Number One Pony

Number One Pony

THE PONY SHOW

The show was a resounding success. All the planning paid off and everyone was very complimentary to Mistress Karen.

We had competitions during the day; team races, chariot races in singles, doubles, troikas and quartet teams, tugs of war, weight pulling, dressage, and costume and harness judging. Each night the masters and mistresses partied while we slaves waited in our stalls to be used (and we were). I can’t tell you how many times I was ordered by some passing master to crawl to the front of my stall and get on my knees. Penises were thrust into my mouth almost constantly. I wasn’t the only one either, all the other ponies on display were constantly giving pleasure to masters, and the mistresses got very grumpy having to constantly wash our faces.

Other exhibitions consisted of punishment displays, torture contests, pain endurance and stamina trials.

Linda and Dorothy were there, pulling their carriage for customers, but their husbands had to step in when the half hour rides got longer and longer. The husbands didn’t mind that the riders were screwing their wives, and they didn’t mind having to readjust their harness every time they came back from getting screwed half silly, but the delays were causing the line to back up. The husbands took over driving the carriage. I guess they didn’t mind seeing their wives fucked twenty times a day, but every few hours they took them out of circulation, stripped them naked and washed them down from head to toe. They didn’t take the ponies to the wash room but just hung them by their wrists under the big tree in the barnyard and dragged out a garden hose. This attracted a lot of attention and generated more reservations for carriage rides. Not surprisingly, a couple of masters offered their slaves to help pull the carriage, and one free woman volunteered as well. The husbands ran a quick class on how to pull a carriage and Linda and Dorothy were given breaks while the amateurs replaced them.   

We did well in the athletic competitions.

I won first place in the singles sulky race. I was encouraged by Mistress Jill who was my driver. She put me in light running harness with good comfortable running shoes and she walked beside me to the track. She gave me a soothing rub down while we waited and when the race was about to start she took my face in her hands and gave me a long delicious kiss, which drew applause from people.

“Do well, and I’ll kiss more than your mouth,” she whispered to me. Then she put my bit between my teeth and mounted up.

My pussy and my nipples were tingling from that kiss, and I resolved to win that race for her or die trying. The started fired the pistol and we were off. Mistress Jill plied her whip with enthusiasm even though I was running as fast as I could. She used a very wicked short thin horse whip and spun it against my bottom from side to side, and any time she thought that I was flagging that horrid whip got me right in my pussy. She could snap it around my waist and curl it right between my legs. It hurt so much that I flicked my head to the side for an instant, the signal that I was doing my best and a plea for mercy. It didn’t help. She snapped the whip harder. One stroke was so painful that I stumbled and lost rhythm for a second. That earned me a few more strokes, all between my legs. I screamed in my bit and she finally eased off. I looked over my shoulder at her and she got the message. She waited until I got back into my rhythm, and when I was running properly she cracked the whip four times very loudly, but didn’t hit me with it. It was our signal that she was pleased. Of course, by that time I had a commanding lead and she knew that I would win. I breezed across the finish line with a new farm record and we trotted a proud victory lap to the applause of the spectators. I felt happy as my breasts bounced but my pussy was on fire from that whip.

We stood in the winner’s circle to receive our trophy and my crotch was still hurting, even half an hour later. Mistress Jill was walking me back to the stable. I squatted for a second trying to ease the fire between my thighs. That was a bad move because Mistress Jill thought that I was inviting her to whip me some more. I wasn’t expecting it, but another stroke got me pussy and it literally went between my labia. I collapsed in orgasm. She realized her mistake but didn’t apologize; in fact she stood over me and chuckled as I writhed in the dust. Dozens of people wandered by as I whimpered on the ground. When I was able to walk she took me to the wash room and gave me an extra special wash down followed by a body oil massage, and topped off with a long, slow, delightful hour of her tongue inside me.

