Number One Pony

Number One Pony

ELECTRICITY

It turned out that we did go back to the pump house the following day, but not to pump water. The pump house has two uses.

One of the male ponies is an electrical engineer. His name is Sparky and he is very submissive to women and was married three times to wives who couldn’t dominate him to his satisfaction. They weren’t cruel enough. After his latest divorce he came to the farm for a weekend visit. He liked it so much that he resigned his six-figure job, sold his house and moved here permanently.

Several years ago he suggested a way to Mistress Karen that we could become self sufficient as to electrical power. He offered to install a pony powered generator. She gave him the go ahead and he brought a bunch of machinery and batteries and other stuff and set it up. He built a generator next to the pump house and by changing the drive belt we can make enough electricity to run the farm.

He built a shed and filled it with batteries that can store enough electricity to operate the farm for several days, and we can send the excess electricity through the power lines to the utility company, and they have to pay us for it.   

The generator must be turned at a steady speed or it doesn’t work properly, so Sparky created some devices to insure that the ponies turn it at the correct speed. For the males he made metal cock cages connected by wires to a speed regulator. As long as the speed is correct everything is ok, but if the pony boys slow down or speed up they get a jolt of electricity in their balls. Female ponies wear metal dildoes which zap our pussies. Over the years they’ve added refinements like electrified butt plugs and nipple clamps.

Sparky is a terrible masochist and loves to wear a genital cage. As a reward for building the generator he was allowed to work it every day but he loves pain so much that he deliberately dragged his feet so he could get zapped. 

That didn’t endear him to the other males working with him. The mistresses didn’t care about that but they couldn’t allow Sparky to mess up the generating process so his mistress decided to teach him a lesson. He was goofing around so much that she stopped the team and made Sparky kneel and suck all their cocks. (Sparky isn’t gay). But when she put them back to work he went right on dragging his feet, so she bent him over a bar and allowed the other males to screw him in the butt. That didn’t stop him either, so she hung him by his wrists, strapped a horsewhip to each capstan bar and allowed them to smack him in the groin.

He liked that too, Sparky is such a masochist that cruel male masters have been know to turn pale seeing him take a whipping on his genitals. (Women on the other hand, can’t get enough of seeing him being tortured.) Mistress Karen finally took him off the detail.

One of the mistresses came up with a way to use the pump house as a form of punishment. She was dealing with a disobedient pony boy and she got creative. She tied a slender cord around his balls, attached the cord to a bar and put a team to work. The bad pony had to keep up or risk having his balls ripped off. He did ok for a while, but made the mistake of smirking defiantly, so she tied a hobble on his ankles. The hobble had enough slack that he could keep up but it took a lot of effort. He was panting and sweating within a few minutes, and after a few hours he was begging for mercy. The mistress stopped the team and smacked his balls with a cane. He finished the shift in tears and became very docile after that.

The technique is called ‘towing’ and the female version is to attach heavy nipple clamps to a pony girl’s nipples, or pussy lips, or both, and subject her to the same treatment. It has been used to tame quite a few ponies.

One pony girl who thought she was tough as nails, actually offered to submit to being towed by her pussy lips just to prove how much pain she could take. (Believe me, I’ll never do that again!)

They improved on the horsewhips too. Mistress Karen had thin canes attached to the ends of the capstan bars and set a pipe upright on the floor. When the canes hit the pipe it holds them back until they snap forward. Anyone nearby will get smacked very hard. When a slave is strapped over a punishment horse and placed at the correct distance he or she will get the full force of those canes every twenty seconds. Its a favorite way of punishing someone without getting the mistress all sweaty.

Mistress Eve buckled us into very tight crotch straps after inserting the metal dildoes up our pussies. Audrey wasn’t aware that the dildo was capable of inflicting shocks, she just thought it was a nice touch from Mistress Eve.

Mistress Eve set a metronome to the correct rhythm and pointed to me. I tapped my foot to get us all in sync, then counted to eight and stepped off. Everyone moved in perfect unison. Audrey did too but she had no idea that there was a penalty for getting out of step.

We worked along for an hour, then by winks and nods we conspired to enlighten her. I took a deep breath, gritted my teeth, braced for the shock and stopped in my tracks, so did Two and Three. Sure enough we received a terrific jolt that seemed to flash through our bellies clear into our brains. Audrey wasn’t expecting anything and let out a shriek. She hopped and shuffled in confusion and tried to look at her pussy belt.

Mistress Eve looked at us curiously, then realized that we were messing with Audrey. She snapped her whip across my shoulders about a dozen times to get us going, then gave the others a few stinging cuts as they went by. When you’re being whipped the instinct is to run and get away from the whip, but going too fast gets the same results as going too slow. We got zapped again.

Audrey screamed again and staggered, which slowed us down and brought another jolt. Mistress Eve stomped across the room and shut off the electricity, then she carefully and methodically whipped me to tears.

