The Parson’s widow’s tale.

I had a comfortable middle class upbringing, was well educated, and then worked briefly as a teacher at a local private school. Then the new curate arrived, swept me off my feet, and in no time I was a church wife. The drunken driver who killed him only two years into my marriage changed everything. His insurance company paid me enough to make me independent, and after a few grief filled months, I set off on a Grand Tour.

I met Susie at the hotel where I was staying. About my own age, very pretty, and great fun to be with. We started to spend a lot of time together, and I told her my sad story. She was not forthcoming about her own life, but then after a few days dropped her bombshell. She was a sort of very high class, expensive, for want of a better word, prostitute. She worked for a man who had trained her, she received a fair percentage of the fee, he protected her, and she earned enough to live well, and stay in the class of hotel we were sharing on holidays like this.

Unfortunately, I really liked her, and enjoyed her company, I expressed my reservations, and disapproval, but we carried on enjoying ourselves.

I could not, however, refrain from the odd comment about self-discipline, and caring for one’s own standards. Susie responded by saying that her training had required more self-discipline than I had shown in the whole of my life. And did I think she underwent it for pleasure, or to ensure that she never ended up as a back alley prostitute, with a pimp who abused her. She was proud of her achievement, and would bet me I wouldn’t last an afternoon, let alone the months she had endured.

It got sillier and sillier, both being light-hearted, but more detailed, as she described some of the training she had undergone, which shocked me to the core, but both of us became more sure of our own rightness. There was a great  deal of laughing and teasing, but she finally got to me.

In a moment of bravado, I declared that I would undergo the training if she could arrange it. Just the training, mind, not the lifestyle that went with it.

Suddenly, on the last night of her holiday, she announced that her boss would at least talk to me if I meant what I said. The words bluff and called sprang to mind, but I did agree to travel back with her.

I had an appointment for two day’s time, and Susie picked me up. All she said was that “Sir”  was a good idea, and she had explained my background to him.

So, I stood in this office, with nobody offering me a chair, and met Mr Jenkins. Susie was dismissed, and he began to speak. “I have agreed to meet you to dispel any thoughts you may have entertained about Susie choosing a soft option. Her description of the things she has been trained to do is accurate. We provide a highly specialised and expensive service to very wealthy clients, and my girls and I all do very well out of it. I have heard something about you, and understand how you were backed into a corner, and why you said what you did. But why should I waste time and money training you, when we both know that the lifestyle is neither necessary or desirable to you?”

“I am sincere, Sir”, I replied, “and would expect to defray your expenses”. I replied. I was not going to back down, accept the get-out and heave a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, but no thanks. It is not just the money, it is the time and effort involved. I think you are somewhat relieved, to be honest”.

Perversely, being turned down was hard to accept. In desperation, I played my last card. “I would never be able to follow Susie’s way of life, nor do I need to, but I will work for you for three months, without pay, to prove myself to Susie and to me”.

A long silence, then “Ok, we’ll see. Take off your clothes”.

That was unexpected. I hesitated, realised eventually that he meant it, and undressed, leaving my panties to last, with some vague thought he might say I had gone far enough, then stood, one hand covering my lower parts, and an elbow across my breasts.

“Disobedient, unduly modest, and stupid”, was his response, and he asked if I thought he told me to undress because he wanted to study the back of my left hand, and my right forearm. I put my hands to my side. “Better, but not good enough. You undressed to show me your assets. Raise your hands above your head, together behind your neck, open your legs, and thrust yourself out towards me”. As I complied , he walked behind me. “Lessons are for learning. You were a teacher, and you know that the best students are keen to learn, and cooperate fully. I want you to prepare yourself to receive  three strokes of my cane, one for your hesitation, or disobedience, one for your stupidity, or undue modesty, and one for your attitude, or lack of cooperation. Do you not think that fair?”.

I nodded agreement and bent forward slightly, feet together, to receive my punishment.

“It is now four. The fourth is because you should realise that this is not a game of forfeits. I expected you to have your feet at least three feet apart, and your hands as far down as they will go, at the very least grasping your ankles“

I  very quickly assumed the correct position. My first ever caning was already causing me concern, I had no wish to see any further increase. He walked behind me, and ran his hands, and then his fingers,

over the target area, then stepped back and delivered four extremely hard strokes of his cane, while I forced myself to remain still and quiet. I knew that this was a test.

Then I was told to resume my position, and he said he thought 50,000 pounds reasonable, and he would take up my further offer. I would be given a paper to sign, saying that I was doing this of my own free will, and confirming my three months unpaid work. We agreed to start at 8am on the following Monday, and I was to arrive wearing only enough clothes to avoid arrest, no shoes, and no rings or other jewellery. I would never see any of the things I brought again, so I was to be careful. Susie would be given a few more days off, and would bring me on the Monday. From that very moment, I was not to speak unless specifically told to. Then I was taken next door, given a thorough medical examination by someone who obviously knew what he was doing, but still enjoyed probing young girl’s inner parts, then I was measured. My feet my waist, my bust, my neck, each of my breasts, my hips, my thighs, both width and length, my arms, my fingers, just about everything really. After which I dressed and was handed over to Susie.