I was floating a few inches off my bunk remembering every tiny tickle of her tongue when Mistress Eve charged in looking for me. She was driving my team in the chariot race and I wasn’t in harness. Mistress Eve frantically yanked me to my feet and buckled me into the team harness. This was a little showier than what I’d just worn. It was a pretty green and silver combination but without any plumes or helmets. It was attractive but loose enough for us to run easily. Mistress Eve wore a matching (and very sexy) jockey outfit of the same colors with a skin tight bouse that showed every crinkle in her nipples, and the tightest short shorts I’d ever seen.

“Where have you been?” Number Three muttered as we lined up.

“I was getting my pussy eaten by Mistress Jill,” I said happily.

“Are you kidding?” Four demanded.

“Nope. It’s the truth,” I purred. “My reward for winning the single sulky race.”

“Oh that’s just great,” growled Mistress Eve. “Now you’ll be worn out. Damn that Jill.”

“Oh no, My Lady,” I said. “We will win for you, I promise.”

“Well if you don’t I’ll punish you,” she warned.

Number Three wriggled in anticipation of a whipping.

“No, not that,” Mistress Eve said. “I’ll just lock the bunch of you into chastity belts,” she paused. “Number ten chastity belts, then I’ll tie you into hogties and hoist you to the rafters and leave you there every night.”

We all paled in fear. 

Number ten chastity belts are horrific. They are made of hard steel with wide gussets which are very uncomfortable, and unyielding waist bands. They can be tightened with worm screws which require tools and a determined mistress can get them so tight that it’s hard to breathe. They are also lined with horrid little knobs that press into our skin so deeply that we have marks for days. Only the craziest masochist can find those things to be sexy, and even then the fun wears off fast. They make walking difficult and running is impossible. It’s painful to sit down and reclining is not much better. Trying to sleep in one is a waste of time. I wore one for an entire eight hours once. I was spread between posts with my feet off the ground and I started out with a delightful tingle in my pussy as they used wrenches to tighten the belt, but within two hours I was begging to have it removed. There were no vibrators inside my body, nothing to create a bit of pleasure, just that unyielding, uncaring cruel mass of metal clamping my entire lower body. My pleading didn’t help; in fact, it got me gagged and an extra couple of hours tacked on to my sentence. I was stiff for two days afterwards and the marks on my skin took longer than that to fade. I never want to wear one again.

My team won our race with another record time. We jumped out to an early lead and Mistress Eve was content to crack the whip on our every fourth step. We were running easily and confidently but she picked up the pace and began cracking the whip over my shoulder onto my right nipple. I couldn’t understand why she was doing that until I hear the sound of another team’s foot steps coming closer. We wore blinders so I couldn’t see them, and didn’t dare turn my head but I lengthened my stride and the others followed. I got a minute of respite from the whip, but the other team almost caught us again and my poor nipple suffered some more. I didn’t know what team was pressing us but they got so close that I got a fleeting glimpse of them. Then Mistress Eve used her whip with real determination. Her next stroke got my poor, sore nipple so perfectly that it felt like a branding iron was touching me. I couldn’t restrain a sob and I really took off. The other girls were struggling and rhythm was non existent for half a lap, but they were encouraged with the whip on their boobs too. We got it together and made it across the finish line half a length ahead of the second place team. Mistress Eve allowed to slow to a walk, then jumped out of the chariot and gave me a hug. I was soaked with perspiration and my poor breast was bright pink, but she caressed and kissed it until I was purring like a kitten. My side ached and I was gasping for breath and almost didn’t care what she was doing to my boobie. Almost.

Number two made eager whimpering noises and she, and the rest got equal treatment. (Well, almost equal.) After washing us down Mistress Eve locked them into the waiting stalls, then she took me to my living stall in the stable, tied me wide open on my bunk and rubbed ointment into my poor abused breast. I hoped that she would do more but she told me that Mistress Jill had already rewarded me more than enough for one day.

Our house ponies won the half-mile relay race with Valerie running the last leg, and she won two solo sprint races.

