my bladder was uncomfortably full. I assumed they meant me to go where I had showered and started walking. I stepped in and moved over the drain. This was really embarrassing. I was not used to taking a leak with women watching me. I hesitated.

 

"There is no privacy here and no need for modesty," said Greta. "Your body belongs to the Mistress. Everything you do will be watched."

 

"You will not have another opportunity soon," cautioned Helga. "If you have an accident, you will drink your own urine."

 

Christ, I thought, they really would make me drink piss. I concentrated on emptying my bladder and automatically reached down to hold my dick so I wouldn't wet myself.

"Stop," Greta called out, startling me. "Do not touch yourself. It is forbidden."

 

You are to receive no pleasure except as the Mistress permits. Squat down." Helga instructed me. "This is your first experience and we will allow you one more minute."

 

I immediately squatted over the drain. It was not a position I was used to, although probably the way girls go I thought as I closed my eyes and tried as hard as I could to pee. Somehow I got out a trickle and then my bladder finally cooperated and released a steady stream. I concentrated on getting it all out, concerned that I would not get another chance for a while and frightened by the consequences if I could not hold it. Finally, the last few drops dribbled out.

 

"Bounce up and down three times, stand up and walk back here," Helga said

I quickly followed her directions.

 

"Go over to the table and lie down on your stomach with your face down and your arms by your side, palms up," Greta said, pointing to the black leather covered table with the bags and tubes hanging above it which I had seen earlier.

 

I went to the table, climbed on and lay down. The leather felt cool against my bare skin.

"Pull your knees up under your stomach."

 

Resting on my head and shoulders and without the use of my arms, I had to struggle to bend my legs and pull them forward, so I was kneeling with my butt sticking up. I closed my eyes expecting that the tempting targeting would draw some type of attention.

 

"This is not a punishment. Once your pony tail plug is inserted, you can not go to the bathroom," explained Helga.

 

"Your pony tail is the symbol of your service to the Mistress and it is only removed once each day when you are groomed," added Greta.

 

Jesus! They are going to stick something up my ass that I have to wear all the time. This was getting worse and worse. Okay, well they asked for it, I comforted myself. The first chance I get, I'm making a break and I don't care if I have to hurt a couple of these bitches to do it. They have no right to force me to do this and whatever happens, it's their fault. Pretty brave thinking for a guy who was lying on a table locked in a basement with two amazons about to give him an enema.

 

"Stay still," Greta told me.

 

I felt a pair of hands spreading the cheeks of my ass apart and then something hard poke against my asshole. It must have been lubricated, which was good, because it felt pretty big. The pressure continued as it slid deep inside me. Then it stopped and I felt something being inflated, sealing it in. Liquid began flowing.

 

As the solution continued to drain into me, Helga spoke. "This will remove all of the contents of your bowels and coat your insides with a medication that will slow their activity, so you will be able to wait until your grooming. In order for it to work, you must be completely filled and hold it. You will begin to feel cramps. You will get used to them."

 

There are other solutions that are much more unpleasant," Greta continued. "One that ties your guts in excruciating knots and another that feels like a thousand fire ants inside you. But do not worry, little Bijoux. They are never used by us for training, only by the Mistress for severe punishment."

 

After a while, I began to feel uncomfortable and then painfully bloated. As the enema continued to flow, the cramps began; first small spasms and then painful contractions that brought tears to me eyes. The trainers must have observed my reaction.

 

"Take short breaths," advised Greta.

 

"It is not so bad. Women go through much worse in labor," encouraged Helga.

 

It took all my concentration to bear the pain and not cry out as the cramps racked my stomach. The trainers must have been experts at this, because just when I could not take any more and was about to lose control, the flow stopped.

 

"When the nozzle is released, you must hold the enema inside you," I heard through the haze of pain. "Do not let any leak out or you will clean it up with your tongue."

 

With that disgusting prospect, I concentrated on squeezing my asshole shut. Strangely, as I waited, the cramps began to be dulled by some natural narcotic that the body releases when its tolerance has been exceeded. Now I knew that I could handle it and I guessed that this was the reaction the trainers expected, since I was going to get an enema each day.