She whipped my back, my breasts, my thighs and bottom, and the only reason I didn’t get that whip on my pussy was the crotch strap.

After I’d begged for mercy she whipped Number Two and Number Three, and she gave Audrey a few strokes for good measure. Then she turned the equipment on and ordered us to get moving. Audrey marched with an expression of bewilderment, then I saw understanding dawn on her face. She looked at me, raised her brows as if to say: ‘how could you do that to me?’ then she stopped dead.

None of us were expecting that and we all screeched in surprise when about a million volts burned through our pussies. (That’s what it felt like anyway.)

Audrey stood unflinchingly while Mistress Eve gave her a terrific whipping. She looked me in the eyes and smiled triumphantly. I bobbed my head to tell her that the jokes were over for the day. I tried to communicate the same thing to Mistress Eve but she was having none of it. She walked to the control panel, turned up the voltage and pushed the manual button. We all screamed as the electricity jolted through us. (Sparky set the system up so that we can get pain, but never enough electricity to injure us. Something about volts and amps, which I don’t pretend to understand, but it still felt like pure lightening between our legs.)

We hopped and twisted and writhed trying to escape the pain. Number Two put on a pretty sexy impromtu dance trying to shake the dildo out of her vagina, but it didn’t help. The electricity made our hair crackle and stand up and I honestly expected to see smoke coming out of our pussies (or at least steam).

Just as we were calming down Mistress Eve touched that button again for a split second, but it was enough to make four pony girls wail like air raid sirens.

“All right ladies, just one more time and I’ll hold this button down until you are unconscious,” Mistress Eve said grimly.

I dropped to my knees and bowed as low as the traces would permit. The others followed a half second later. Mistress Eve walked slowly around the room. She paused and placed her foot on the back of my neck. I nodded as rapidly as I could. Then she went to each girl in turn and subjected her to this very serious symbol of dominance. They all accepted eagerly. 

“Stand up,” Mistress Eve commanded. I staggered to my feet but the pain between my legs was still terrific. I tottered unsteadily. Mistress Eve slashed her whip across my legs.

“STAND,” slash, “UP,” slash, “STRAIGHT,” she commanded.

I became a statue.   

“If there is any more nonsense I will whip you until I am too tired to lift the whip,” she said. “Understand?”

I bowed, pawed the floor, curtseyed and jiggled my boobs in every gesture of submission I could think of. I even whimpered like a puppy under my gag.

We marched the rest of the shift in perfect order.

WEEKENDERS

You might think that we would have to pump water and electricity more often but temp slaves do most of the work.

Many weekenders come just to walk the pump house floor. Some like to be ‘forced’ to work, and others like it rough, including the electrical motivation, but many seem to simply enjoy the repetition.

One weekend slave girl (actually a woman in her forties) told me that the endless circling simplified her existence and brought peace of mind. She said that she was able to meditate while turning the capstan, which she considered to be a form of prayer wheel. (A prayer wheel?)

I told her that the idea was to get a sexual thrill from the experience, and most of us were happy to concentrate on the existence of our vaginas, not the meaning of the universe. She just smiled knowingly and told me that some day I would receive enlightenment. I told her that I’d rather receive a sound spanking.  

One lady in particular doesn’t give a damn about philosophy. She brings her husband and makes him work the pump house. She relaxes in a lounge chair and reads while he pulls a bar round and round by himself. It’s hard for a single pony to turn the generator and still maintain the correct speed. After a few hours he gets tired, slows down and gets zapped. His wife doesn’t even glance up when he screams.

She’s made friends with some other dominant wives and occasionally they team their husbands on the capstan. The ladies chat or play bridge and tease their slaves by wearing sexy dominance outfits. Other times they bring baskets of food and have a tea party wearing nice dresses. (Except they won’t have any underwear, and sit with their legs apart.)

Sometimes they borrow our male slaves and make them kneel under the table and eat their pussies. And occasionally they set up cots and allow our males to fuck them while their husbands watch as they trudge past.

So many weekend ponies want to use the pump house that Mistress Karen has to take reservations months in advance, and even then she is forced to double and triple the number of slaves on the capstan. Some slaves complain that it’s too easy because there are so many people working. It gets worse in cold weather and she is considering building a second generating room. We could end up selling power to the whole state of California.

Not all weekenders work the pump house. Many like to be out of doors and to get dirty (physically and morally).

We have a pair of women who come out twice a month and give carriage rides around the farm.

It started with one woman who came with her boyfriend. She was young and wanted to experience pony bondage. He was completely out of his depth and placed her in the hands of our mistresses, then stood back and watched.

The mistresses trained the girl, named Linda, in slavery. And because he was such a nice young man, eager to please his girl, they trained him in dominance. He wasn’t comfortable at first, but eventually grew to like the scene. 

They met another couple and Linda and the second girl, named Dottie became friends. 

One day their boyfriends paired them up to a wagon and rode around the farm. The girls enjoyed pulling the wagon and it became a routine part of their visits. Neither seems to care very much for punishment, but they love being wagon girls.