The princesses ran in semi dress harness of high gloss patent leather trimmed with a few strips of white lace and they looked delightful. When Val won her race and was being led out of the winner’s circle she strode along without the slightest sign of fatigue. She walked like a queen and was stunning, even in racing harness. People’s jaws dropped in admiration and some chased down Mistress Karen with offers to buy her. One man offered over a million dollars! Karen had refused all offers, but she took Valerie aside and told her about that one. Val immediately shook her head and told Mistress Karen that she wanted to stay at the farm but that she wouldn’t mind being to the man for the night. Mistress Karen went to him with Val’s suggestion and he accepted immediately. Karen told him that he should hear the price first. She named Valerie’s rental at fifty thousand dollars for twelve hours. He paid without a murmur!

Val was rented out every night during the show and earned two hundred thousand dollars in four nights. One straight woman paid for a night with her and later told people that she had never even dreamt of sex with a woman until she laid eyes on Val.

Valerie enough money to retire right then and there, but she told Mistress Karen that she would happily donate the money to the farm’s general fund if she could be transferred to the barn. Mistress Karen reluctantly agreed and Valerie became a plow pony. She was utterly ecstatic and Karen put the money in Val’s personal account anyway. Val is now one of our hardest working labor ponies, and the dirtier she gets, the happier she is.

It’s been three years now, and Valerie is still delighted with hard physical labor. Her eyes still sparkle when she is brought in at the end of the day covered with dirt and sweat. She submits to mistresses and visitors with a cheerful resignation, but sex just isn’t as important to her as is hard work.

A photographer noticed her dragging a plow and paid to use her as a model. He was very smart, and instead of getting her all made up and in elegant costume he photographed her in rough harness and with her hair uncombed. Even then her stunning beauty shone through and when the pictures were published the magazines sold out the first day.

The next day my team came in third in dressage and to our astonishment; the corporate wives won first place. They had practiced their routine ten hours a day and their performance was terrific. They wore lovely tan harness, which was almost the color of their skin and it made them appear to be nude. The harness was highlighted with copper fittings which sparkled under in the lights. They wore matching coppery wigs and their pussies were lightly painted with copper body paint. They also wore the highest heeled ballet/pony boots I’ve ever seen. The boots were dyed copper color and were shined to an incredible gloss and the heels were so high that the girls literally stood on their toes. (I’ve worn that kind of boot and it takes weeks to get used to them.) They forced the girls to lean forward while standing still. This really forced their breasts out but they stood like statues when not in motion. We were impressed at their rigid discipline and they received a lot of applause, especially the foot fetishists. People begged to know who made their boots.

They also came in fourth in one of the team races, but they wore regular running shoes for that.

The Clydesdales didn’t run in any races, although they did win every tug of war, and they even beat the male teams. But they were at the show more for display rather than competition.

One afternoon their Mistress led them onto the center court of the track. They were pulling a heavy Roman war chariot and it was not light and easy to pull; it was deliberately made to look heavy and forbidding.  The ponies wore heavy red harness studded with dull silver conchos and Roman helmets with red crests. On their lower legs they wore white horsehair that draped over heavy horseshoe boots. Their nipples were emphasized with brown makeup and their pussies were bare and shiny with body oil. They were harnessed to the chariot side by side.

Mistress Ruth wore a white and gold costume of Roman armor with a very short skirt, high white boots and openings in the breast plate to expose her chest. It was topped off with a golden helmet and a long flowing cape of gold. Mistress Ruth isn’t the best looking woman I’ve ever seen, but she looked delicious in that outfit. She took her stance in the chariot and let out a high pitched yell that reminded me of a British army sergeant on the parade ground. The building went quiet as everyone turned to watch.

The Clydesdales lifted their left legs, paused and then slammed them on the ground. A resounded thump echoed through the building. A long pause, then the same with the right legs. They repeated this for a few beats, then on a silent count stepped off. The first steps were in slow motion, with a pause when each foot was off the ground. The pace slowly increased until they were walking at a steady ponderous pace. Each footfall echoed throughout the barn. Mistress Ruth guided them onto the track with white leather reins. They marched onto the track and began to circle the building. Their pace grew slightly faster and they began stomping their left feet louder than their right. They sounded like an old steam engine picking up speed.

Mistress Ruth stood on wide spread legs as her team gained momentum, and the crowd applauded when a gust of wind through the doors blew up her skirt to reveal that her pussy was uncovered.