She stayed with me for the week. We did a lot of fun things around town, but she also did her best to prepare me. I had my hair properly styled for the first time, which was an experience, and changed my appearance quite a lot. She went over again the various things I would be trained in. She warned me about the drugs I would get with my food, but reassured me they would do many things to me, but they were not addictive. They had no use for drug addicts, they were a liability. The tablets  would be libido enhancers, they would be vitamins, they would ensure I did not become pregnant, they would delay my periods, those were the ones she knew of. Many she never found out the reason for, but they were given under medical supervision. Having ascertained the number of sexual positions I had tried (one), she used a dildo and lubricant to stretch my anus, explaining that she would do it gently, which would lessen the pain when it was done for real. She also had my breasts and cunt lips pierced, to give them a chance to heal slightly, and accustomed me to wearing rings, and all my hair under neck level permanently removed in a comfortable clinic, painlessly. Then her golden rules.

1. Obey instantly, no hesitation, no wondering if I could, or should.

2. Remember why you are naked. It is to give pleasure, and assert control over you in mind and body. . Flaunt your nakedness. Exhibit yourself.

3. Never, ever speak unless told. You may be desperate for a piss, but far better to piss on the floor                    than to ask for the loo.

4. Reflect on the reasons for punishment. The reasons given would be sham. You are being punished  to give pleasure, and assert control, (as above). Accept it as such.

5. Always show enthusiasm, however much you detest what you are doing. Be an actress.

6. Try to keep your head bowed, looking someone in the eye can be interpreted as arrogance. Always humble, you are at the bottom of the heap, everyone else is Sir or Madam.

7. Carry out your gym exercises diligently. Being supple can alleviate pain. Get extra practice if you can.

8. Never expect kindness or words of encouragement.

9. Be coarse. Words like vagina, breasts, bottom are greeted with derision. Follow the leads you are given.

10. If at all possible, try to enjoy what you do, especially the sex. Confucius he say “When rape is inevitable, lie back and enjoy it”.

11. However. Hide your enjoyment. They like to feel you are unwilling, and hiding your reluctance as you were told.

12. See 1. Yes you can, and you will if you know what is good for you.

As well as getting me used to insertions in my front and rear, and stretching my holes, she also demonstrated her flexibility and suppleness. And we carried out exercise routines at the gym and at home, to lessen the impact when I started in earnest. I also wore heels higher than my previous maximum two inches, ready for the time when I would be allowed shoes again.

On Monday we were up early, I showered, did my toilette, and at 6.30 handed myself over to Susie. We had chosen the dress together, a summer dress, quite short, and of light material. I dressed, which took all of five seconds, and she made sure my rings were taken off, I had no other jewellery, and my watch was placed in a drawer. I gave her my keys, to be passed to the friend who was looking after the house, while I went back to my ‘round the world trip‘.

We had breakfast, and at 7.15 we walked to the underground, she looking quite smart in her travelling clothes, with her suitcase and handbag, me barefoot, wearing a dress and carrying nothing.

The ride was very embarrassing, I felt sure people could see my rings, and I looked like a hippie, without my shoes. Susie comforted me with the thought that much worse was to come. (Did I say comforted?)

At eight we arrived, went up in the lift, knocked on the door, and I entered. Susie sort of disappeared. Mr Jenkins (Sir) was at his desk, and I stood as I had been coached. He waved his hand vaguely, and I whipped off my dress and handed it to him, then back in position, feet apart, hands behind head, pelvis and tits pushed forward. He walked round me, put his fingers in my cunt and arse, as I had now begun to think of them, while I remained perfectly still. He tugged the rings on my cunt lips and on my nipples then told me to lay on the desk. ”I have ‘Droits du Seigneur’ here, so I am going to exercise that now”, with which he pulled me to the edge of the table, lifted my legs high and penetrated first my cunt then my arse. He spent ten or fifteen minutes in each orifice, whilst I tried to put into practice what Susie had told me, and thrust frantically against him, then he pulled out, spun me round, and used my mouth in the same way.

Again I licked and sucked as if my whole life depended on it, and drank every drop when he came..

I am afraid for me it was wonderful. His huge cock mastered me. As I was being ‘raped’ I managed to get my heels behind him and I pushed him further in. I now understood the Sabine Women, and those stories of cavemen and women. For those moments I was in love, with him whose first name I didn’t know, with the sensations building inside me, with his cock which was doing incredible things to me, with the orgasms it produced, with life. My feminine self surfaced, and I accepted man as the stronger sex. At the same time, I was not proud of my reaction. Where I found the strength to force myself back on to him, so that my anus was penetrated to the hilt, I do not know, where my inhibitions went I do not know.

Then he moved away and whispered (rather loudly) the endearments I yearned for. “My God, you’ve got a lot to learn about pleasing a man. But even a total amateur like you will  be taught, and learn to understand how to give proper satisfaction”.

When I stood up, as told, I was immediately led to a private lift in the corner of his office, which whisked us further up the building. My hands were firmly behind my neck, and my body open to view.

At the desired floor, the door opened, and I was led out, into a gymnasium, in which about eight or nine men were working out. Nobody bothered with more than a cursory glance, except one tall man who walked over. “This her?” he remarked. “Of course not“, I thought , “this is another naked girl brought in to give you a thrill”. Looking back, that was probably my last insubordinate thought.

Within minutes a metal collar was round my neck, firmly locked. Wrists and ankles were similarly shackled. Then heavy weights were placed on my cunt rings, pulling them down. Mr Jenkins then left, and I stood, awaiting instructions.

“We need a new name for you, something like Holy Cow” he said, which seemed popular. I did not get a vote. “Holy Cow, you are here for two reasons, first to teach you how to please a man. Second to get you fit for purpose. You will follow a rigorous system of exercises to help with both. Lie down”.

