She awoke from bad dreams into worse.  Her arms ached, pinned painfully together behind her back and wrapped immobile in a tight sleeve buckled to her waist.  Her calves were belted to her thighs, pressing her ankles against her buttocks; a metal bar linked to straps wrapped around her thighs kept her legs forced wide apart.  She couldn’t even turn her head – a high, rigid collar was wrapped around her neck, keeping her gaze focused straight ahead at a blank wall.  Her jaw ached, forced open around a large rubber ball.  A corset laced round her waist limited her to small, shallow breaths through her nose.  The air in the room was hot and stagnant, but its oppressive touch against her groin, ass, and breasts let her know that they were uncovered.  The ground beneath her was concrete, rough and dry against her bare skin.

She screamed, but the sound was muffled to an indignant murmur by the gag.  She thrashed and strained against her bonds, but found little leeway.  Leaning backwards, her bare shoulders brushed against warm fabric.  Someone’s trousers.  She jerked away with a start as she suddenly became aware that another person – a man – was sitting directly behind her.  He sat in a chair, while she was on the floor, placing her head level with his crotch.  She tried to turn herself around to look at him in the dim light, but one of his hands grabbed her ponytail and the other her bare left shoulder, and kept her looking ahead.  Then the hand on her hair moved to stroke her cheek. 

“Shhh,” the man whispered.  “Shhhh.  It’s ok.”

She felt his breath against her ear.  She started to scream again, as best as she could, and tried to twist away from his hands.  He gripped her head, and with one hand reached out and pinched her nostrils shut, pressing his palm over her mouth.  He whispered in her ear again.

“When you calm down, I’ll let you breath again.”

After a few seconds, she stopped struggling, and he let go of her nose.  She shuddered, taking in as deep breaths as her constrained torso allowed.  The man’s hands resumed caressing her.

“There we go, Caroline,” he said.  That wasn’t so bad.  Now we’re ready to begin.”

Caroline felt a lump in her throat.  How did he know her name?  He must have seen her driver’s license or something similar when he… How did she get here?  The last thing she remembered was hiking on the Appalachian Trail.  Caroline had been on it for months, and was passing through West Virginia.  And now she was tied up in some psychopath’s basement.

“I know what you must be thinking,” the man said, his voice soft and even.  “It’s as bad as that.  Worse, even.  You are in a soundproof basement, far from where you were abducted.  We do this often enough to be professionals about it.  You’re young, and pretty, and white, so your face will likely be all over the news for a few days in America when you’re eventually reported missing.  We’re not currently in America, however – we moved you while you were sedated.  You won’t be found, and eventually your story will be forgotten. 

You will not be ransomed or released.  You were taken to be a slave, for sexual use.  You will be trained and then eventually auctioned off to a small and select clientele, to be enjoyed until your purchaser grows tired of you.”

Caroline’s heart beat in terror, harder and faster than she had thought possible.  She let her head loll down as far as the collar would let her, which wasn’t far.  Her whole body shook despite the restraints, and cold sweat began to bead on her skin.  The man took out a handkerchief and mopped her brow, then wiped off the drool that was pooling along her gag.  His motions were almost tender.

“Your eyes are still dry,” the man said, nonplussed.  “Usually by this point in the speech, a girl like you has broken down in tears.  Quite mortifying, really.  I think the loss of control represented by crying at my feet is a nice milestone on the road to accepting changed circumstances.  You appear to be made of tougher stuff, though.  I suppose it seems counterproductive, taking a woman independent and resourceful enough to hike for months on her own and trying to turn her into a compliant pet.  We could start with someone who had strong submissive tendencies.  But we could also take poor girls from developing countries instead of a middle class girl like you from America.  We do both of those things, of course.  But the people we retail to occasionally enjoy seeing a spirited, educated woman like yourself dominated and degraded.  In fact, this whole session is being recorded so that they can see your reactions.  I assume they’ll be masturbating while watching this.  Though now that I think about it, most of them don’t need to masturbate any more.  They’ll have a dedicated slave or two to suck or lick them as they enjoy this scene.”  The man reached down and cupped one of Caroline’s breasts with his hand, gently rolling the nipple between his fingers.  “If you’d like to cry now, no one would blame you.  Take as long as you like.  We’ll edit it down in post-production.”