The Clydesdales increased their pace steadily until they were at a steady trot. They changed the pattern of their hoof beats until every fourth one was loud and the others softer. They never ran very fast, they just maintained that heavy, relentless jog that seemed to mesmerize everyone. They circled the track several times to the stares of an astonished crowd. No one seemed to move, no one bought drinks at the bar or hotdogs, or walked around, we all just watched in awe. I was staring at those enormous breasts as they swayed in perfect time, but I caught a glimpse of their faces. Their expressions were placid. They ran with their eyes calm and with no hint of exertion. They looked as if they could maintain that pace for ever.

I was witness to a curious, and ultimately wonderful occurrence as the Clydesdales ran.

Two women walked into the display building. They stopped just out of sight at the end of the bleachers. One was small and pretty, the other was quite overweight, and she wore a bulky sweat shirt and loose pants, trying to hide her body. The younger woman pointed at the Clydesdales.

“See? I told you that big women can be ponies.”

The fat girl hung her head and wouldn’t look. Her companion pleaded with her to look and to understand what was happening but she just stared at the ground. A visiting Mistress happened by and took in what was happening. She stopped and confronted the fat girl.

“Are you a slave?” she asked. The fat girl made no reply.

“She wants to be,” the small girl said. “But she’s afraid.”

“Afraid of what? Afraid of living?” the mistress demanded. The small girl shrugged helplessly.

“Show me your breasts,” the Mistress commanded the fat girl. Her head flew up.

“You heard me, now pull your shirt up.”

The fat girl shook her head. The mistress stepped close and yanked the girl’s sweatshirt up exposing her bra. The girl tried desperately to tug it down but the mistress grabbed her wrist and kept the shirt up. “Pin her arms,” she ordered the small girl. The fat girl struggled but her arms were soon pulled tightly behind her back. The mistress puller the shirt over the girl’s head, then yanked her brassiere off. A pair of large floppy breasts came into view. The fat girl struggled but she was no match for the domina. Her shirt and bra were soon on the ground. The Mistress took a set of handcuffs from her belt and cuffed the blushing girl’s arms behind her. Then she squeezed the girl’s breasts.

“Are you lesbians?” she asked.

“Yes ma am,” the small girl answered.

“Get your top off too.”

When the small girl was nude from the waist up the mistress looked around and saw me. She motioned me over.

“Go to my cage. In the wooden chest you will find harness, cuffs and so forth, bring me what I’ll need.”

“Yes Lady,” I sprinted away.

I rummaged through the equipment box and grabbed collars ankle and wrist cuffs, belts and pussy straps and gags. When I got back both girls were stark naked. The fat girl was writhing in embarrassment but her companion was pink with excitement. The Mistress quickly buckled the gear onto the women, then led them out by leashes. The fat girl tried to shy back but she got a resounding slap across her bottom which got her moving. Everyone was still watching the Clydesdales and paid no attention to the mistress or her new slaves. She took them to a spot near the end of the track. I had the temerity to follow and the Mistress allowed me to. She ordered them to watch as the Clydesdales bore down on us. The fat girl still had her eyes on the ground so the mistress took her chin in hand and forced her head up. The girl’s eyes widened as she watched the Clydesdales thunder past. She stared as they circled several more times.

Mistress Ruth slowed her team and obviously intended to stop but the crowd shouted for her to keep going, so she did. They ran for almost an hour before she allowed them to rest. And even then they weren’t breathing hard. Mistress Ruth allowed them to pose for photos and everyone crowded around. Some man reached out and grasped one of the huge breasts. Then another did the same thing. Mistress Ruth tried to stop that but to no avail. Dozens of hands were groping her slaves, both boobs and pussies and she had no chance to keep the away. As she struggled to keep the crowd away a hand even went up Mistress Ruth’s skirt. She shrieked in indignation and the crowd roared with laughter. The ponies stood through all this and tried to maintain their placed demeanor but soon their cheeks were pink and they seemed to have difficulty standing still.

