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Number One Pony
TEAM NAMES
Audrey and I talked later about pictures.
“How would it be possible for me to pose for pictures in harness?” she asked. “It would be so exciting but it would be absolutely horrible if the pictures got out and someone were to recognize me.”
“There are lots of ways to disguise you,” I told her. “Anything from a slave hood to a simple blindfold. You’d be amazed at how that makes a woman unrecognizable.”
She looked doubtful.
“Remember your training harness with the blinders and nose strap?”
“Yes.”
“Trust me, no one would be able to identify you in that.”
She thought it over. “Do you think the mistresses would allow me to pose for pornography?”
“Of course they would.”
“They would?”
“Certainly. Most of us here have been photographed.”
“Everyone?”
“Yep.”
“I mean serious pornography,” Audrey insisted. “As vulgar and disgusting as possible.”
“Are you thinking about the professor posing with a dildo up her pussy?”
“Exactly.”
“Would you like to model by yourself, or would you prefer something on the order of being screwed by one male while sucking the cock of a second and masturbating two others?” I asked innocently. “Would that be vulgar and disgusting enough?”
“Ooh, I’d love that,” she shook herself, making her breasts jiggle. “If only I could.”
I grinned at her until her eyes widened.
“Oh no!” she gasped, “You haven’t. . .”
“Oh yes I have,” I laughed.
“But how could they do that to you?” she asked.
“Well, they bent me over a spanking frame and the first male shoved his penis inside me, then . .”
“No, no, no. I mean how could they force you to pose for a camera?”
“No one forced me, we are never forced to model, it would violate our privacy and Mistress Karen is absolutely fanatical about protecting that. It’s the only thing that we cannot be compelled to do,” I said. “I volunteered to be photographed.”
“No kidding?”
“Yes, we have to agree in writing in advance to be photographed,” I said. “By law the photographers won’t participate until we sign a document called a model’s release, and the pictures can’t be published without it.”
“Do you think my pictures might get published?” she asked hopefully.
“I thought that you were afraid of that?”
“Not if my face is unrecognizable. I would be thrilled to know that people were looking at pictures of me, so long as no one knew who I was.”
“Yes, there is always a chance your pictures could get published. It’s just a matter of selling them to a publisher who would want to put them in a magazine.”
“How do I go about getting them to take my picture? Would the accountant do it?”
“No, Mary isn’t a professional photographer, but just ask Mistress Eve if any photographers are scheduled to come to the farm soon, they might be able to work you in.”
“How many times have you modeled?”
“Scores of times,” I answered. “The publishers like me and so do their customers. I get fan mail sometimes.”
“How do they know who to write to? Do they have your address here?”
“They write to the publisher who forwards them to the farm,” I said. “Believe me, modeling is quite routine here. Don’t be afraid to volunteer.”
“Ok, I’ll do it,” she said.
“By they way, did we really have a pony girl named Buttercup?”
“Yes, it was an idea that Mistress Dina came up with,” I said. “She thought it would be fun to give all the ponies cute nicknames. Not only that, but she decided to have each team’s names begin with the same letter.”
“Really?”
“Yes. At one time we had a team tamed, Beauty, Billie, Buttercup and Boobie.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
“Yep, and we had another team with Cutie, Chrissie, Candy and Carla.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t name one of those girls Cuntie,” Audrey snorted.
“Good point,” I said. “I don’t know why they didn’t think of that, but Mistress Dina took the concept one step further.”
“What did she do?”
“She decided to dye the teams hair the same color.”
“What?”
“We had a team of redheads, one of blondes, another of brunettes, and so on,” I told her.
“You must be kidding! Who would put up with that?”
“Oh, no one objected,” I said. “Most slaves just want to blend in to the woodwork and relish giving up their individuality.”
“Yes, I think I see your point.” Audrey considered this for a moment. “Why did they get away from the practice?”
“Teams don’t always stay together,” I explained. “Once in a while some ponies have to leave and they move different people around. It got confusing when a pony girl’s name was changed every time she moved to another team.”