I wasted no time in obeying. My arms and legs were clipped to spreader bars, and I was made to lift my pelvis, up and down, up and down, until my abdomen began to hurt. Finally I was allowed to stop. I lay there in a figure X, on my back, and was then helped to raise my arms above my head, then my head was pulled up, until I was sitting, then forward to my ankles. I was assisted to about twenty of these strange sit-ups, before being told that I was expected to do that unaided before very long.

Now standing, the spreader bar joining my wrists lying across my shoulders, I was made to clench and unclench both my cunt and arse alternately, This was a new concept to me, and I was not very good at it, which earned me the punishment of a whipping with a single tail whip, which left great red stripes across my back. That was my second experience of corporal punishment, I had never even been slapped before this started, and it hurt.

Then more routine stuff, pulling myself off the ground using bars across my head, then with spreaders removed, skipping and running on a treadmill. When I was totally exhausted, they lined up, and I went along the line, sucking each of them to satisfaction.
Suddenly, it was lunch, for which I was taken home. Home was in the next room, and consisted of a small barred cell in the corner, containing a bed with a single blanket, but no pillow, a toilet only a few inches from the floor, a bidet, a small table and chair. Lunch was surprisingly good, wholesome salads and pasta. A glass of fruit juice, with which I swallowed my first daily dose of pills. I looked around as I ate, seeing the camera in the far corner winking down at me, and the other two items of ‘furniture’ I haven’t mentioned. The first was on the wall, at precisely the height of my mouth when I knelt, and was a large, very large, dildo which started wide and got wider until it reached the wall. By which time it was more than half the size of my head. The second was similar, fixed to the floor, which I could just straddle on tiptoe, and was about two feet in circumference at floor level.

My trainer watched me eat, ensured that every drop was consumed, then spoke, almost kindly.

“Most of your time here you will be unrestrained, although your symbols of training”, pointing to my collar and shackles, ”will remain, you will have free use of your limbs. As well as the physical training you had this morning, you will have more pure gymnastics, to make you supple. I hope you enjoyed that when you were young. You will also learn the techniques of pleasuring a man, and how to recognise what they want and how to provide it. Some men want to be made love to, and you will be tender and compliant. Some will want to rape you, and you will show no enthusiasm or pleasure, whatever your feelings, as they ‘force’ you into the acts they have in their fantasies. Your part in their fantasies is the unwilling victim. You will have noticed the two items of equipment in here. They are to stretch your orifices, and we will monitor your use of them, as you spend most of what free time you have forcing deeper and deeper penetration of your mouth, cunt and arse. If you are lazy, and we consider the time you are spending inadequate, you will be punished. You have weights on your cunt rings, to stretch the lips, but none on your breast rings, as our object is to make them point higher, not sag. Many of your exercises will be for your upper body. Now, back to work”.

Before we returned to the gym, I had to demonstrate that I knew what to do with these training aids. I knelt up against the wall. And realised the height was exactly right. I forced my mouth over the dildo, and pushed my mouth down over it, until I could go no further without breaking my jaw. That was not very far. Then I stood over the column rising from the floor. Again the height was exactly right. I could just get my cunt over the top, with one foot on the ground. As I raised that foot, my body was forced down on to the contraption to the limit of my stretched cunt. I had to carefully move the cunt rings which were actually in the way. Then again with my arse. The whole thing was painful and degrading, this was not going to be my favourite part of the day. “You will continually carry out these exercises until you reach the desired depth”, I was told. Then into the gym.

I shall never forget that first afternoon. I was a very good gymnast in my youth, with a leotard that retained my modesty, and a short skirt over that. Now I was performing, not only naked , but with heavy weights between my legs, and an audience of appreciative men. I vaulted. I did hand springs, I did somersaults, I stood on the beam, and most humiliating of all, I bent over backwards, hands and feet on the floor, legs wide apart, displaying myself to all.

I went through a floor routine which was explicit in the extreme, then I went through my sit-ups schedule again. I was now able to lift the spreader bar over my head, sit up, and take my hands down to my ankles, without assistance. This was interspersed with lying on my back, clenching and unclenching my cunt and anus. I was getting the hang of this, and it was not so physically exhausting, so it constituted a rest. I was also made to perform the splits, or as far as I could go, as I was out of practice, both on the floor, and standing on one leg, with the other held against my side in the air. There was nothing overtly sexual that afternoon, but I felt totally degraded, as well as physically drained by the time a halt was called.

Then back to my cell, more quite good food, and I was made to squat over my strange floor level toilet, and relieve myself, before cleaning myself on the bidet. When I found myself alone, I spent an hour, for the benefit of the camera, lying down doing my clenching, then about  ten minutes each stretching my mouth arse and cunt. Then another ninety minutes repeating the cycle, before climbing on the bed and falling asleep under my blanket. I also used the low toilet, conscious even more than usual of the camera filming my every move. As time passed, I found pissing in public, or in front of the camera, less of a trial, I suppose you can get used to most things.