Caroline gritted her teeth.  “Fuck you!” she spat.  Through the gag the syllables were indistinct and the sounds muffled, but the meaning was clear enough.  The man laughed.

“I can see you’re very agitated,” he said.  He reached into a box at his side and produced a large magic wand vibrator.  He strapped it to bonds holding her calves to her thighs, positioning the head at her pussy lips.  “This won’t calm you down, but it will work you up.  The sensations are strong enough to provoke your body’s natural response, regardless of what you’re feeling up here,” he said, tapping her temple.  Caroline made unintelligible protest as the vibrator hummed to live.

“Now, Caroline, I want you to listen closely.  I am about to offer you a choice.  We are a specialized operation, and our particular purpose is in taking women and turning them into animals.”  The man switched on a small LED projector, which produced a blank white rectangle on the wall in front of them.  Caroline squinted in the sudden light.  “I am going to introduce you to the different types of training you could undergo – the different types of pet you could become.  You will be allowed to pick.  Watch and listen, and think carefully about what I’m telling you.  This is the last choice you will be allowed to make for yourself for the rest of your life.  Do you understand?”

Caroline felt her mind freeze.  Her nervous system was pumped so full of adrenalin and worse she could barely think.  Fear and desperation played off against denial and incomprehension; beneath all of them lurked a tiny sliver of guilty arousal, as the vibrator did its work.  The only sound that escaped her gag was an involuntary whimper. 

A video began to play on the projector, flickering to life on the wall.  It showed a heavy-set, nude, voluptuous woman down on all fours in a cramped, filthy chamber. A leather porcine snout was strapped to her face, and a curly pink rubber tail poked out of her ass.  There were several inches of mud on the floor, submerging her hands and shins, and she was eating out of a trough with her mouth alone.  Her messy black hair fell over her face and into her eyes as she ate.  Caroline looked away, but she couldn’t keep her eyes off the appalling sight for long.

“This is a pig,” said the man.  “You could be one too.  It’s hard to tell under the snout, but this one is actually quite beautiful.  Her name is Jean, although these days I imagine she mostly answers to ‘pig’ or ‘sow,’ or ‘piglet,’ though she’s getting a bit big for that last one.  A pig’s life isn’t too bad; there aren’t a lot of demands on her.  She lives in mud, and has to stay down on all fours.  Oh, and most pigs have a series of tongue piercings that stop them from speaking intelligibly.  But beyond that, most of their time is their own.  They’re given as much food as they like.  It looks disgusting, and it’s messy to eat without your hands, but I’m told it tastes reasonably good.  Most of the girls we pick meet thin, athletic ideals of beauty, like you, Caroline.  The food is to encourage you to put on a few dozen pounds, add some curves.  Who ever heard of a thin pig?”

The film began a new sequence.  The pig, Jean, was in a larger, but still disgusting, room, and was being roughly fucked by a pair of men in their thirties.  One was using her mouth, and the other her pussy. The man in her mouth had her hair twisted in his hand, and was using it to aggressively fuck her face.  Jean grunted and groaned as the cocks slammed into her.

“Most prospective owners see pigs as something of a money-maker.  They rent them out by the half-hour to anyone who wants a piece.  For an additional fee, you can pull out that pig tail and fuck her ass, or even hose her down so that she’s clean when you put your cock in her.  Pigs do a brisk business, as I understand.  You can imagine that lots of guys who spend their lives under the thumbs of bitchy, domineering wives or bosses would love to blow off some steam hammering a dirty slut with a pig snout who has to take whatever they dish out.”

Despite his words, the man’s voice remained calm, even, and almost friendly.  The projector showed Jean with another pig, even plumper and with bigger breasts than she.  The other pig had her nose between Jean’s legs, and Jean moaned as the girl lapped enthusiastically at her pussy.  The camera lingered on Jean’s hindquarters.  The “tail,” which wiggled along with Jean’s hips, was clearly attached to a buttplug. 