“Why do people leave?”
“Lots of reasons. Some change their minds about the lifestyle, some offer themselves to be sold, like Buttercup did, others decide to go to a different location.”
“Different locations?”
“Yes, a couple of women asked to be sold to the ranch in Texas and one lady decided that she preferred to live on a male dominated farm. Occasionally there are other factors that make people leave.”
“What do you mean?”
“One woman had to leave to care for her father after he had a stroke. She stays in touch and wants to return someday.
“One of the males left because his father and grandfather were killed in the crash of a corporate airplane and he had to take over running the family business.”
“Oh, too bad. Tell me more.”
“Hmm, let’s see, one married couple came expecting to live together in the same stable. They were disappointed to learn that the males and females are segregated so they eventually left.”
“You had a married couple? Incredible.”
“We’ve had more than one,” I said. “Another couple joined the farm but the wife wasn’t as submissive as her husband. In fact, she didn’t care very much for our lifestyle but he loved it. He was very submissive, especially to other men.”
“Was he gay?”
“It turned out that he was and his wife wasn’t happy when she found out. She decided to leave and he chose to stay.”
“What happened?”
“She returned home and got a divorce. As soon as she was gone his mask came off and he turned into the most simpering, submissive male we’ve ever had.”
“Is he still here?”
“No, he was sold to a male only ranch in Arizona. I hear that he’s quite happy there.”
“Any more married slaves?” Audrey asked.
“Sort of. On of the mistresses fell in love with a pony boy and they left to live together, but I don’t know if they ever got married.”
“Did they get out the pony life?’
“No, he’s still her slave and she rents him out to clients. We see them when she brings him to rodeos and pony shows.”
“How many people have lived here?” Audrey asked.
“I don’t know the exact number,” I said. “But I’d guess that we’ve had well over a hundred permanent slaves since I’ve been here. And we’ve had staff come and go too.”
“Staff?”
“A pair of mistresses left and opened their own dominance parlor in Washington DC. Apparently they make a fortune there. And another mistress left and opened her own ranch in Costa Rica. In addition to training pony boys she makes a fortune off clients who pick coffee beans in harness.”
“Coffee beans?’
“She bought a small coffee plantation. This isn’t the only farm which uses ponies for labor.”
“I’ve been to Costa Rica,” Audrey said. “Its a lovely country.”
“Now you know where to go on vacation,” I said.
“Oh no, I’m coming back here every chance I get.”
I gave her a hug.
“Getting back to the names,” she said. “Did you have a team name?”
“Yes, I was called Annie,” I told her. “And officially I’m still Annie on the stable rolls.”
“So you were on the A team?”
“Yes, I was with Angie and two other girls names Abbie and Auntie.”
“Auntie? Why Auntie?”
“She was an older woman. She was in her forties and she was the team lead. I learned a lot from her.”
“What became of her?”
“Her daughter became an alcoholic and she had to leave to raise her grandchildren. She wants to return too, as soon as they are grown.”
“What about the names we use now?”
“Some people pick a name to be used, others actually use their real first names, and some of us are called by our numbers.”
“Do they call you Number One because you are the best?” she asked.
“Yes, I think so,” I said proudly.
“What’s your real name?”
“Beth.”
“The mistresses like you,” she said. “I’ve heard them talking.”
“Careful or you’ll make me blush.”
“I didn’t pick the name Audrey,” she said. “I suppose Mistress Karen did.”
“No, actually I was the one who called you that, the first night you were here.”
“You did, why?”
“Because you reminded me of Audrey Hepburn.”
“I’m flattered,” she said. “She was a beautiful woman.”
“And a great pony girl too.”
“What?”
“Just kidding.”
Mistress Karen didn’t purchase Big Boy. His owner wanted too much money, but they did work out a barter arrangement where we got to keep him for a few weeks and Mistress Domicilla took four of our males in exchange.
