Out to Pasture

Author's note:  Changed the character's names, in case celebrity abductions were frowned upon at this site.

CNN “Late Night“

“Still no word on the mysterious disappearance of former ‘Covewatch’ star, Palmera Anderton.  Miss Anderton was reported missing two weeks ago.  Speculation on her whereabouts range anywhere from publicity stunt, to alien abduction.  A police spokesperson described the investigation as “ongoing”, but would not elaborate.  Switching to Business News…”

Two Years Later…

The two wheeled sulky moved slowly up the narrow, treacherous switchbacks cut into the mountainside.  The crisp, clear air was quiet, but for the scree of a hawk flying overhead in search of food.  Even from a distance, one could see that the power source for the carriage was not the typical burro or yak.  This beast of burden was clearly of the two-legged variety.

There were no pedestrians in this remote, mountainous region.  But if one should happen by, his ears would be greeted by several contrasting sounds.  Most obvious, would be the grunts and pants from the laboring source of propulsion.  He might also note, the merry tinkling of bells.  And then, of course, there’d be the crack of the bugging whip on the flanks of the beast, accompanied by the urgings of its driver.

“Hup, Kouma!  Hup!”  Chances were good that the passerby would not know that “Kouma”, was the literal Japanese translation for “pony”.  It was knowledge that not even the ‘pony’ was priveledge to.

The urgings heightened as the sulky swung on to the last, and steepest grade before reaching the summit.  Billows of steam rushed from the pony’s mouth and nose into the thin, cold air.  Spring was still several weeks away.  In spite of temperatures that hovered in the mid thirties, a sheen of sweat coated her bare skin, as she struggled up the incline.  With heart threatening to burst, the carriage finally reached the level surface of the plateau.  The timbre in the crunch of her high-heeled boot steps changed, as they moved from the trail’s gravel and loose shale, to the summit’s hard packed snow cap.

Kouma stood there, drawing in great lungs full of air.  Her posture remained ramrod straight, though she’d like nothing better, than to collapse to the ground.  Muscles, honed lean and firm over time, trembled from the exertion.  She stood, gazing straight ahead, at the panorama of mountains that the blinders didn’t obscure.  She still felt the rails of the sulky bearing down heavily on her hips, signaling that the driver had yet to dismount.  He was probably taking in the scenery (no doubt hers included) or, more likely, indulging in a long nip from his flask.

Kouma shifted in her extreme high heeled boots, as far as the fourteen inch hobble would allow.  Her toes ached from their pointed posture, as well as having pounded them into the ground on their long trek up here.  If there was anything positive about the boots, it was that the stiff leather kept her legs relatively warm up to her knees.  However, now at rest, there was no room within the restrictive footwear to wriggle, thus keep out the cold she felt creeping in.  The rest of her body had even less protection from the elements. 

She was, for all intents and purposes, nude.  The only thing adorning her body were either there to restrain her, or remind her of her servitude.  The body harness she wore was an intricate weave of 1” straps.  Tight bands encircled her waist and hips, indenting her lean muscles where they squeezed.  Two bothersome straps in particular, started at opposite hips, angling down until they merged as one in an area that used to be adorned with pubic hair.  This single strap then dove between her legs, parting her vulva rudely before continuing aft.  A solid steel penis of modest proportions was trapped inside her sex by the strap.  Its purpose was neither to pleasure nor punish her, merely to remind her of her position in this life. 

The lips of her sex hung in full view on either side of the strap.  Even the most modest gentleman would not be able to avert his eyes from her womanhood.  For there, attached to a silver ring pierced through each lip of her vulva, dangled a silver chain, 3” long.  Dangling at the end of each chain, was a silver bell.  Deceptively heavy, each chromed sphere was actually made of Titanium.  Each gleaming sphere contained a solid Titanium ball.  The ball striking against the sides of the bell produced a surprisingly crystalline jingle.  Their merry sound and appearance masked the constant strain they placed on her intimate lips.

A few inches back, her subjugation continued.  Buried deep in her rectum, held unnecessarily in place by the crotch strap , was a bulbous, solid steel shaft.  Upon exiting her back passage, it curved sharply upwards, ending in a magnificent plume of blonde hair.  It should be magnificent, for she knew it was her own, shorn from her head shortly after she’d arrived at her new home.  Since then, her hair had grown back completely and was styled and coiffed daily.  Needless to say, her mane and her tail matched perfectly.  As she shifted her weight, she could feel the golden strands brush the backs of her legs.  It was a sensation she still hadn’t grown completely accustomed to.

Centered on her flat tummy, a 3” chromed ring encircled her belly button, serving as an anchoring point for the harness straps.  Within the hoop, glistened another chain and bell, dangling from the ring pierced there.  Gone was the expensive bobble that had dangled from her navel, back when she lived in “Cali-for-nia“.  There were days now, when she couldn’t even remember from where it was she came.  It all seemed so terribly long ago.