“Like I said, even with all the guys to fuck, most of a pig’s time is her own, so she can have fun with the other piggies.  See?  It’s not all bad.  So, what do you think, Caroline?  Would you like to be a pig?”

Caroline was straight, with a tinge of homophobia she would never admit to.  She shook her head frantically as best as she was able in the collar.

“No need to decide now, of course.  You still need to hear about your other options.  Let’s see what we’ve got next.”

The next shot panned across a series of wooden stalls each holding a nude woman.  Each woman had a thick, golden ring through her septum, which was linked to the wall by a short, light chain.  The chains met the wall only a foot or two off the floor, forcing the girls to lie on their stomachs, crouch, or go down on all fours.  Around their necks, they wore leather collars, from which dangled heavy metal bells.  All of the women had large, full breasts for their frames, and where their asses were visible, Caroline could see the letter “P” branded into their right buttocks.

“If you don’t like the idea of being a pig,” the man said, “perhaps you’d prefer the life of a cow.  A cowgirl’s bondage is pretty minimal – just the collar and nose piercing are enough to control her when she’s not in use, so you’d get to keep those limbs free, and if you have a good owner, you might even get some time in the sun to stretch them.  The diet’s bland, though – pretty much just salad.  Cowgirls don’t get fucked as much as pigs do, either, though it does happen; that’s not really what they’re there for.  See the massive udders on those girls?  They didn’t come like that.  Regular hormone injections would get you producing milk after a month or two, and your tits will swell right up.”  The man cupped Caroline’s breasts in his hands and gave them an affectionate squeeze.  “The main event in a cowgirl’s life is getting milked.  This can be different from farm to farm.  On smaller farms, it’s often done by hand.” 

The screen showed a naked blond bent over a bucket, her hands cuffed to the sides of the table it rested on, her mouth silenced with a black bit gag.  Standing behind her, a portly man in overalls squeezed her ample breasts with his hands.  With each press, whitish milk squirted out into the bucket.  The girl whimpered as he milked her.

“This is the traditional way, and a lot of people are nostalgic for it.  There’s a certain element of intimacy that’s lost in more modern methods.  Nonetheless, more and more farms are turning to labor-saving milking devices to get the most out of their cows.”

The next clip featured a row of cowgirls strapped to leather-covered wooden horses, with sections cut away to expose their breasts.  Each girl’s breasts were covered by plastic cups connected to rubber tubes that delivered the milk to glass containers.  The girls were gagged, but despite this were still making a lot of noise, groaning and shouting indistinctly.

“Industrial milking is a painful and humiliating experience for cowgirls at first, but most learn to accept it after a few months.  The milk is sold to fetish enthusiasts for a nice profit.  Some people like to flavor coffee or cocktails with it, but those who can afford it in quantity typically don’t use it themselves – instead, they make it the only thing their slaves are allowed to drink.  During or immediately after milking is when a cowgirl is most likely to be fucked.  She’s helpless to resist, and despite appearances, milking does make cows unbelievably horny.” 

The man reached down and ran his fingers against Caroline’s pussy lips where they met the vibrator. They came back slick. Caroline’s face reddened, but there was nothing she could do.

“Not that you would know anything about that, of course.”  The man wiped his fingers off against Caroline’s nose and continued.  “Milk also provides for an easy way to keep cowgirls in line.” 

The film shifted to show a brunette cowgirl lying on her back, her hands cuffed to either side of her stall, and her nose chain curving up her forehead between her eyes to lock in into the wall.  She looked extremely uncomfortable, and her whole body was covered in sweat.  Her breasts were heavy and swollen, and a trickle of yellowed milk ran down one nipple.

“All they have to do is stop milking you, and your body will give you painful reminders of the importance of obedience.  In a few hours a ranch hand will come into this girl’s stall, and she’ll beg desperately to be milked.  Of course, that’s harder than it sounds, since she’ll be punished for speaking words, but I’m sure she’ll be able to get her point across with cow noises.  That’s being a cowgirl for you.  Most girls like it better than being a pig, but that’s not the only option.”