Much to the indignation of the other mistresses Mistress Karen kept Big Boy all to herself. She rode him every day and kept him in her room every night. However, she did treat everyone to watching her flog him in the barnyard a few times. Apparently she discovered that when he started to wear out it only took a few hours torture to perk him up, and being punished in front of a lot of women really did the trick. His penis would be huge by the time she finished whipping him.
I don’t want to characterize our beloved Mistress Karen as an insatiable nymphomaniac, but by the time the swap was over Big Boy had lost weight and seemed a little shaky on his legs, however when he was taken away in a horse trailer he stared back at Mistress Karen with big sad eyes until he was out of sight.
When our males returned they were bleary eyed and exhausted too. It turns out that Mistress Domicilla hadn’t gotten completely out of the business. Aside from her own enjoyment, she held auctions every night and rented our boys to her customers for some rather tidy sums. They were so worn out when we got them back that they were useless for work for several days.
AUDREY DECIDES TO POSE
Audrey was given permission to pose for pictures. A photographer was scheduled to come the following week and when Mistress Karen called and offered Audrey he agreed to take some test shots. He drove out to the farm and looked Audrey over, and accepted her on the spot. They had a long talk and Mistress Karen negotiated the contract for Audrey.
Audrey was surprised that she was going to be paid. She assumed that she would pose for free.
“No way,” I told her. “Mistress Karen charges for the use of the farm and for the use of her ponies, no matter what they use us for.”
“Even just posing for pictures?”
“Especially for posing,” I told her. “It’s a lucrative business and the photographers make a lot of money selling our pictures to bondage magazines.”
“I had no idea,” Audrey said.
“There are literally dozens of bondage magazines that use our pictures,” I said. “And there’s a publisher in Germany and another in England that specialize in the pony lifestyle, and they often send their photographers here for shoots. They prefer real life ponies to professional models.”
“Are there a lot of real pony girls around the country?” Audrey asked.
“Tens of thousands around the world,” I told her.
“Wow.”
“Anyway, getting back to your pay, part of the money goes to the farm’s general fund and part goes to you,” I told her. “Mistress Karen will put it in your account.”
“What account?”
“Oh, I forgot, you’re a temporary,” I said. “Temps don’t usually get accounts, they aren’t here that long.”
“Permanent ponies have financial accounts?” Audrey asked.
“Of course,” I said. “They’re primarily for our retirement, but we need money for furloughs or when we get a day off and want to go to town.”
“I thought we were slaves,” Audrey said.
“Sure, but we still need money.”
“And you have a retirement plan?”
“Yes.”
“Has anyone ever retired?”
“Not yet. No one has been her long enough.”
She thought for a moment. “I just had a terrible image of a stable full of ninety year old women sitting around in harness.”
“I had a worse image,” I said. “A bunch of naked old males in harness.”
“Eeyew!”
Mistress Karen ordered a special mask for Audrey. It covered her upper face with horizontal bands of metal in a black leather helmet. The first sketches looked like a baseball catcher’s mask, but they worked on it until it looked sexy and feminine. It concealed her eyes and nose but left her mouth exposed, and she could still see where she was going.
A man who does all of our leather gear made the mask. He lives across the valley and is quite a craftsman in leather and metal. His name is Lou and over the years he has created some wonderful designs.
Mistress Karen pays him handsomely and he also has free use of all of the slave girls. He’s an older man but he’s quite strong and virile and has a terrific imagination. We all enjoy being picked by him, but Gloria is his favorite.
Lou and Gloria are friends and he made a special set of harness as a gift for her tenth anniversary.
Gloria’s special harness is black patent leather decorated with silver buckles and trim, complete from horseshoe boots to a helmet with a horsehair crest. The harness was his idea and he made it for free, and Gloria was so touched that she cried when he presented it to her.
Mistress Karen was delighted and paraded Gloria in front of the entire farm, then she gave her to Lou for an entire week.
Gloria looks absolutely stunning in it and Mistress Karen allows her to wear it on weekends and special occasions.