Next morning I awoke early, but as it was light, I got up, used the toilet again, and performed all my exercises, conscious of the camera as ever. When someone finally came in with breakfast, he sat on the bed watching me eat. “Today”. he said finally, “in the morning you will learn more about pleasuring men, and this afternoon you will learn how to be raped. There is an art to both, as I told you before, and you will learn both“. Then I had to roll over while he gave me an enema. When my bowels were completely evacuated, I had a fruit juice and my pills. Into the gym, more exercises, more gymnastics for a while. Then I was laid on the floor, and I was penetrated again. I tried so hard to put into practice what I had learnt. I lifted him from below, straining my abdomen, I pushed hard on to him, easier now as the stretching was becoming effective, and I tried to grip him inside by contracting, but this was the part I was having least success with. He encouraged me, telling me I needed to massage his cock, which made it a bit clinical, but his encouragement was having an effect. When he withdrew, I was made to go down on all fours, and we repeated the scenario with arse and mouth. I had understood while forcing my mouth wider and wider in my cell, the importance of breathing through my nose, as my throat became blocked, and this bit I was better at, forcing his cock deep into me, and, as he put it, massaging his cock, using my cheeks and my tongue to maximise his pleasure.

After yet more exercises, with the clenching closely supervised, and then lunch, it all changed.

One of the other men yelled at me to get on my knees, grabbed a handful of hair, and rammed his cock in my mouth. I lost any control as he used my hair to move my head violently back and forward, and his pelvis to thrust in and out. I opened my mouth as much as possible, only to be told I was stupid. I was being face fucked, oral rape. What I was supposed to be doing was unsuccessfully, (of course), resisting, making him force his way into my mouth. And being used as a receptacle.

Then on all fours again, and my cunt and arse were raped. I had learned my lesson, and I made myself as small as I could  by clenching before he entered, Then yielding reluctantly to brute force. Again my hair was used as a lever, and for a moment I thought I could lose it, as the handful of hair was yanked painfully back to push me onto his cock. Being raped was very hard work, and I was exhausted when he finally ejaculated, turning me over to suck him dry.

Then, weirdly, the three of us sat down and analysed my performance, as if I had just taken an English exam. I was asked what I thought I had done well, and where I had failed. They told me where they thought I should improve, and where I should be more supple, how I should improve my posture and positioning. Then back to gymnastics. That afternoon I also acquired a ring in my nose, through the septum, which was actually quite painful.

I fell into a routine, which lasted about three or four weeks. Every morning an enema, followed by my pills. I was measured again every three days, and told how far my cunt lips had stretched, (I was dying to know that), how many inches I had lost around my waist, how my breasts had grown, and how my exercises were progressing. I was aware myself of how much farther I could take the two friends in my cell, easily measured.

What was strange, was how I accepted everything, as a normality. They, as I called my trainers collectively. (I never did learn any names, which I think was a deliberate ploy), not only controlled my body, which was easy, they very quickly controlled my mind. I became desperately eager to please, not through fear, certainly not through love, but I really tried my best. The exercises I was not good at, like controlling my abdomen, I worked at feverishly. What I was good at, I felt real pride in. Yes, I was aware that punishment would always be there, but it was not the driving force. I think the answer was respect for authority, which I had always had. At school, I tried hardest, my parents good opinion meant everything to me. Now, they were authority, and my instincts were to try to please them. There was also an unexpected desire not to let Susie down. Why I should feel that my poor performance would somehow let her down, I do not understand, but the feeling was there.

Soon it was time for more exotic positions. Ankles behind my head, right behind. Standing on one leg, holding my other leg straight up past my ear. Ankles attached to my breast rings while I lay on my back, and while I bent forward. Sitting astride both facing and facing away. And arched over backwards, hands and feet on the floor. All positions which gave unrestricted access to both arse and cunt. I had moments of shame as I lay in my cell, and realised the rapes were more exciting than the more tender scenes, but those were private thoughts. Sadly, I felt most shame throughout at the enjoyment, rather than the acts I was carrying out.

I never did reach ‘the desired depth’ with my cell exercises. I think if it came out of the back of my head, or the top of my head, as appropriate, I might have been considered close. I really did get the hang of strengthening the muscles inside my cunt and arse. I thought at first it was just for humiliation, but suddenly I could perform circles around a cock, or gently massage it, in a way I never imagined.

I had lost count of the days by now, but I was thinking that this was not so bad. Nude gymnastics was no longer a novelty, and the sex I was receiving was way above anything I had experienced before, when one day after a few minute’s exercise, I was told to stand and a metal bar joined each of my wrists to my collar, at elbow distance from my neck, so I stood there with my arms spread, with no movement possible. Then chains were attached to each of my rings. For the first time I really felt a slave.

“The next stage of your training starts today. In a moment, you will go through that door there, and you will learn about bondage and pain. This will not be pretend pain, it will be real, and you will suffer. You will also come to crave it and enjoy it. When you are finished each day you will be available for the staff here, and you will continue your exercises. Now, come”. With that he picked up all the chains and I was led, by the nose, tits and cunt towards my fate. I thought back to my caning and my whipping, obviously just ‘pretend pain’, and wondered how I would react. I followed him through a door I had never seen open before, into a room which was full of devices for restraint and punishment. My introduction to a dungeon.

No time was wasted, I was pulled up to tiptoe by the tit rings, by a chain hanging down from the ceiling, my legs were spread and my ankles attached to ring bolts, and I was given a thorough caning. When I started to howl, and I needed to, it was decided that making me howl was a bit strong, so  a large ball gag was forced into my mouth, behind my teeth, and strapped tight behind my head. Suddenly, my howls were silenced, and he continued as before. I wanted to wriggle, but with my tits taking my weight as soon as my feet left the floor, that was not a good option. I started counting, but somewhere around twenty I lost count, and had other things on my mind. Finally, he decided my arse had been dealt with to his satisfaction, and changed to a flogger, which he used to strike up between my legs, to my exposed cunt, and another part of my body was on fire.