The visiting Mistress pushed through the crowd and placed her new slaves in front of the Clydesdales. Hands immediately swarmed over their breasts too. I watched the face of the fat girl as she actually seemed to have an orgasm. (Of course, there were hands in her crotch as well as on her breasts.)

Finally Mistress Ruth tugged on the reins and got her slaves moving. Everyone had to get out of the way or risk being trampled. The crowd was good natured and didn’t follow. She took them to their stall and unharnessed them. The visiting Mistress followed with her girls and I saw them in conversation. Ruth seemed very interested and I figured that she was preaching liberation and freedom to the fat girl, who seemed to hang on every word. I ran back and picked up their clothes and used that as an excuse to stand close and listen in. Unfortunately the visiting Mistress saw me, took the clothing and dismissed me. Later I saw the visiting Mistress getting the fat girl fitted with harness.

I don’t know what happened after that. I didn’t get their names and I didn’t see them any more. I like to think that they are now happy slaves with some cruel mistress and that the fat girl has toned up to be another Clydesdale. 

I was assisting Mistress Eve with the beauty contests. She was the announcer and introduced dozens of lovely female ponies in the costume competition, harness competition and the nude show. Since I wasn’t in a race I got to wear my presentation harness.

I was back stage trying to keep the contestants in the correct order when I saw Audrey march into the building wearing a fantastic showgirl costume. Beside her marched another pony in an identical outfit.

Their costumes were elegant pink and silver silk, with the tallest plumes I’ve ever seen. Their harness was silver leather, the buckles were pure silver set with pink gemstones and their arms were tightly laced into silver sheaths behind their backs. They wore silver stockings over lovely silver heels. Their skin was sprinkled with silver dust, their nipples were painted pale pink, and incredibly, their pubic hair was dyed silver. Silver mesh veils concealed their faces and beneath them their mouths were stretched open over silver ball gags. Very big ball gags!

The veils concealed their faces so well that I did a double take and only recognized Audrey by her eyes. I didn’t recognize the other slave. 

I didn’t know that Audrey was entered in any contests and when they got to me I opened my mouth to ask what she was doing, when the pony beside her cleared her throat. I looked closely and squealed when I recognized Jane. I put out my arms to hug her but she hopped back in alarm.

“Be careful, Number One,” warned Mistress Jill. “Don’t smudge her body makeup.”

“Yes ma am.”

I looked at Jane, whose eyes were sparkling.

“I had no idea you were coming,” I whispered.

Mistress Jill removed Jane’s gag. “Audrey set it up,” Jane said. “We wanted to surprise you.”

I looked at Mistress Jill, who nodded. “Yes, I’ve been secretly helping them prepare,” she said.

“You both look terrific,” I said, turning back to them. “But be careful, there are dozens of photographers here.”

“Don’t worry,” Mistress Jill said. “Those veils turn into mirrors under a photographic flash. Only their eyes will be visible.”

I leaned close to Jane. “Does she know who you are?”

Jane nodded.

“Have no fear, Number One,” Mistress Jill said. “I’ve been bribed to secrecy.”

“And I can guess how,” I laughed. “Just you?” I asked Jane, “Or did you both have to please our lady?”

“She demanded both of us,” Audrey said, “But no sacrifice is too much for my dear friend.”

Mistress Jill touched Audrey’s nipple with the tip of her finger. Audrey smiled at Mistress Jill under seductive eyes, and wriggled happily.

I glanced at the ball gag in Mistress Jill’s hand. It was made of metal, very solid and shiny. It was supported by pink leather straps.

“Good heavens,” I said. “That looks very uncomfortable.”

“It is,” Jane said, “Very uncomfortable.” She smiled at Mistress Jill.

“Um hmm,” Audrey managed to add.

“Would you like to wear a sold silver ball gag?” Mistress Jill asked me teasingly.

“Oh no,” I gasped instinctively, but then I looked at Audrey. She winked at me.

“Well, perhaps I might after all,” I said, “Just for a minute.”

Mistress Jill handed me that gag and I almost dropped it. “My God, it’s heavy!” I gasped.

I don’t know why, but the weight of that gag was an instant turn on. My pussy was soaked in an instant. “May I wear it?”