I got a presentation set too. Mistress Karen liked the idea of rewarding long service, so for my tenth anniversary she ordered a special harness for me. Lou made mine of rich reddish brown leather that matches my hair. I didn’t want any ornamentation but he added some anyway. He made the metal fittings out of high gloss red metal and they are almost invisible against the red leather, until they catch the light and sparkle.
Lou is also an amateur jewel maker and he added a replica of my brand to the collar and to the front of my helmet: a turquoise heart inside a golden horseshoe. Everyone tells me that the turquoise matches my eyes perfectly.
I spent three days at his place while he made my harness. He took his time and fitted every thing perfectly, in fact he took my measurements over and over and over, until he was satisfied that he’d gotten it right. Then he measured me again. He spent a lot of time examining my brand while he fashioned the jewelry. During breaks he screwed me half silly.
Gloria and I are permitted to keep our harness in our stalls, and he taught us how to polish leather like they do in the military. I never touch the leather unless I’m wearing soft cotton gloves and I keep it so shiny that I can see my reflection in it. About once a month Mistress Eve puts me into it and I get to wear my lovely personal harness all weekend.
Since then Mistress Karen has made it a tradition to present each pony with a special harness after ten year’s service. She holds a ceremony and makes a big deal of buckling the harness onto the slave in front of everyone. Each set is unique and the pony is permitted to have a say in the color and design. It’s a proud day for a pony slave when he or she receives a personal set of harness.
Audrey didn’t get a custom set of leather of course, just the mask, but we have enough fancy sets in the tack room to provide her with a very sexy outfit. Mistress Karen took the time to personally select Audrey’s harness. She even picked out a dressage costume.
Audrey’s costume was a stiff red leather bustier with silver buckles, red opera gloves, red high heels and a silver headpiece with enough scarlet plumes to make a Las Vegas chorus line envious. Mistress Karen also took the time to train her in the outfit, especially the shoes. I got a chance to watch Audrey marching around the paddock and she looked delicious.
THE AMATUER PLOWMAN
When the photographer arrived he brought a couple of assistants and several models with him. He decided to photograph Audrey first.
He started with her alone in her fancy costume. He shot her in all sorts of poses and in all sorts of locations.
While this was going on his models got bored and wandered around the farm. Two of the men strolled out to where my team was plowing, leaned on the fence and watched us work. They were big, muscular, and very handsome, and Mistress Eve flirted outrageously with them.
So did we. We wiggled and jiggled as much as we dared and Mistress Eve let us get away with it (she was busy doing the same thing). They returned her interest but also seemed fascinated with us. During a break they wandered over and struck up a conversation with her.
They asked a lot of questions about ponies and she was happy to explain. She stood us at attention and showed them how our harness worked. They tugged on the leather and tested the buckles, and of course their hands occasionally brushed our breasts or bottoms. They were surprised to see that our hands were bound while we worked.
Mistress Eve showed them how to drive a team and allowed them to handle our reins. They took turns walking us along a furrow. They were clumsy and caused us to stumble and lurch and we used the opportunity for an excuse to jiggle our boobs.
Mistress Eve offered to show them around the farm while we took a break. One of the men accepted her offer but the other chose to stay with us. We were astonished when she handed him our reins and walked away arm in arm with the other man.
Oh well, she left us alone with a handsome man and we expected him to have fun with us. After all, he was a porn actor and should have all sorts of stamina and we hoped he could screw all four of us. Instead the idiot actually tried to plow the field!
He got behind the plow and flipped the reins on my shoulders. I looked back at him in astonishment. He flipped the reins again and said: “Giddyup.”
The girls looked at me in dismay and indignation. I shrugged and we started off. The girls complained, in our silent, secret language but he was so intent on plowing that he wouldn’t have noticed if we’d yelled at the top of our voices.
“Isn’t he going to fuck us?” Number Two asked astonished.
“I don’t think so,” I answered.
“What’s the matter with him?” Three demanded. “I hoped he would bend us over the fence and screw us all.”