I thought I would lose consciousness, when he finally stopped. He told me that as it was my first day, he would be gentle, then let me down, insisting I stood still and straight, and released my arms and legs.

The next thing was a hogtie. “On your face, Holy Cow”, I was told, then my ankles were brought up my back to be  joined to my wrists. For a while he just played with me. My legs were forced apart at the knees, a strap went from my nose ring over my head, and my wrists, (and therefore my ankles), pulled up to meet it. I was faced with a choice, lift my wrists and ankles and bend my head back, or tear my septum. Option 1 won. During that first day, I was introduced to suspension by my wrists, by my ankles, with a spreader bar holding them apart, and my hands secured behind my neck, and by a rope around my middle, leaving me swinging. He had said he would be gentle, but somehow the sight of so much exposed and helpless flesh was irresistible, and I received a great deal of further punishment.

The last bit of fun for the day was to suspend me by feet and ankles, face up, then with a flick, my body went through my arms, and I was suspended face down. This put considerable pressure on my shoulders, and I was grateful when another flick saw me face up again.

Each evening I was allowed to relax and recover, when I had been used by whoever fancied me for a bit of sex or a good rape  in my cell. And of course, when I had completed all my exercises.

The bondage became more and more complex. I was n the hands of a master. There was Japanese rope bondage, with my body swathed in rope, there were chains, a pillory, a rack, and a huge St Andrew’s cross, on which I was spread in a great X. But I soon learned to trust him. I had become accustomed to doing what I was told, when I was told. If anybody wanted to fuck me in the arse, they did, and I cooperated. It was what I did. No one ever asked me if I wanted to do anything, sleep, eat, piss in the toilet,  stand or sit. I obeyed. But somehow this was more sensuous, the feeling of utter helplessness was total. I would swing in the air, I would hang on tiptoe, I would be bent double, and importantly to me, I had no option. I was no longer choosing to obey. The hardest to bear were the times I would have a rope round my waist, down through my cunt lips then up through my arse cheeks, really tight, and my feet lifted off the floor, so that I was suspended painfully by my cunt. And although the whippings and canings were very severe, I gradually became accustomed, even to having my cunt or tits caned, or beaten with twigs or a riding crop. And I accepted the pain, not because I chose to but because there was no alternative, and I wanted the approval of whoever was causing me pain.. Most evenings I was so sore, I would have difficulty sleeping. But I was not actually unhappy. I’m sorry, I don’t understand it either.

Again after a few weeks, I felt I was becoming adept, and I was a good pain slut, and at this stage a further dimension was added. I became furniture! From time to time I had been made to wear high, and I mean high, heel shoes. My feet were almost vertical, but I teetered around, and like every thing else I adapted.

I was made to put the shoes on, my hands were fastened to the back of my collar, and a tray place under my breasts, which were spread. My rings were fastened to the sides, my nose was chained to the front, and a strap went round my back to hold it in place. My feet were chained about a foot apart, and I was indeed, a tray. Glasses, wine, food, all were placed on the tray, and I had to hobble round as if serving. When I got used to this, I became a table. I was on all fours, and a table top was fastened to my back. Not keeping it exactly horizontal was a very painful experience, especially as my arse was in perfect position. A candle affixed to a dido was held by my arse. Then, somewhat similar but without the candle, a foot stool. I was almost always gagged, unless my mouth was needed as a candle holder.

I was made to kneel, leaning back , with a candle in my mouth, with hot wax dripping on to my skin, particularly my tits.

Finally I knelt on a wheeled platform doing my table act, and I became a trolley. I had bowls hanging from each of my tit rings, and from my cunt. I spent a lot of time perfecting my various functions, interspersed with ordinary bondage and  punishments, with the hand, a cane , a riding crop, a flogger, and most painful of all, a whip. Again, I am afraid I came to relish the thought that I had no choice but to obey, and that the alternative to obedience was never a good choice.

One morning after my enema and breakfast, a large box was carried in, and I was told to climb inside.

My hands and ankles were tethered, and the lid closed. I was now relying on a few air holes. I felt the box being lifted, and after a short while , put back on the floor. It was obviously in a van, because soon the engine noise started, and continued for quite a while. When it stopped, the box was lifted out, and placed on the ground. Then the top was opened, and I was lifted out. My hands remained fastened, but my legs were freed. I looked around. We were at an isolated looking farm. There were no other buildings in sight,. Then I heard the barking, and knew that what Susie had warned me about was soon to happen. I was going to be fucked by dogs. Since she told me, I had tried to blot out the thought, but it was clearly my fate.

There was a largish barn into which I was led, then I was forced down to my knees, and tied to the side. There were so many dogs in there, all excited, and all with padded feet. One Alsatian was led over behind me, and he had obviously done this before. He had mounted me before I could think, his cock was guided into me, and I felt him swell up inside me as his knot entered me.. I lay there passively as he fucked me, and he was clearly enjoying himself. Eventually he came, his sperm gushed into me, his cock became limp, and he withdrew.