The next clip showed a tall brunette in elaborate bondage.  Her torso was covered in a web of leather straps that concealed nothing.  Her arms were locked behind her in a laced sleeve.  Her mouth was forced half-open by a thick black bit gag.  Her nipples were pierced, with little silver bells that jingled while she walked.  On her feet were knee-high black boots.  Her lustrous hair was gathered back in a ponytail, but an almost-identical tail sprouted from between her buttocks.

“This is a ponygirl.  Her name is Jackpot.  Obviously that’s not her given name, but a ponygirl almost always receives a new one more appropriate for her station in life.  Ponygirls need to be in good shape, because they’re worked pretty hard.”  He squeezed Caroline’s arm where it met the sleeve.  “You’re quite athletic, though, so I can’t imagine it’ll be an issue.  It’s a rough transition for girls who’ve spent their whole lives in an office.”

The film showed Jackpot with headgear clipping her to a long wooden pole attached to a machine in the center of a circular track.  Jackpot walked around the loop, the pole’s rotation setting her pace.  She started off at a slow canter, but as the film played the machine’s rotation sped up, forcing her into a trot and then a gallop.  A man with a riding crop watched her with his arms crossed from outside the perimeter, a satisfied expression on his face. 

“Ponygirls require a lot of training.  First they have to be taught to move in the right ways, then their stamina has to be built up, and there’s a long way to go beyond that to keep a ponygirl in top form.  It can be boring for the girl being trained, but no one will ask your opinion.”

The image changed to show Jackpot and another ponygirl on a gravel road, pulling a small cart.  Thin reins ran from the sides of their gags and from their nipple rings into the hands of the driver, who also had a whip to control them.  Both girls were sweating profusely.

“The life of a ponygirl is an ascetic one.  You’re given oats to eat, and maybe the occasional sugar cube, if you’ve done well.  You’re worked hard, and you come back exhausted at the end of the day.  Stable hands will clean you and groom you, but bondage is ubiquitous, and you won’t be allowed to speak.  See the tail sticking out of Jackpot’s ass?  Every ponygirl has one, made from her own hair for visual consistency.  It will be your constant companion – eventually you’ll feel strange without it.  One thing that you won’t get as a ponygirl is fucked.  That probably sounds wonderful to you right now: no one will rape you.  I doubt I can persuade you otherwise, but I can promise you that your perspective will change.  Being bound like that, being looked at, lusted over, exerting yourself, and especially being cleaned and shaven everywhere – all these things combine to make ponygirls extremely horny after a while.  But there will be no one to give you any relief.  Not officially, at any rate.”

Now Jackpot was standing on a raised dais.  She was perfectly still.  She was even more striking than she had been before: elaborately made up, hair perfectly coiffed, her piercings gold with gemstones, her leather bondage dyed a brilliant blue.  A crowd of fully-dressed men and women milled around her, and some even touched her, running their hands across her bare ass, parting her lips to examine her teeth.

“Ponygirls have three primary purposes.  The first is simply to pull their master around in his carriage.  The second is to enter races.  The third is for show, parades or contests in finest regalia.  Jackpot won a prize here, if I recall correctly.  Girls like you often enjoy the life of a ponygirl.  Successful ponygirls work hard and are rewarded for their athletic accomplishments.  Being valued for something like that can take the edge off feeling like you’re just a pair of breasts and three holes to your master.  And there’s a joy in running, letting the world and your captivity fall away, and feeling the wind on your skin.  Of course, running is a little less joyful if someone else chooses where you’re going, you’re expected to pull a great weight in time with one or more partners, and you’ll taste a whip if you slow down.  Since slavery awaits you regardless, however, perhaps a life of such discipline would be the kindest to you.  Still, there are other options.”

The image changed to show a skinny blonde on her knees, performing oral sex on a man visible only from the waist down.  The girl was nude save for a headband with cat ears and a thin white leather choker.  She purred softly as she used her lips, tongue and hand to tease and pleasure the man’s cock.