“I think he’s more interested in how pony girls plow a field,” Four said.
“Humph, I could show him other things pony girls can do,” Two muttered.
“I don’t think he’s ever been around real pony girls,” I said. “I think we’re a novelty to him.”
“What an idiot,” Four grumbled.
He tried to control us but he had no idea what he was doing. I could have helped him but I was insulted that he didn’t throw me to the ground and rape me. Who did he think he was?
He had us jerking from side to side and over corrected with the reins. We were annoyed and when he turned us the wrong way at the end of a furrow Number Three deliberately stepped over the traces and things became hopeless.
He tried to get us straight but we just played dumb. He told us to move this way or that but we ignored him and stared vacantly into space. The more he tried to straighten us out the worse it got. He tried to lift our feet over the traces but we just shuffled around more. Then he decided to unhook us from the plow. This didn’t work because as soon as we were loose we began wandering away in different directions. He chased after Number Four, tried to hold her by the shoulders and guide her back, but she turned into the dumbest pony on Earth and just couldn’t seem to understand. He finally spoke slowly and loudly as if he was speaking to someone who didn’t understand English. Four stopped and stared off into space. He noticed that Three and I were wandering away so he hurried after us. He actually pleaded in baby talk, as if he was talking to a puppy. Three stopped, cocked her head quizzically and looked at him. I kept walking.
He chased me down, turned me gently by my shoulders and I obediently walked toward the team. Number Two came up with the best trick though. She walked into the fence, bounced off, backed up and bounced off again. Each time she’d shake herself, which got her boobs moving, then try again. The guy ran to her and tried to explain that she couldn’t do that. She ignored him and kept bumping into the fence. Finally he grabbed her harness from behind and pulled her back. She dug in her heels, glared at the fence and snorted loudly. I was biting my tongue to keep from laughing.
He finally realized that he could control us through our harness, so he went to Three, who still looked at him with that puzzled expression, took hold of her collar ring and led her back to the plow. Then he brought me and Four back. He stood us in a line and tried to figure out how to reconnect us to the plow.
He fumbled around muttering to himself. Finally in exasperation he said: “How the hell does this thing work?”
“Well, first you have to put us in two pairs,” I said. “Not four abreast. Then you attach the traces to the rings on the sides of our belts.”
His mouth dropped open. “I’ll be dammed. You can talk.”
Number Three stepped close to him and looked up into his face still wearing her idiot blonde expression and said: “Of course we can talk, you silly man. We aren’t real horses, you know.”
“Oh.”
I lost it and shrieked with laughter. So did the others. Three laughed so hard that her legs gave way and she plopped on the ground. Four had tears streaming down her face, and Two had to lean against the fence. The man stared at us for a moment, then grinned sheepishly.
Mistress Eve peered around the curve in the road. She stepped back, then reappeared buttoning her shirt. She walked back to us but her companion wasn’t with her. She looked at us, the mess that was our harness, then at the man.
He shrugged and tried to explain what had happened. We were still laughing so she restored discipline by whipping us (literally) into line. Her first blow got me across my breasts and I quickly moved into position. I tried to stop laughing but just couldn’t, so Mistress Eve gave me a dozen sharp smacks with whip. I finally managed to assume the proper posture and she turned her attention to Number Two. The man watched in sheer astonishment as she plied the whip very forcefully on each of us until we were correct and proper. Then she reattached the traces and walked us a few yards. The man stumbled after us.
“You’re really whipping them!” he gasped.
“Of course I am,” she said coldly. “This isn’t movie make believe.”
“But, but. . .”
I looked at Mistress Eve and nodded faintly. She understood perfectly. She stepped in front of me.
“Watch this,” she told him, and slashed the whip across my breasts very hard. It hurt. It hurt a lot! But I smiled, thrust my chest out and wiggled.
“Thank you mistress, May I please have another?” I got another.