“Well, Mad Cow”, a strange voice said, “Now you know the next stage of your training. You are the bitch for these dogs, who are well trained. Which is more than I can say for you. Next time a dog wants you, you are to work as hard on pleasing him, as you would a man. While you are here, you are a bitch, and you will behave like one. I will untie your hands, you will have food in a bowl like the other animals, and you will eat without using your hands. Any infractions or lack of enthusiasm for your role, and I will take the skin off your back. If you understand, bark once”. So I barked. I was left in the barn for several days. Each of the dogs took me at least once, and I used my hands to guide them into my cunt. I used my mouth to arouse them, and to clean them afterwards, I ate like a dog, I barked on command, and I was very popular with the dogs. I also grew fond of the dogs. Once you have been fucked six or seven times by a  dog, it ceases to be anything other than part of life’s daily round. I think the way I accepted my role, and the way I participated, may have led to my going back in the box rather sooner than I might have done. Whatever the reason, I was soon back, being tied up, whipped, and fucked as if the interlude had never happened.

There were two new aspects to my training. I had pencils inserted into my arse or cunt, both of which were stretched more than somewhat. The pencils would immediately try to escape, and my job was to use my clenching techniques to keep them in. This was not difficult for a few minutes, but a few hours took a supreme effort. When they fell out, as at first they did occasionally, I was punished very severely. A marvellous incentive scheme. It worked for me.

Then my hands were paced in leather mittens behind my back. Mittens which were joined to a single leather sleeve around my arms. This was tightened until my elbows were close together. It was uncomfortable, but it did wonders for my breasts, which were thrust forward. As with most training aids, the intensity was increased daily, until my elbows were touching. Sometimes I would have my hands forced up until I was practically suspended. It was also a favourite position for the constant use by all the staff of my cunt, arse or mouth.

Then, on another momentous morning I was woken very early, placed in what I called my slave shackles, and taken down in the lift to the ground floor. Then to my horror I was taken out into the street, fortunately deserted, and put in the back of a horse box, where I was told to kneel. Then away we went. The journey was quite long, and I had a fair idea of what lay ahead. It was something else II had not been looking forward to.

When my uncomfortable journey ended , the horse box was opened, and I was led down the ramp, into a stable yard. There, standing in front of me was a large man, wearing a dirty jumper and jodhpurs, and carrying a large horsewhip. I had yet to win a battle of wills in my new life, and I sensed that I had never been faced with a stronger will. This was authority with a capital A.

He inspected me, then said, “So you are Holy Cow. It is not a name I like, so I shall call you Holly. You are here to learn. You have no doubt heard of Ponygirls. Well that is not for you. You will simply be a Pony. You will live in the stable, you will learn the ways of a Pony, and you will behave like one. The only sound you will make is a whinny. There will be no pawing the ground once for yes, twice for no. That suggests that you have an opinion. You don’t. I train my horses by reward and punishment. That is how I will train you. I hope that message has got through to you, because I will not speak to you again, except as I would to a horse”.

With that I was led into a barn, and my transformation began. At least my shackles were removed, except for my collar. My head was pushed down so that I bent over. Then a very large tail, reaching almost to the ground, was pushed into my arsehole. Mittens were placed on my hands, which had small hoof like pads in the palm. Then boots, which had no heel, but hooves on the front. I could not place my heels on the ground, it was permanent tiptoe. A leather belt went round my waist, to which my mittens were fixed. My head was next. A bit with a long extension down my throat, was pushed in my mouth. A strap round the head, to which the bit was attached, and on the side of which were blinkers. My hair was tied in a form of ponytail, and a headband round my forehead, with a small extension at the front. Then the bells. Cunt rings, breast rings, and at the front of my headband, but not my nose ring. As I moved they all rang together. I was not about to creep up on anyone.

Then I was placed in a stable, tethered by my nose, and forced thereby to stand, facing the wall.

Later, I was taken into the indoor school, on a long rein attached to my nose, and made to trot round and round. The whip on the back of my legs soon had my knees up, and I soon realised that I changed from walk to trot when I felt the whip on my buttocks. but the main purpose appeared to be getting me accustomed to walking or trotting in my new hooves. And strengthening my leg muscles further, because the unusual sensation of basically being on my toes all the time, put a great strain on my calves and hamstring. At lunch time I was taken back to my stable. On the wall was a basket filled with a dry mixture of nuts, muesli, and fruit. Next to it was a full bucket of water. I needed to bend my head only slightly to eat, but my hands stayed firmly attached to my belt. One other thing became clear. Horses do not have toilets. When I could hold my bladder no longer, I just pissed on the straw. It actually earned me a pat.

We also played what I thought were slightly silly games. I was down on all fours, a saddle attached to my back, and the stable girls sat, with their feet in stirrups clear of the floor, and rode me in circles. It failed to make me feel any more like a horse. Nor did having some sort of strapping on my back, and, in effect, giving them piggy back rides. However they enjoyed themselves, and there was a lot of “giddy up horsey” and an unnecessary amount of riding crops on my unprotected rear.

I had a few days of this, during which most of the other stables were occupied by real horses, and occasionally by visiting Ponygirls. I classified them as such, because they were not abused as I was, and seemed to be having a great time, before they went off outside, and on return were released at the end of the day to go home.

Every morning I was washed down by one of the stable girls, using a bucket of cold water, and a mitten glove which was quite rough. They paid particular attention to the area between my legs, which was probably twice as clean as the rest of me. My meals never varied, but I received the odd sugar cube, (and my pills) from the palm of someone’s hand.