“Yes, later,” Mistress Jill said. “But for now, ,” she started to put the gag back in Jane’s mouth.

I leaned forward being careful not to smudge Jane’s body makeup, lifted her veil and kissed her on the mouth. Jane opened her lips and her tongue slid into mine. Mistress Jill gave us a moment, then tapped my shoulder.

“That looked like a sweet kiss,” she said as she buckled the ball back in Jane’s mouth.

“It was, My Lady,” I answered. “Would you like to see how sweet it can be?”

“I intend to,” she said. “I have special plans for all three of you. This afternoon and tonight.”

Jane wiggled happily, so did Audrey.

“Is that to be the payment of your bribe?” I laughed.

“The final installment,” Jill chuckled. “I’ve been collecting advance payments for weeks now.”

Jane blushed and lowered her eyes, but Audrey shook her breasts proudly.

Mistress Donna looked in to see what was causing the hold up.

“I’d better get back to work,” I said. “But I can’t wait to help pay my share of the bill.”

Audrey and Jane won the costume contest hands down. The performed a low key but elegant dressage on stage. I risked a whipping by sneaking away and watching them as they performed to a silent and awe struck crowd, and my heart ached that I wasn’t up there with them. Afterwards they posed for over an hour while scores of photographers took their pictures.

Mistress Jill’s special plan for me was indeed wonderful. A matching pink and silver costume had been made for me. It turned out that the hard gags weren’t solid silver, only silver plated aluminum, but I did wear one and it was extremely uncomfortable, although oddly enough, very sexy too.

That evening she publicly double crossed Jane and Audrey and me. (Actually you cannot double cross three women at once, so she started with Audrey and I together for an hour, then put Jane in Audrey’s place, then Audrey in mine.) And since wearing a veil interferes with eating someone’s pussy, we were put into pink opera masks. When we weren’t on the cross we knelt at a short post while cameras clicked constantly. I wondered why someone would shoot roll after roll of film of a woman so tightly bound that she could not move a muscle and so each photo was exactly like the others.

I didn’t need to conceal my identity, but Audrey and Jane did, and adding a mask to my face gave us all an air of mystery, which caused a lot of spectators to speculate on who we were. Rumors flew that we were celebrities, or wives of prominent politicians, and so on, and our Mistresses fueled the rumors by dropping hints that we had to leave to get back to Sacramento as soon as our performance was over.

Afterwards we were taken to Mistress Jill’s room and spent the night taking turns licking her pussy. She tied us into tight hogties on out bellies and moved between us placing her pussy at our mouths.

Our costumes were so incredibly beautiful that Jane arranged a very private and discreet session with one of the top portrait photographers in the world. I took furlough and drove down to Los Angeles. The shoot was intended to be just cheesecake with us in costume and masks, but as the day wore on and more and more of our costumes were removed things got pretty raunchy and it turned into an orgy with all three of us having sex in front of the camera. We also posed without our masks. Once we were stark naked the orgy began and the lady photographer forgot her professionalism and stripped her own clothes off. So did her assistants. The girls were cute and not all were lesbians, although that didn’t stop them, and one of her aides was a very gay male, and even he got naked and jumped into the pile. He later boasted that this was the first time in his life that he’d put himself inside a woman. Jane, Audrey and I were very proud to have seduced every person in the studio.

Jane got all the prints and negatives and gave us copies. And after careful perusal to make sure that no one’s identity could be compromised she sold some of them through an agent to a famous girlie magazine. The pictures are reprinted time after time, and after all these years the agent still gets pleas from the publishers to find out the identities of the models.

The next day Audrey had to go back to work helping in the kitchen, but Jane was marched through the grounds in black leather harness and wearing a full slave hood. Mistress Jill reapplied her silver body paint and buckled her pink collar on and everyone knew that she was one of the mystery women. Her eyes weren’t blocked and she was able to see as Mistress Jill led her around the grounds. She reveled in being on display.