Number Two offered her boobs and Mistress Eve gave her a few cuts. Then she whipped us both with a powerful sideways motion. Left, right, left, right, across our breasts. She planted her feet and swung with full force, rotating her body with each stroke. We turned our upper bodies into the whip. The pain was terrific but we stood firm. The man watched in utter amazement.
When Mistress Eve stopped he walked close and looked at the welts across our chests. He touched my breast without the slightest sexual intention. He was simply examining the red streaks left by the whip. His touch felt good.
“My God, doesn’t that hurt?” he asked me.
I looked at Mistress Eve for permission to answer. She nodded.
“Yes, it hurts very nicely,” I replied in a low, sultry voice. “And I’m sorry she stopped. I was very close to coming.” I looked at Mistress Eve seductively.
“You were close to coming?” he repeated.
I nodded slowly and deeply.
His attitude changed from curiosity to sexual. He squeezed my breast sensuously. His other hand slipped between my legs, and his fingers wiggled under my crotch strap.
“Ah, you’re very damp,” he chuckled.
“Yes, I am.”
Mistress Eve took his hands off my body.
“Step back,” she told him. “These are my slaves.”
We all stood straighter and stuck our chests out proudly. He grinned at us condescendingly and we all took a sudden dislike to the man. Mistress Eve sensed this. She caressed my breasts.
“Did I really hurt my favorite girl?” she cooed. I stuck out my lower lip and pouted. She bent and kissed my nipples. Number Two thrust hers forward and got a sharp flick from Mistress Eve’s finger for her efforts.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make you have a nice orgasm when we get back to the stables,” Mistress Eve said seductively. She looked at the rest of the team who were hopping on their toes eagerly. “Yes, I won’t forget the rest of you either.”
The man was staring wide eyed and I noticed a large bulge in his trousers. So did Mistress Eve.
“If you’re not busy at five o’clock come by the wash room and see how I treat my girls,” she told him.
She took up the reins, waved him aside and set us to plowing. He watched for a minute and then walked away.
When he was out of sight Mistress Eve looped the reins loosely over the plow and walked beside me. “What was that all about?”
“He wouldn’t screw us,” I said. “He just wanted to plow the damn field.”
“Ah, and that made you mad, right?” she laughed.
“Yes ma am.”
“Ok, tell me what you did to that poor man.”
She laughed as we told the story, but howled when we told her that he was surprised to learn that we could talk.
Sure enough he showed up at quitting time and brought the rest of the crew with him. They stood in the middle of the washroom and looked around at the bustle of mistress washing ponies, teams waiting their turn, cooks bringing out food, and single slaves (like Audrey) bringing towels and collecting harness. They were fascinated by our end of day routine and got in the way until a mistress told them to step to one side.
True to her word Mistress Eve gave each of us terrific orgasms. She pretended to ignore our guests while she strung us tightly between the posts. Then we put on a little show as she teased our pussies with scrub brushes, vibrators, and her hand and she brought each of us to orgasm. Our orgasms were real but we played up our reaction with a lot more groaning and writhing than normal. Mistress Eve saved me for last and I was already worked up so it didn’t take very long until I was in ecstasy. I didn’t have to put on an act; I really did have a terrific orgasm. All the time other mistresses were attending to their teams, and we weren’t the only slaves getting rewarded for a day’s work.
The visitors were wide eyed and the male models were visibly excited, but one girl in particular was very aroused. Her face was bright pink and her nipples poked through the material of her blouse.
I was surprised that the porn models got so excited. I’d have thought that in their line of work nothing would surprise them but that evening Gloria told me that despite all the sex they have in front of the cameras, they probably had never witnessed so much real, unstaged sexual activity before.
“They do it for pay,” she told me. “But we live this life every day.”
AUDREY POSES
Audrey told us about her day as we relaxed after dinner.
“I started the day in my red costume,” she told us. “I wasn’t even in bondage at first, they left my hands free and I just posed this way and that. The photographer told me what he wanted me to do, and his assistants pushed and pulled me into the correct positions.”
“Were you naked?” I asked.