Then I was taken out and allowed to run round free, (as free as someone is with their wrists attached to their belt). There was a contraption like a circular washing line, to which I was attached, and made to go round in circles. By a process of elimination and repetition, I learned to walk, trot, gallop, and stop on signal. After about three days I was quite proficient.

One evening, after I had eaten, I was bent over a rail, and a stallion was led into my stall. He knew just what to do, and in a flash he had mounted me. His cock was enormous, both lengthways and in its circumference, and I was fully stretched, but I did respond as I knew I had to. I had long since decided that, however unpleasant, not obeying with sufficient enthusiasm was never the option I would choose. .

This happened often, every few days, and after the first four or five, I felt totally ashamed, not because I was being fucked by a horse, I had no choice in that, but because I realised I was beginning to lust after him, and was disappointed on the days he wasn’t led in.

Eventually I was put to work. I was attached to what was in effect a large wheelbarrow, with a ledge at the front for a driver. When the wagon was loaded one of the stable girls would fix the shafts to my belt strap, and my arms, give me a whack, and I heaved the wagon along at walking pace. This is where I learned how to steer, or rather be steered. I had to quickly pick up the subtle tugs of the rein on my tit rings. Unlike the real horses they were trying to turn me into, I was able to foresee most of the turns, which helped me to recognise the signals. I spent about a week as a cart horse, before one glorious day when I was introduced to a sulky. This was a light cart, with room for one or two passengers, and we started with one. I had to learn how to bend down to lower the shafts, to allow the passengers to step easily into their seats. No clambering over the cart as the girls used to do with the wagon previously. Then a tap, and I rose, and away, moving up to a trot, and briefly a gallop, slowing down, turning in a circle, and pulling up. When Susie told me about becoming a horse, I think I feared that more than anything, but the reality was almost liberating. To trot along in the open, with a driver controlling me effortlessly, with the wind and sun beating down, I no longer thought how silly the Ponygirls were to enjoy their days at the stable. I was soon able to take two passengers, and being on tiptoe was not a problem. And sometimes the stallion finished a perfect day. The hardest part, and the least enjoyable, were performing my bodily functions in public, on to straw, eating in my stall, and being rubbed down. All bad. Being fucked by a stallion, controlled with a whip, and giving rides, all good. I had certainly changed.

I took great pride in the dressage element, lifting my knees parallel to the ground, keeping my head up, swishing my tail, and not exhibiting the strain of pulling the sulky. It had to look effortless, and it did.

The arrival of the horsebox one evening, after, (what was it, a month, six weeks?) was to me a total disappointment. One moment I was a horse, then suddenly, in the tack room, all stripped down, and my slave shackles back on.

I had the experience when we arrived back, of being transferred, naked into the building. Looking back,  I think they knew the street was going to be deserted, but I didn’t..

We were back to exercises, sex performance, bondage, and pain. I got used to large insertions, mainly dildos, but occasionally a whole fist, which I was able to accept without problems.  Then a last nasty twist. I think the urinals must have been out of order, because all of a sudden, everyone wanted my mouth. At first I had difficulty, and a lot of piss went down my front, but like all the other things I had been made to do, I was trained until I became an expert, and not a drop was wasted. Finally, the worst . One of the men squatted over my body, stretched out on the floor, and proceeded to shit in my mouth. And I had to eat it. How I did it that first time, I shall never know. Probably, even then I was aware that not doing it would lead to even greater terrors, but again there was an element of doing what authority expected.. Over the next few days, this was repeated at least once a day. After each one my face was left filthy for ages before I was cleaned up.

When Mr Jenkins suddenly appeared, I was taken completely unawares. He took me in to his office, and fucked me. With all I had learnt, I had a moment’s thought that this was going to be his best fuck ever, then I thought, Silly Cow, not Holy Cow, he is regularly fucked by real experts, but I will make it as enjoyable as I can.

When I was let up, to my amazement, I was given clothes. A nice dress, shoes, stockings and suspenders, but of course no panties or bra.

“Your training is over, and you have done well. Better than I imagined. Now there is the little matter of three month’s work. I like your Horse name, you will be Holly.  Susie will be here in a few minutes, and will take you to your apartment, and explain how things work”. With which he walked out and left me sitting there alone.

When Susie arrived, she was all smiles. “I gather you are Holly now, I must get used to it. We all have new names, Susie is not my true name. First, congratulations, I really didn’t think you would make it, but  gather you were first class, and learned well. Now lets get on with welcoming you back to the real world”’ First we got my key, and went to pick up my belongings. Strangely the most emotive was putting a watch on. I knew the time! We packed two cases  with some clothes, my little bits of jewellery, hair brush and other such items, as if I was going on a long holiday. I had a handbag, I had money, I had credit cards. What I did not have, according to Susie, was a single piece of suitable underwear, so the first stop was a shop I would never have been seen in before, where a complete wardrobe of lingerie was purchased. Then my key went back, and I set off into a new world. My apartment was in a large block, with most rooms occupied by girls like Susie. There was a common room, where everyone gathered, and no less than four rooms kitted out as dungeons.

First we had a good natter. She gave me a mobile phone, which is how I would be told who I was entertaining, and how. She explained that we were on call all day and night, but would actually be working no more than six hours a day normally. Sometimes I would be paired with another girl, sometimes even more. There were even times when ten or twelve would be required for special events. My role would always be explained in advance. My room, and the dungeons, were monitored by TV cameras, and if I was ever in trouble, help would  arrive. After all, we were company assets, and they did not want us to depreciate suddenly.