A row of pillories, crosses, and kneeling posts had been set up beside the main barn and anyone could secure a slave to them, for a moment or an hour. Some masters used them to park slaves while they did something else and others invited passersby to make free with the helpless men and women. After her tour of the grounds Mistress Jill turned Jane over to the mistress in charge of the kneeling posts and went away. Jane was bound on her knees beside other slaves and forced (actually allowed) to suck the penises of passing men. She spent hours on her knees and in the afternoon she was locked into a pillory and her bottom was made available to any and all.

        Lots of females, and quite a few males, were spanked, whipped and screwed while bent into those things. Jane was in the pillory for two hours and her bottom, thighs and back were soon coated with cum. Her breast were already caked with it. She was only taken out so she could participate in the male stamina competition.

Twenty females were needed for the males to fuck, and Mistress Jill saw to it that Jane was included; however, Jane was a mess so Mistress Jill took her to our washroom, cleaned  her up and replaced her hood. The original was soaked with semen. It was literally sopping and Mistress Jill threw it away. (I asked Jane how many men had been in her mouth and she told me that she honestly could not say, but thought that it had to have been at least twenty.)

The stamina contest took place in front of the grandstand and was run like a three ring circus.

Three women were strapped onto hospital gurneys with their legs apart, and then wheeled into view. Three more were strapped onto additional gurneys and kept waiting in the wings. More slave women were in line off stage. The males were given two hours to fuck as many women as they could. When a male spurted into a woman, she was taken away and a fresh one was wheeled in. I wasn’t in the contest this year, but I’ve been used in it in the past.

Big Boy won the stamina contest by screwing eight females (including Jane) in a two-hour period.

Second place went to an Italian stallion from Atlanta; he managed six women (including Jane) and third place was taken by a huge slave from India, who wore a turban (and nothing else). He was enormous and impressive, but he went flat after five girls. (He didn’t make it to Jane.)

After Big Boy’s magnificent performance his mistress was offered an enormous amount of money for him. Rumor has it that three ladies pooled their money and offered over two hundred thousand dollars.

Female slaves get the highest offers and the million dollar bid for Valerie and the standing offer of a million dollars for Janet Albers are the highest on record. An offer of two hundred thousand for Big Boy is the largest ever for a man, but his mistress wouldn’t sell him.

Even though she couldn’t buy him, Mistress Karen exercised her privilege as lady of the house and claimed Big Boy for the night. He knelt beside her chair at the banquet, his cock standing tall and proud as he gazed up at her. She fed him by hand and his eyes never left her face. Afterwards she rose and walked out like a queen. Big boy trotted after her, and the room got quiet as every eye watched his cock grow as she led him away.

“Hmm,” a visiting domina grumped when they were gone. “He certainly seems to adore her.”

“He’s been loaned to her in the past,” Mistress Agnes told her, “So he knows what he’s in for.”

The banquet room was utterly silent for a long time.

During the day Mistress Karen permitted her slaves a few hours freedom each, which we took in relays. We could wander around, eat junk food, mingle with people and shop the displays.

The next day I found Jane still on her knees. She was sucking on a penis. I bent down and asked if she wanted to go look around. She shook her head emphatically and never took her eyes off the face of the man she was sucking. She didn’t get to be a slave very often and wasn’t going to waste a minute of it. She winked up at me and squeaked happily as he began to spurt into her mouth. 

The grounds had booths with people selling harness and tack, jewelry, tee shirts, souvenir caps, pony girl key rings, and coffee mugs. I must confess to being thrilled when I saw my picture on the cover of a bondage magazine at the bookstore kiosk.

Merchants advertised bondage and restraint equipment and one enterprising whip maker allowed customers to test his merchandise on his naked wife, who hung by her wrists beneath a whipping frame. She was a terrific slave because she hung for hours without complaint and thanked everyone quite sincerely who tested a whip on her. By the end of the day her body was covered with welts but she seemed quite content.

Her husband sold a lot of whips.

There was a body modification booth and some people got tattoos and body piercings. Mistress Karen doesn’t like piercing and forbids any of us to have it done but she permitted the entrepreneur to operate his business for the others.