“Not at first, the only things that showed were my boobs, but eventually they took my panties off. I posed as naughty as I could.
“Eventually they locked my wrists behind my back. Mistress Jill was there to help out and they had her get in the act by holding my reins or grasping the ring on my collar. She wasn’t really in the picture; just her arm and hand appeared. Eventually they told me to kneel at her feet with my face close to her pussy.”
“Did Mistress Jill take her panties off?” I asked.
“She sure did.”
“Did you stick your tongue out?” Number Three asked.
“Actually I stuck it in,” Audrey replied.
“Oh, you lucky thing.”
“Later she put a bit in my mouth and increased my bondage. They ended up with me bent over the corral fence with my legs open.”
“How far apart did you get your legs?” Number Two asked.
“Pretty far.”
“After that they removed my costume and changed me into a white milkmaid’s dress,” Audrey said. “Interestingly, the wardrobe girl kept my hands tied and she undressed me, then put the new costume on. She only untied me long enough to get my arms in the sleeves. She even slipped my panties on me.”
“Did she touch your pussy?” someone asked.
“No, but I got the feeling that she wanted to.”
“Then what happened?”
“They rounded up the male models and began the serious work.”
“Ooooh!” said about eight women at once.
“The scenario was simple,” Audrey said. “We went to the road near the old work shed. I was untied and pretended to walk innocently along the road when rough men leapt out of the bushes and kidnapped me. They stripped me naked, threw me on the ground and raped me.”
“For real?” Four asked.
“They weren’t going to at first,” Audrey said. “But I demanded that they screw me for real. They took turns.”
“How did you disguise your face?” Gloria asked.
“I held my hands up in horror,” Audrey said, “Or the men positioned themselves to shield my face from the camera.”
“That was nice of them,” Two commented.
“It was required in the contract,” Audrey said.
“Did all three of them fuck you?” Four asked.
“Yes.”
“Did they come?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
There was a lot of laughter.
“After that they tied me up and led me away,” Audrey continued. “They took me to a deserted farmhouse where they tied me in lots of different positions.”
“Who did the tying?” someone asked.
“Mistress Jill was supposed to,” Audrey answered. “But one of the photographer’s assistants wanted to do it, so Mistress Jill stepped aside.”
“Was it the wardrobe girl?” Gloria asked.
“It sure was.”
“It sounds like she might be in dominance,” I observed.
“I think so,” Audrey said. “She sure seemed to like what she was doing.”
“Did she grope you in the process?” Number Four laughed.
“She certainly did,” Audrey answered. “Many times.”
“Lucky thing,” I said. “Did the men screw you again?”
“Yes, the girl tied me in the back of an old farm wagon with my legs open and the men got me again.”
“Taking turns?”
“Nope, all at once.”
“What?”
“They had sex with me all at the same time,” Audrey said proudly. “I had a penis up my pussy, another in my bottom and the third in my mouth.”
“Wow.”
“And after they’d spurted all over me, the assistants got me ready for the next scenario.
“The next part of the shoot showed me in work harness being trained to be a pony,” Audrey said. “And the photographer’s girl insisted on buckling the harness on me.” (This turned out to be the girl who was so enthralled watching us while we were washed down later that day.)
“At that point one of the female models entered wearing a dominance costume and she ‘trained me’ to the plow. I was rebellious so she whipped me and supervised the men while they tortured me. Then they subjected me to another gang rape.”
“You lucky, lucky girl,” Number Two breathed. “Did everyone come again?”
“Yes. And after that I had to kneel at the feet of the mistress and lick her pussy.”
“For real?”
“Oh yes. And they took lots of close-ups of my tongue in her vagina.”
“How did they hide your face?”
“I was in the special harness mask by then.”
“Oh, yeah. Did the model come?”
“Yep.”
“Did she actually have an orgasm?” Four asked. “Or just pretend for the camera?”
“I made a real effort and saw to it that she truly had an orgasm,” Audrey said proudly. “And I don’t think she was expecting that to happen.”