Further up her torso, the harness encircled her breasts, squeezing each slightly at its base.  This made them swell, standing tall and proud on her chest.  The moderately restricted blood flow also served to make them tremendously sensitive.  Which was not a good thing, when they were being bounced around whilst pulling a carriage.

Each nipple was adorned with a pair of piercings.  At the base of each bud ran a perpendicular shaft, resembling a barbell.  It served to keep her nubs in a constant state of erection.  Midway up their length, resided yet another set of rings, each equipped with a dangling bell.  Kouma had found out, that all of her piercings served as excellent anchoring points.  No matter how desperately she had wanted to escape, she couldn’t bring herself to tear free of her pierced flesh.

The harness’ lattice rose, ending in an impossibly high collar made of stiff, black leather.  It rendered her head utterly immobile.  Further guaranteeing this, rings dangling from her earlobes were locked to the sides of the collar.  Any attempt to turn her head was painfully discouraged.  Above each pierced lobe, four more rings awaited whatever adornment her master saw fit for her to wear.  Currently, only one hoop on each side was occupied.  They were, of course, sporting another set of bells on chains.  Apparently, this was to insure that she would not fail to notice the maddening jingle of its mates.

A shudder ran through her, as a cool breeze washed over her sweaty, all but naked body.  She longed to be able to cradle her arms about her chest for warmth, but knew that to be impossible.  This was because her arms were folded incredibly high up her back in what she’d learned was called a “reverse prayer” position.  Always limber, it had nonetheless been a torturous method of restraint at the beginning.  Even now, after many hours of being bound in this fashion, her arms and shoulders sang from the tension.  Straps at her elbows, forearms and wrists kept them fused together up between her shoulder blades.  The backs of her hands rested involuntarily against each other.  This was due to the narrow strap joining her thumbs as one.  To increase the strain even further, her pinioned thumbs were locked to a ring on the back of the collar, which kept her arms pulled a fraction higher.

Kouma stood there, growing increasingly impatient.  It was cold up here and she was parched from her run.  Finally, she called out in a passable, if garbled whinny, just as she had been taught.  Garbled, for she wore an elaborate leather and steel bridle.

The ’bit’ portion of the bridle was rubber coated, so as to not chip her perfect white teeth.  It kept said teeth parted almost a full inch.  Extending inward from this, was a wide, flat steel saddle.  This pressed her tongue firmly against the bottom of her mouth.  A tongue which now sported two piercings.  The first was a ½” ring at its tip.  She’d spent many sessions with this ring anchored to some immovable object as punishment had been meted out.  The other piercing ran through the middle of her tongue.  This was most frequently fitted with another ’dumb bell’ stud, as it was now.  She'd learned how to manipulate the stud like a vertuoso, during her hours of fellatio training.  The ends were threaded for easy removal.  Another application, which was currently being used, was the stud running through a hole in the metal saddle trapping her tongue.  When the ball was screwed in place, it held her tender oral muscle virtually motionless.

Straps held the bit in place (as if she would try spitting it out whilst her tongue was locked to it) passing around her head beneath her ears and about her forehead.  Vertical straps kept everything from shifting and provided an anchoring point for the blinders.  High on the back of her head, her long, golden hair had been fashioned into the obligatory ponytail.

Her impatient whinny was answered with a sudden, though not unexpected, crack of the buggy whip across her right ass cheek.  It left another red stripe amongst the multitude already there from the journey up the mountain trail.

“Hush, Kouma!”  Came the thickly accented voice of her owner behind her.  “You spoil the tranquility of this beautiful setting!”

Despite his apparent displeasure, she heard him sigh and the rails of the sulky lightened on her hips, as he dismounted.  She heard his footsteps crunch through the snow as he approached.  And then he stood before her, bundled tightly in furs to ward off the cold.  Kouma had to peer down her nose to catch a glimpse of his bearded face.  She would normally tower over his 5’2” frame.  But now, in the five inch heels, she could barely see his bushy eyebrows.  The collar wouldn’t permit her to gaze any lower.

She felt the nipple of a water bottle slip between her grimacing lips.  As the fluid streamed in, she swallowed without the use of her tongue.  It was a talent she’d been forced to acquire early on in her captivity.  She longed to lick her parched lips, but knew that wasn’t possible.  Fortunately, the heavily applied lip gloss protected them well from the elements.

Her owner slipped two fingers between her full, glimmering lips.  To her surprise, she tasted the sweetness of a sugar cube mixing with the tang of the metal saddle.  This was an unexpected treat!  One reserved for special occasions.  Kouma snorted happily at the treat and whatever she had done to earn it.

“Ah, Kouma.”  He said with a melancholy sigh.  “In spite of your obstinacy when you first came to me, you have turned into the finest in my stable.”