“This girl is a kitten.  A kitten’s life revolves around sucking, licking, and getting fucked.  They don’t have to worry about servicing strangers.  Well, not often.  A kitten has a particular master, and the relationship is about as close to monogamy as one can get between a pet and her owner.  A kitten becomes intimately familiar with every inch of her master beneath the waist.  You’ll learn how to use your tongue, your fingers, your breasts, your pussy and ass, to turn your owner on, keep him on the edge for as long as he can handle, then bring him off.  You’ll rarely touch your owner above the waist, however, and you will never kiss him.  I say him, but your owner could be a woman, of course.  A woman’s kitten is called a pussy, and they are allowed to go up to pleasure their owner’s breasts, though no higher.”

The projector displayed an Asian woman sleeping splayed out on a waterbed in an opulent bedroom on a hot night.  Curled around her feet asleep was a lithe redhead, nude except for her cat ears.

“That pussy will wake her mistress up in the morning with her tongue.  A kitten is her master’s constant companion.  It’s her job to notice when he’s horny and relieve him, unless ordered otherwise.  Beyond attending to her owner, a kitten’s only other duty is playing with other cats.  Most owners know a few others with similar proclivities, and when they get together they expect to see a show.  Most kittens, even straight ones, learn to love spending time with their sisters.  Most of the time, kittens are expected to purr and meow, but they’re not actually prevented from talking.  After you’ve entertained your owners by wrestling or sixty-nining some little pussy, you’ll likely be allowed to talk.  The other kittens you play with will become your best friends.  The closest thing you can have to a friend, at any rate.  Just try not to fall in love; that never ends well.”

The next clip showed the couple from the bedroom at dinner.  The Asian woman was dressed in an evening gown, and eating filet mignon.  The redhead was on her hands and knees beneath the table, a leash leading from her choker to her mistress’s hand.  The woman in the evening dress delicately cut off a few morsels of her steak and fed them to the girl beneath the table.  Between tastes, the redhead lapped at a saucer of milk.

“That’s girl’s milk, of course, from cows like we saw earlier.  Most kittens drink it regularly.  As you can see, a kitten has a favored status even in a household with a lot of slaves.  They’re quite pampered, really.  I’d even say they were loved, though it’s the kind of love one has for… well, a kitten.  All you have to do attend to your owner and enjoy yourself.”

The picture changed to show the scrawny blonde kitten.  She did not look happy. She was bent over a man’s knees.  His face was still out of frame, but his hand moved quickly, spanking the girl harshly and evenly.

“Of course, kittens who act out get punished.  This girl must have been quite bad.  If you look closely, you can see that her nipples have been pierced, and she’s getting a thrashing she won’t soon forget.  If she still hasn’t learned her lesson, there are always more places to pierce.  But you wouldn’t ever test someone’s patience like that, would you, Caroline?”  He smiled.  Caroline gritted her teeth and flexed her arms against their sleeve as hard as she could, but the lacing was too tight and her push made no headway. 

“I must say, there’s something I find particularly entertaining about the idea of piercing a girl with tiny tits like that one.  Her chest may look boyish, but this is a nice reminder that it has an entirely different purpose from a man’s.”

The man pulled Caroline’s head down and back between his legs, tilting her eyes up to face the ceiling and forcing her tits out into better view.  She sputtered, trying to keep her head out of his crotch.

“Yours are quite nice on their own.  Not too big – some owners would want to modify them, bring them up a few sizes – but I think they’re quite charming.  Still, they’ll look nicer ringed.  In my opinion, at least.  And with a little luck I’ll be able to take care of that for you.  There’s only one more option left for me to show you.”

The projection on the wall displayed a girl with coffee-colored skin and delicate features.  The girl was curled up in a metal cage too small for her to stand up or lie down.  All she wore was a spiked leather collar, strange gloves on her hands, and a tail attached to a plug in her ass.