“Why not?”
“Afterwards she spoke to me alone and said that the first time she didn’t have to fake an orgasm for the camera. Then she gave me her phone number and invited me to meet back in the city for a dominance session.”
“What did you say?” Gloria laughed.
“I told her that I’d love to meet her, but that I was new at licking pussies and there were women here who were much better at it than I am.” She smiled at me. ‘But I kept her telephone number, just the same.”
Four applauded, and everyone joined in.
“Was that the end of the shoot?” I asked.
“It should have been,” Audrey answered.
“Oh? What else happened?”
“The photographer put down his camera and got on top of me.”
“The photographer screwed you?” I asked aghast.
“He sure did,” Audrey said proudly. “With his whole crew watching.”
“Oh,” gasped Gloria. “How unprofessional.”
The photographer spent so much time with Audrey that they ran out of daylight and had to do their regular photo session the next day. Mistress Karen put them up in the guesthouse overnight.
The photographer and his crew worked all the following day on a simple sex scenario where the female models had sex with the men. No fetish work was involved but the wardrobe assistant took Mistress Karen aside during a break and shyly asked if she could try on a set of harness. Mistress Karen took her into the equipment barn and personally strapped the girl into leather. She hung the girl by her wrists and left her alone for a few minutes. When she came back the girl didn’t want to be released.
Mistress Karen buckled the girl into a tight pussy strap, told her to get dressed and get back to work before someone missed her. The girl spent the rest of the day with a distracted look on her face and she blushed every time she looked at Mistress Karen. The mistresses are taking bets as to how long before she shows back up on her own.
Audrey saw her photos a few days later. The photographer made a special trip with a large box full of eight by tens. He met with Audrey and Mary and he accounted for every picture he had taken. He gave up any negatives that showed her face. He also offered to pay her a substantial fee to allow him to publish the rest of the pictures.
Despite her desire to appear in a magazine, Audrey lost her nerve and initially refused his offer. Mistress Karen and Mary talked it over with her and Mary offered to act as her agent free of charge. She told Audrey that they could control which pictures would appear in print, and would see to it that her privacy was protected. So Audrey changed her mind and they spent all afternoon going over the pictures. (Audrey was in harness with her hands bound behind her back during the entire meeting. This didn’t bother her, but it seemed to distract the photographer somewhat.)
Audrey selected about sixty pictures and signed a release form. Mary made sure that the photographer understood that if he had withheld any pictures of Audrey’s face, or if any such pictures ever appeared in print Mistress Karen would bring the full force of the law down upon him. This was merely a formality, as he was known to be an ethical man.
The photographer gave Audrey a substantial check. She promptly signed the check over to Mistress Karen, donating it to the farm. She didn’t want the money; she just hoped that someday she would see herself in a bondage magazine.
She brought the pictures to the stable and showed them to us. The pictures of her in costume were sweet and sexy but more like cheesecake pics. She looked adorable in her plumes and could have easily taken her place on stage in a Las Vegas review.
However, the hard core pictures were fantastic, especially the rape and torture scenes. We all got excited looking at them, and everyone was awed at pictures of Audrey with three penises in her body at the same time. No one else had ever experienced that, not even Gloria, and we were all envious.
Afterwards Mistress Jill put the box in Audrey’s locker.
“I wonder if I should ship the pictures to myself,” Audrey asked. “I don’t think I want my son to see them when he comes for me.”
“Mary can see to that for you,” Mistress Jill told her. “Now get to your feet and put your hands behind your back.”
“Ma am?”
“The photographer is staying here until tomorrow,” Mistress Jill said as she strapped Audrey’s wrists together. “And he’s bought you for the night.”
As it turned out, she did see herself in print. The pictures appeared in a magazine a year later. The photographer called Mary and she relayed the news to Audrey. Audrey went to a porn shop and bought every copy in the store and sent us copies. (I’d love to know what the other customers thought when they saw that elegant, well dressed lady buying a stack of bondage magazines.)
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