She didn’t know why, but this praise warmed her heart.  The past two years of training, punishment and more training had all but silenced the outraged cry in her mind.  A cry that had exclaimed that she was NOT a slave, but an independent woman, a woman of considerable fortune and fame.  The voice still remained, somewhere, but it had been reduced to an unintelligible murmur.  Her life had been reduced to but one purpose.  Perform well, or be punished.

As she stood there shivering, her concern was not for herself, but for the sadness she heard in her master’s voice.  She bent slightly at the waist, in order to see his face more clearly.  She could not recall a time when his hard features had ever appeared so… “caring".  She noticed for the first time, an odd thumping sound in the distance.  She cared not what it was, only that it was spoiling this tender moment.

“Ah, Kouma,” he said once again, “these are hard times.  Those elfajzott Russians have cut off the flow of natural gas through our pipelines!  If it persists, I will use up all my savings, in both my Swiss and island accounts.”

Kouma did not know about these things, nor did she care about them.  Hell, she hadn’t even cared about things like that in her previous life.  What mattered was that her master was trying to tell her something, and in a flash of her old self, wished he’d get to the point.  Sensing her impatience, he supplied her with an explanation, rather than a scolding.  As he did, he looked past her, in to the distance.  Kouma noted that the thumping was growing louder.

“You see my pet,” he breathed, “I have been forced to make a business arrangement.  I have something, that my competitor does not.  In exchange for this “something”, he has agreed to erase all of my debt.”

The thumping had grown to a force Kouma could feel on her bare skin.  Some distant memory bubbled to the surface of her consciousness

“A helicopter.”  She realized in puzzlement.

And just before the prop wash drowned out his voice, he leaned closer and shouted…

“And that something is YOU!”

And then the black helicopter hovered into view.  The blast from the rotors kicked up loose particles of snow, which blasted her skin like a thousand tiny daggers.  His words were still sinking in as the skids set down and two, black clad men jumped out.  They walked purposefully toward the rider and shackled pony.

“Minister Putin sends his regards.”  One of them said, as the din of the rotors abated.

“Please tell the minister that he is most gracious for his offer.”  Kouma heard her master say.  She had known him long enough, to tell that his words rang hollow.

The exchange ended, the other figure removed a long leash from his pocket.  With a familiarity that demonstrated his contempt for her master, the man stepped forward and clipped the leash to the one piercing that hurt Kouma the most.

The nose ring hurt, not so much its physical pain (though she’d had many sessions were she thought it would be torn out), but in an emotional sense.  Once it had pierced her septum and rested on her upper lip, it made a symbolic declaration that she was now less than a human being.  From that moment forward, she would have no rights, no voice, no control over her own life.  She had become a piece of chattel, a domestic animal whose purpose was to do the bidding of others.  And now it was happening again.

When the cart’s rails were freed from her hips, Kouma resisted at first, digging in her heels.  But a callous, painful tug on the leash forced her to move forward.  She wasn’t even afforded a pleading look back, due to the restriction of the collar.  She whinnied and wailed for them not to take her, but found herself nevertheless standing next to the helicopter.  Rather than remove the hobbles, one of them simply scooped her up and dropped her on to the floor of the flying machine.

She saw that a folding bench attached to the cabin wall had been locked into position.  The tubular aluminum frame supported a tautly stretched seat of canvas.  Once again she was lifted and once again dropped on to the seat.  Her butt plug was driven painfully deeper. 

Kouma managed to twist so that she could glance out the cabin door.  There stood her master, motionless.  It was clear that he would make no effort to intervene.  And then, he was gone, as they sat her forward on the bench.  The men would waste no time nor effort with applying straps.  Their method was to be simple, effective and painful.

The hauled her bottom forward, to the very edge of the bench.  A plastic cable tie was looped around the bench's tubular support, then threaded through her pussy rings.  It was yanked with a tightness that showed no compassion.  Another zip-tie went through a ring on the back of her collar, then fastened to the wall behind her.  The awkward posture left her no choice but to sit bolt upright, staring straight ahead, her pelvis thrust forward in a most obscene fashion.  The third and final zip-tie, pulled her hobbled feet up under the bench beneath her.  There would be no shifting to a more comfortable position.  As the engine wound up to a higher pitch, one of them folded and snapped the blinders in place over her eyes.  Her miserable journey would be made in complete darkness.

He watched the helicopter fly away with the former starlet, until there was nothing more to see.  He began walking back down the crooked trail toward his dacha.  He would leave the sulky where it was, sending someone to fetch it later.  He tried to take comfort in the fact that he had every copy of "Covewatch" that had starred Palmera Anderton.  That, and he had hours of recordings, documenting her transformation from sex kitten, to pony girl.  It would have to do.

Perhaps tonight, he would watch a video.  “Meet the Spartans” perhaps. That Karma Electric was a fine looking woman, someone who would enhance his stables.

“Hmm,” he thought, “that is an idea.  I wonder if I still have that procurer’s phone number?”