Then she asked about my training, and told me of hers. Strangely, we differed in a number of ways. I admitted my enjoyment of animal sex, which she had hated, I could not understand her pleasure in toilet play. I was also less into the true pain, which was her main delight. She laughed and described herself as a real pain slut. We only really shared one delight, sulky riding.

“We had better meet some of the others before the phone starts ringing”, she said finally. “It is best not to mention that you are only here for three months, and are not being paid, in case they feel you are getting too many of the well paid jobs to save money on their cut”.

In the common room were six beautiful girls, all very well dressed, and all anxious to meet the new girl. I said not much about my background, which was the usual case, explained that Susie and I had met and become friends, so here I was. Then one by one mobiles went off, and one would leave. Others joined us as they returned, I was obviously a big attraction, as Susie told me later that the common room was not usually so well used. I had my first customer the following day. I was told he was into inflicting pain, and I was to meet him in dungeon two, fully dressed, and completely compliant. I sat in the dungeon, eyeing the equipment, until the door opened, and a very ordinary gentleman walked in. He bade me stand, and strip, which I did, slowly, and as sexily as I had been trained to do. When I was naked, he forced his ‘unwilling’ victim over the spanking stool, and fastened my wrists and ankles to the corners. I then received a caning, severe but not as bad as some I had received. I was made to count the strokes and thank him after each one, which I discovered was a turn-on for many men into sadism. I counted to twenty, each one delivered after a long wait, before I was released and told to lie on my back. My legs were lifted and he used a flogger on my cunt. Then I was tied to the wall bars, and my tits were whipped. He made me kneel on all fours, and gave me an arse fucking, which I accepted using all the techniques I had been taught, and he finished with me kneeling in front of him bringing him off with my mouth. Then I was thanked for a very good time, he left, and I dressed and went to the common room. As scenarios go, it was not the most complex I would be involved in, but I had a satisfied customer, and that, as I was told, was the name of the game.

My next phone call led to my foolishly leaving my door on the latch, so that three friends could burst in, before one undressed me while I struggled vainly with the other two, then I was thrown on the bed, and they proceeded to take me in all three holes at once, with everyone moving round so that they all had a turn at each. In a way, it was rather fun, and I enjoyed being an actress, even in such a predictable film. I also ensured that each had a memorable fuck all round, as I massaged their cocks, slacking off when I judged it necessary. After all, two hours is a long time to control yourself, when your cock is buried in a rape victim. When they decided enough was enough, I was left, discarded, on the bed, to dress myself when the door closed.

My third and final act of the day was played out in the dungeon, and involved quite elaborate bondage, all photographed for the client’s boasting book. Some of the photos were extreme close ups. That too was quite a long session.

Most days I would have seven or eight clients, or groups of clients I would be pissed on, I would be tied up, or beaten, and I would give pleasure. The clients were usually male, but not always. Some ladies wanted lesbian sex, some sadistic sex, and some actually wanted to be humiliated. They would be stripped, tied up, beaten, rammed with a dildo, and even occasionally, one of the male staff would come in and have sex with her. I thought this bizarre. What kind of a weirdo would pay to be treated like that? Then I decided not to pursue that line of thought, as I knew one rather well.

The more ornate and complicated sessions were held away from the apartment, and involved up to eight girls. We were usually picked up in taxis, and driven to mansions, where exclusive parties were being held. Sometimes we were gifted by the host to his friends, sometimes we took part in mass beatings for S&M clubs, and sometimes we were in a living furniture mode. As the new girl, I always seemed to end up doubled over, with a huge candle up my arse, and hot wax dripping down onto my cunt , buttocks and legs.

My fondness for animals had been noted, and I was always first choice if dog fucking was on the menu. What I found strange was a group of men who just wanted me wallowing in a muddy pg sty, with a little curly tail, and several pigs. There was rarely any sexual connotation, but I did get filthy, in spite of, or truthfully because of, my best endeavours. This happened most weeks, but only once was I taken, in the arse, by one of he men at the end of the day.

My favourite, of course was the regular pony club meetings, usually with one or two of the others. Sadly, I always managed to get to know the stallion, if there was one, before any of the others. This was probably because my fame preceded me. Those days I lay in my room in the evening fantasising, and reliving the day. Mainly we gave rides, or raced, or had dressage contests where our handlers could demonstrate their control. Several times I was paired with a girl called Josie, and we gave rides as a pair, which was less of a strain, but had the added complication of keeping in step, making sure our knees were level, and the pony on the right having to follow the turning of the pony on the left, who received all the signals. .

Susie confided in me , one day, that with my predilection for animal sex, I could have been earning very good money, and the organisation were doing rather well, as they kept the whole fee.

Unlike my training, I otherwise led a normal life. I went out for coffees, or the occasional meal, I read newspapers, and there was a television set in the common room. Therefore I knew when my three months were up, and I was not taken unawares when I was collected and taken to the office. In fact I had already said a tearful goodbye to Susie, who had become like a sister to me.

Mr Jenkins thanked me for my efforts, told me I would be missed, and complimented me on my behaviour. “You have shown the self-discipline you set out to prove“.

When I was shown out, the relief was palpable. I was my own woman again, and for two weeks I revelled in my freedom. Then I thought of the dogs, the stallion, the friends, and most of all Susie, and within an hour I was accepted as a wage earning resident , and was back in my old room, hugging Susie.

Holly was home.