PART III
"Now you will walk like you have been taught", Jen climbed aboard the trap and
with a flick of her arm gave Beyonce a sharp smack on the bottom with her whip.
"Yah!"
Beyonce had no choice but to start her prancing again, this time pulling the
cart. She stepped forward and felt the weight behind her; it started moving
slowly after her.
"Posture ponygirl! Posture"
Another flick of the whip; this time lapping around her right side to deliver
the painful sting squarely to her breast. Beyonce shook her head with the pain
but quickly corrected her stance and began the same strutting as before. She
felt the bar in her mouth tense a little as the reins were drawn in.
"Nice and steady there ponygirl"
She felt the pressure on the back of her tongue, she moved her head back to try
and loosen it; pushing her breasts out further.
"Legs wider ponygirl"
She complied. The cart had done half a revolution now and she started to return
to where the stable hand was waiting. She obediently thrust her pussy out
towards him, shaking her bells as much as she could. She felt the disciplining
pressure of her control bit; it hinted at the discomfort it could cause if her
Mistress were to pull on her reins. She felt tremendously helpless and
controlled. There was absolutely nothing she could do but follow her Mistresses
instructions to the letter and hope that it was enough to please her so that she
was not punished further.
"Whoa there ponygirl", Jen pulled firmly on the reins.
Beyonce's head shook trying to escape the horrible sensation of the control rod
driving itself into her throat. It was deeply horrible, making her feel like
gagging and at the same time bringing on a panic and a sense of breathlessness.
She stopped walking, desperately shaking her head to try and escape the gagging.
When the cart stopped, the tension finally eased and she stood still breathing
deeply to easy the urge to throw up. She rapidly checked her posture and stood
panting, tense, waiting for her next instructions.
"Yah!" another smack on the bottom and she set off again, held in check once
more by the constant tension, controlling her reins.
Jen continued to take her round the circle; starting her and stopping her. She
kept varying the length of Beyonce's runs, sometimes stopping her immediately,
sometimes letting her walk round several times. Always she would swiftly
discipline her for anything less than an immediate response. She spent the
morning training Beyonce to walk like a perfect ponygirl; the most humiliating
'proud' strut she could manage, all the time her tail swishing behind her,
reminding her of the firm dildo clenched within her ass. The huge vaginal
intruder made itself impossible to forget.
Jen continued tirelessly at Beyonce for three hours. It became almost
brain-washingly monotonous. This was the life of the ponygirl; how Beyonce was
to spend her days. She was helpless to resist the tedium of starting and
stopping but forced to keep her focus absolutely on where she was, ready to obey
rapidly. After an hour her feet were starting to rub and hurt in her boots. The
high heels were getting difficult to walk in and she had to concentrate hard not
to loose her balance on her tiny stilettos. She dared not stop her high kneed
prancing though as Jen was very quick to remind her of any deviation from her
prescribed walk.
Twice after the first two hours, Beyonce's mind wandered a little and she
slumped her posture. Immediate correction with harsh strokes to her breast and
ass soon righted things though. Jen was extremely talented with the use of the
whip. After Beyonce failed to stop quickly enough twice in a row, she rewarded
her with a terrible strap round her side, the end of the whip perfectly engaging
with her most tender labia and clitoris. Beyonce had screamed and screamed.
After this she had cried her eyes almost dry desperately trying to get it right,
her poor pussy aching terribly. The tears had flowed more readily when one of
the other stable hands had come and stood by the track, watching her, grinning.
She would have to strut past him, the beads of sweat glistening on her exposed
body; thrusting and jangling her widely presented pussy at him. She had filled
up with a deep red blush, averted her watering eyes and concentrated on getting
her walk right; waiting intently for her Mistresses commands, re-doubling her
efforts to be a good, obedient ponygirl. She hated herself for it. She had had
the world at her feet two days ago. Now she was desperate to strut like a
perfect slut, dressed in the most humiliating way imaginable to her. Every time
she thought about it she wished she could just die.
After the three hours had finished Beyonce was exhausted. Her feet were killing
her from the extreme heels, the front of her shins ached intensely from working
so intensely. Her feet felt blistered from rubbing in her new footwear, despite
the high quality leather of her pony-boots they would still need to be worn in.
Her trainers were well aware of this and her training schedule would reflect it.
Once her boots had been broken in, she would be slowly introduced to subsequent
pairs. There would therefore be no need to rest her again and it would not
provide an encumbrance to her use as a service animal. Her thighs were also sore
and chaffed from the bands securing her large outer lips which had been rubbing
against her legs. Her lips themselves were red and stung intensely from the
stresses of being wrenched up and down with every step. The salt from her sweat
made her stand with her legs widely apart, to keep the stinging to a minimum.
Her jaw ached from her bit; this was something that she would not have any
respite from though. She would learn to get used to the bit and its discomforts.
That was a necessary part of being a ponygirl.
Jen had dismounted and had put the break on the cart. She walked round to the
wet, tender Beyonce who still had a good ponygirl stance in spite of her pain.
Jen smiled to herself with satisfaction. It was always so rewarding to see a
proud woman reduced to the status of a lowly, degraded ponygirl. To see her
standing erect with her head high and her breasts protruding, her discipline
enforcing the humiliation that would become a way of life for her.
'Is it thirsty?' Jen asked, wiping the sweat from Beyonce's nose and toying with
her ring.
An affirmative jingle of the bell on the ring secured in her clitoris followed.
Jen turned to the stable hand.
'Rest her for half an hour, soak her feet and then put her out in the sun for
the afternoon'
Jen examined Beyonce's nipple rings. There was no bleeding when she turned them.
She did the same to her clit ring and the lines of rings in her labia; again
they looked fine.
'She can start with some training on these too' she added.
He nodded casually. After this, Jen looked back at Beyonce. In spite of her fear
and intense desire to not be punished further she actually did look proud stood
in her full ponygirl attire. A wide grin broke out upon Jen's face.
'I know what we can call her', she said, 'I think "Princess" will suit her don't
you?'
'Oh yes! She's a beauty all right!' the man agreed, ' a real proud one!'
Princess?! She hadn't even considered that she might get a new name.
'What do you think there Princess?' Jen asked her
'Princess?', Beyonce wondered aghast.
Her lip trembled as she started to cry. She shook her clitoris as she shook
weeping, it gave the necessary ring. The way Jen had said the name, the mocking
attached to it, made her feel more miserable than she had all day. Here she was,
utterly displayed and they were referring to her as some kind of prize pig. She
had to try and remind herself that she was actually a human being though she
really didn't feel like one anymore; and she certainly wasn't to be treated like
one. She felt like the lowest creature on the planet. Jen was, of course,
delighted with her reaction. She lightly fingered the leather encircling her
throat.
'Yes Princess, you'll have a pretty tag on your collar with your lovely new name
on. And a sign on your stall too so everyone will know what this pretty ponygirl
is called. And so you don't forget who you are you will be branded later this
evening. Now won't that be nice?'
Beyonce stared in disbelief.
'I asked you a question' the whip cracking on her breast. Beyonce was still slow
so Jen struck her other breast, hard. She suddenly came round as if she'd been
in a trance and frantically shook her bell; YES, that would be nice. She
couldn't think of anything worse.