 

"It is time," I heard Greta say finally. "Go over to the basin and release the solution."

 

"Do not spill any," Helga reminded me. "It will be most unpleasant."

 

I slid off the table and waddled to the basin. Before I could squat, I lost control and the enema gushed out, spraying my legs and giving off a nauseating odor. I was totally humiliated to be seen covered with shit. It must have come as no surprise to my trainers, however, because almost immediately I heard the shower cylinder coming down.

 

"Stand with your hands at your sides," Greta said.

 

Considering how tight my stomach muscles were from the cramps, it took a lot of effort to straighten up quickly enough to miss getting hit by the cylinder. Remembering the warning about the cleansing solution, I closed my eyes tightly.

 

"It is only scented soap and water. It will not harm you," Helga assured me.

 

I felt a warm perfumed spray. A few minuets later the water was replaced by warm air. After I was dry, the cylinder went back up.

 

"Come here," the costumer directed me. "Stand straight with your arms at your sides."

 

I immediately walked back to where they were all standing. As soon as I stopped, she held up a pair of tan leather panties. Three straps with fasteners on the ends hung down from the front, side and back of each leg opening.

 

"Step in," she told me.

 

I did as directed, observing an opening in the back. The costumer pulled the briefs up to my mid thigh.

 

"Pull the panties up so that your sex is between your legs and then up to your hips."

 

I guessed that 'my sex' meant my cock. It took some time to get everything lined up, since I was not allowed to touch myself. Finally it was in place and I pulled the briefs all the way up. They fit tightly and, with everything tucked under, the smooth front looked girlish.  I looked up and the costumer was holding a matching tan leather top with a band that covered the upper part of my chest and shoulder straps. The back had laces.

 

"Put your arms out," she told me.

 

I stretched out my arms and the costumer slipped it over them and set the straps on my shoulders. Then she walked behind me and I could feel her tightening the laces until it was snug. To my surprise, I could feel that the chest piece had small molded cups like a bra, which added to the girlish look.

 

"As you can see, your halter has enhancements to compensate for your lack of development," the costumer commented. "This will be corrected later."

 

Lack of development? Corrected later? Holy shit! I thought. They're going to give me tits too.

 

Next, the costumer placed a wide tan leather belt around my midriff that went from just below my halter to just above my briefs. It was securely buckled in back, restraining my waist and making it difficult to breathe. Attached around the belt were metal rings.

 

"This is your cinch," she told me. "It will secure your arms and serve for the attachment of a saddle or cart when the Mistress desires to use you for her pleasure."

 

Finally, the idea of being called a pony girl sunk in. These bitches were actually going to turn me into some type of fucking horse and ride me. Well, I thought bravely, we'll just see who rides who around here. Of course, I would have to wait for the right time to make my move and until then I would play along so they wouldn't suspect anything.

"Sit up on the table, extend your right leg and point your foot," the costumer directed. She rolled up a stocking, slipped it on and smoothed it up to my mid thigh. It was tan, like the rest of my outfit, and made of some type of thin stretchy material that molded to my leg. Then she did the other leg. I was told to stand and she attached the clasp on each of the straps to the tops of the stockings.  Next came a pair of tan leather ankle boots with a black wedge sole that went from about an inch at the rounded toe to what I guessed was six inches at the heel. In a way it resembled a hoof, which I guessed was the idea.

 

"Point your foot and push hard," the costumer ordered me.

 

I did my best to force my foot down into the boot, which held it in an arch like I was standing on my tiptoe. She laced it up. Then she put on the other boot and laced it up. My feet began to ache from being so severely flexed and how the hell they expected me to stand up, let alone walk, in these things was a mystery.

 

The costumer took up some type of tan leather contraption and told me to bend my head down. It had thin straps that went over the top of my head, under my chin, across my cheeks and fastened behind my head. There were rings on it, like the cinch.