We owned an old four passenger Cinderella coach for parades and such, and Mistress Karen hauled it out of storage and had it refurbished. She allowed the girls to take their husbands for a ride and they were ecstatic. They now use it to give guests carriage rides. 

They can easily pull the carriage at a walk but they must have another pair of ponies if they are to trot. I’ve been teamed with them and I enjoy giving carriage rides too. But because the coach has become the private domain of Linda and Dottie I have to give up my status as lead. 

The coach is painted white with lots of gold trim and the ponies wear matching harness. We have a spare set for when we double the team.

Their masters set up a little booth in the courtyard and sell tickets.

Linda and her boyfriend got married but they still come out twice a month. She even pulled the carriage while she was pregnant, which raised a few eyebrows and generated a lot of ticket sales.

The carriage rides are supposed to last only an hour, but many times they’ve gone much longer. It’s pretty obvious that sometimes the passengers stop the carriage and screw the ponies. Linda and Dottie return with flushed faces, grass in their hair and harness in disarray but their masters don’t seem to mind.

They also give hayrides in the autumn with a real hay wagon, but it’s so heavy that we have to add more ponies. It takes at least eight pony girls to pull that thing when it’s fully loaded.

Hayrides are a lot of fun, with bonfires, hot cider and getting screwed in a haystack by the male guests. The rides are always followed by a nice rubdown for us chilly pony girls afterwards. (A few years ago it turned cold during a hayride and we were chilled to the bone by the time we got back to the stables. Mistress Jill built a fire right in the middle of the washroom floor, turned out the lights and we were washed by the light and warmth of the fire. It was very romantic.)

Another regular weekender is a lanky woman from England who we call the duchess. She wants to be worked as hard and dirty as possible.

The duchess is tall and bony, with pale skin and sagging breasts. She has light gray eyes and dull blonde hair. She doesn’t wear makeup or do her hair in a fashionable style. She just looks dreary, but her clothes are expensive and she arrives in a luxury sedan.

She absolutely loves dragging a plow through the hardest soil until she is covered in dust and sweat. Sometimes the mistresses flood a section of field until it turns to thick mud. The duchess wades through the muck and dust, and struggles to pull the plow. She never has to be encouraged with a whip. She works herself almost to exhaustion, and I’ve seen her near to collapsing when they bring her in from the field. 

She likes to work alone and won’t be paired up. She rarely smiles and never talks to other ponies. She doesn’t seem to enjoy sex but she obeys instantly if a mistress orders her to submit. We’ve watched her eat pussies and suck cocks, and spread her legs for the guests yet she never shows any emotion.

She accepts punishment without complaint too. She gets spanked, and caned and even whipped, and she yelps sometimes, but she never seems to resent her torment. We can’t tell if she likes pain or not and we wonder if she ever has an orgasm. The only emotion she displays is an air of satisfaction when she stumbles into the washroom at the end of her shift. Even the mistresses can’t figure her out.

The first time Audrey saw the duchess we were returning from the fields late on a Friday afternoon. She gasped and turned to watch the woman, then caught herself and came to attention. 

“What’s the matter?” Mistress Eve asked.

“I think I know that woman,” Audrey answered.

“Who is she?” Mistress Eve asked.

“Don’t you know her name?” Audrey asked.

“Nope. She uses an alias.”

“Then I probably shouldn’t tell her name,” Audrey said. “If she has requested anonymity.”

“You are quite right,” Mistress Eve said. “Forget that I asked.” She flicked the reins and we moved on.

“So you know the duchess?” I asked later that evening.

“I can’t say that I really know her,” Audrey answered. “But I’ve met her a few times.”

“Would she recognize you?”

“No, I don’t think so, but I will tell you that she is one of the top lawyers in the state.”

“That’s not unusual,” I said.

“It’s not?”

“Nope. Lots of lawyers come here for punishment,” I told her.

“Really?”

“They go to dominatrixes too. I’ve heard that they constitute the largest group of clients by profession.”

“Why?”

“Guilt.”

Audrey thought about this for a moment. “I can see how that could be true.”

“What about the duchess,” I asked. “Do you think she’s trying to absolve her sins with slavery?”

“Could be,” Audrey said. “She’s hauling a lot of them around.”

“What kind?” I asked. “Does she cheat on her husband, anything like that?”

“No, but she is the worst cutthroat lawyer ever. She takes pleasure in ripping people to shreds in the court room and she’s vicious when it comes to divorce cases.”

“I’d know how to take care of her,” I said.

“How’s that?”

“Locate about twenty of her courtroom victims and invite them to the farm some weekend, then turn her over to them in chains.”

“My God, that would be terrible for her,” Audrey gasped. “I can’t believe that you would say something so cruel.”

I nodded.

“Why, they might torture her to pieces,” Audrey continued.

“Too bad,” I said.

Audrey was quiet, then giggled. “Do you think the mistresses would let me watch?”