Lou had a stand displaying his fetish jewelry and custom harness, and when he was suddenly overwhelmed by requests for branding irons he drove into town one evening and bought a bunch of old printing type from an antique store. He got hundreds of capital letters in large point and rigged up a way to attach them to a long handle. If a master or mistress wanted to brand a slave, it took Lou only a minute to provide an iron so long as only initials were branded onto the slave.  

When someone bought a branding iron the word would spread quickly and everyone would rush to the branding cross.

I bought a set of fake nipple rings and wore them on my boobies. They were simple gold bands, springy with tiny spikes that bit into my skin. Unless you looked closely they looked just like real pierced rings. I bought one for my pussy too.

I was strolling around with Gloria when Mistress Karen saw me. She stopped and stared, then motioned me close.

“Have you been pierced?” she demanded.

“No my lady, these are false,” I told her.

“Let me see.”

I took one off and handed it to her.

“I have one on my pussy too,” I told her. She glanced at my crotch.

“Good thing this is fake,” she said, examining the ring. “Otherwise I was going to have you whipped.”

I smiled at her.

“Whipped very hard,” she said.

I grinned and wiggled side to side.

“I mean it, Number One,” she threatened. “If you get your body pierced I’ll whip you half to death!”

I began hopping up and down.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she said, and stomped away. She got a few yards and remembered the ring in her hand. She walked back and tried to hand it to me. I folded my hands behind my back and thrust my breast toward her. She put the ring back on my nipple and squeezed it closed. A tiny thrill shot through me and I gasped, then rolled my eyes up and pretended I was having an orgasm. (Actually I was very near to one.)

Mistress Karen watched me calmly. “Are you finished now?” she asked.

I offered my other boob. “Thank you ma am. May I please have another?”

She gave up, shook her head, kissed me on the lips and walked away. Gloria offered her breast as Mistress Karen passed and was rewarded with a quick pinch on her nipple.

The show was great fun and the carnival atmosphere was marred by only one unpleasant incident when a man leading a female pony unexpectedly ran into his wife, who was being led by another man. The first man demanded to know what his wife was doing there but she was gagged and couldn’t answer.

“You’re supposed to be at home with the kids!” he shouted. When he tried to remove her gag the other master intervened.

“And you told her that you were on a business trip,” he yelled.

They almost came to blows. Mistress Donna happened by and put a stop to the pushing and shoving. A crowd gathered while she sorted things out. After listening to both men she asked the wife if she wanted to speak. The woman shook her head. Donna then asked her if she wanted to stay or go with her husband. The woman shook her head. Donna asked if she wanted to stay with the other master and the slave nodded deeply. Her husband howled in indignation but Mistress Donna ruled that the second man had temporary ownership of the woman.

“She’s my wife,” the husband yelled at the top of his voice.

“Perhaps, but this week she is his slave,” Donna announced. She reminded him that he had brought another slave who was clearly not his wife, so his indignation carried no merit. The husband was a large man but he didn’t try anything physical with Lady Donna, who looked like a war goddess in boots and riding pants. The husband looked around for support but found that everyone was laughing at him. He yanked his slave by her leash and stomped away. She trotted after him, Mistress Donna went her way and people crowded around and looked at the disputed pony. She blushed shyly as people examined her nude body. She wasn’t much to look at but she radiated a sexuality that made several people offer to swap slaves for her.

She gave her master a meaningful look and he whispered a question in her ear. She nodded and he agreed to trade her for another slave for a few hours. Her husband came around the corner in time to see the masters handing each other the slaves’ leashes. A look of despair came over him and he turned and walked away. It turned out that his wife was borrowed by a number of masters. I was surprised to discover that she really was a pony, because I saw her trotting off into the hills pulling a sulky driven by yet another man. She ran with the ease of long experience.

Not long afterwards her husband left the farm with his other slave. I never did find out who was watching the kids.

When the events concluded each evening the parties began and went until the late hours, and by the time the show ended on Monday night we were utterly worn out.

Most of the guests were gone by noon Tuesday and Mistress Karen gave everybody the rest of the day off. Wednesday too.

Everyone, slave or mistress, accountant, cook, and truck driver, went to bed and slept like the dead. Thank God the security guards were at their posts.