 

"Normally, your bridle will have a rubber bit gag attached, but since your lips are still tender from the makeup, your trainers will add it later. The rings are for attachment of your reins and there are snaps for blinders and other equipment," she explained.

 

The bridle as she called it was the most uncomfortable part of the outfit so far. It was annoying to have all these pieces of leather covering my face and the thought of being permanently gagged really sucked.

 

"Extend your arms and point your fingers," the costumer said as she rolled up what looked like another stocking, but apparently was to go on my arm. It was made of the same thin stretchy material as the stockings and went over my elbow, almost to my shoulder. Like the stockings, it molded to my arm. However, once it was on I found that the end had a hard black rubber sheath that covered my fingers like a hoof, making my hands useless.

 

Suddenly I realized that overpowering my trainers and escaping was not going to be as easy as I thought. I could barely move in the high heeled boots, let alone run, and couldn't undo the laces to take them off with these stupid gloves, although they didn't seem too hard to pull off if I got the chance. That thought ended, however, when the costumer tightly buckled a leather cuff over the glove just above my elbow and clipped it to one of the rings on the cinch. Then she did the same to my other arm, so that they were pinned against my sides. Next, cuffs were fastened around my forearms just before my elbows. Then the center of a wooden bar was clipped to a ring at the front of the cinch and each end clipped to the cuffs, so that my lower arms were held out and could not be put down.  Finally, cuffs were fastened around my ankles and a short chain was attached between them.

 

"The spreader bar will hold your arms in the proper position and support them, so that they will not get tired. The hobble attached to your ankles will restrict your gait and prevent you bolting for your own good. I am sure that your trainers have warned you about the punishment for attempting to escape. Be thankful that the mistress cares about her pony girls enough to take that choice away from you."

 

Dressed as I was, my arms pinned to my body, no use of my hands and tottering around on high heels with my feet chained together, it was clear that the costumer was right. I was not going anywhere soon. My only hope was to go along with whatever they had planned for me until I gained their confidence and then take advantage of the situation. I had gotten out of plenty of scrapes before and I was sure that with time I could outsmart these bitches.

 

Once the costumer was finished she left. Helga stood in front of me holding the pony tail that I was going to be forced to wear. It had a long black rubber plug on the end that tapered from a blunt point to a golf ball sized bulb from which a one-inch long neck extended with a ring at the tip. Long strands of hair matching my wig had been looped through the ring and held with a gold slide. Helga shook the tail a few times to fluff it up and then ran it through her hand to smooth it. When she was satisfied with the way it looked, she held it up to my face.

 

"Lick it," she said.

 

I hesitated. To my surprise, instead of immediate discipline for my disobedience, I got an explanation.

 

"The plug must only come out when you are groomed. At any other time being without your pony tail is second only to escape for the severity of the punishment you will receive from the Mistress. For the plug to stay in when you are being put through your paces, it can not be lubricated," Greta said. "Coating it with saliva will make it go in easier, especially at first."

 

"Choose quickly," Helga said, holding the plug up to my lips.

 

I immediately started licking it with big wet slurps like it was an ice cream cone. She turned it until it was covered with my spit. Then she moved around behind me.

"Spread your legs and bend over," Helga directed.

 

I moved my legs apart until the hobble chain stopped them and tried to bend forward as best I could with the cinch on. Greta put her hands on my shoulders, forcing me down and holding me in position. At first there was gentle pressure on my asshole, expanding the opening as the plug increased in size. Then Helga pushed faster and harder, jamming the plug deep into my virgin ass until the asshole contracted around the neck. I could feel her final adjustment as she lined up the ring with my crack and then Greta let go of me. When I stood up, I could feel the plug up my ass and the pony tail swishing against the back of my legs.

 

"It is uncomfortable now, but you will get used to it," advised Helga.

 

"And soon you will miss it when it is taken out," added Greta.

 

I doubted that I would miss having something permanently stuck up my ass, but they had no reason to lie.

 

"There little Bijoux. You are now ready to begin your training to serve the Mistress as a pony girl."