“This is Penny.  She’s a puppygirl, or a bitch for short.  Those mittens she’s wearing have no fingers.  They keep her hands from being more than paws.  When she’s out and about she’ll probably wear elbow and knee pads, as puppygirls are never allowed to stand on two feet, and unlike kittens they often have to cover serious distance on all fours.  Like a kitten, a puppygirl has one owner who takes care of her.  While a kitten is mostly just there for sex, however, a puppygirl is treated like a dog.  You’d sleep in a cage, a basket at the foot of your master’s bed, or a kennel with his real dogs, and eat from a bowl on the floor.  Bitches aren’t allowed to speak, only to bark, though how this is enforced varies from household to household.  Penny simply knows her place and doesn’t need any additional measures, but gags, piercings, and even paralyzing the vocal chords are not unheard of.”

On the wall ahead of them, Penny crawled across an oriental rug in an oak-paneled living room, a pair of slippers in her mouth.  She deposited them in front of a pair of feet resting on a leather ottoman.

“Unlike a kitten, a bitch doesn’t need to be constantly sexually proactive, satisfying her owner’s needs as they arise – when your master occasionally feels like fucking you, he’ll pull out your tail and take you from behind, or put in a ring gag and use your mouth.  However, you will be taught basic doggie commands, like fetch, beg, roll over, and heel.  You’ll bring your master his slippers, play Frisbee, and accompany him on rambles through the countryside.  If you’re bad, you can expect a swift lesson from a rolled-up newspaper.  It’s less intimate than a kitten, and you don’t need to pretend that you like it, but for a girl with a bit of pride it can be far more degrading.  You’re lucky – most don’t get to choose.”

Penny was in the woods now, and not alone.  A black woman, naked, hobbled by a spreader bar and a yoke holding her arms by her head, was sprawled out on the carpet of fallen pine needles covering the ground.  She had tripped over a tree root, and Penny pounced on her.  The girl pleaded with Penny to let her go, but Penny only barked.  Caroline realized that Penny was wearing a strap-on, and as she watched Penny began to fuck the struggling girl with it in the middle of the trees.  After a few seconds, several men in hunting gear ran up and looked on with pleasure.

“There are many activities that puppygirls may be made to partake in, including shows, fights, and breeding.  This is a hunt.  Penny is an excellent tracker, and though she was hesitant to rape the girls she catches at first, I understand a suitable carrot-and-stick approach has made her quite enthusiastic.  Her owner has received numerous offers for her as a result, but he claims he’ll never sell– a very satisfied customer.  Quite a feather in our cap, really.”  He reached down and switched the projector off. 

“This concludes the presentation.”

Standing up, the man reached down and picked Caroline up, as if she were a piece of furniture.  He sat back down in the chair with her on his lap.  Caroline could finally see his face.  The man looked to be in his early thirties, with short black hair and a nose that had once been broken and never quite set correctly.  His dark eyes seemed to glitter with malice in the dim light.  Her bare buttocks could feel the warmth of his erection pressing against his trousers beneath them.  The man held her in place with an arm around her waist, while the other idly played with her breasts.  He held eye contact, and Caroline refused to flinch away.

“In a moment, Caroline, I’m going to remove your gag, so that you can make your final choice.  I’m sure all sorts of thoughts have been swarming through your head over the past half hour or so, all kinds of things you’d like to tell me.  When I remove the gag, you might be thinking of screaming at me, or spitting on me, or begging and pleading, or offering me money, or god knows what else.  I’ve been doing this for a number of years now, and I’ve heard everything you can imagine.  But I only want to hear one thing from you: what kind of slave you want to become.  If I remove that gag, and you say anything other than that – anything at all – then you will lose your choice.  I will make it for you.  And I will pick something that you will regret for the rest of your long, miserable life.  Do you understand me?”

Caroline was finally, at last, ready to cry.  She could feel the pressure building at the corners of her eyes.  She closed them to make it harder for him to see.  Caroline knew he was just playing a game with her – trying to make her accept what he was doing to her by making it seem like “her choice,” even though it was really no choice at all.  She wanted to spit in his arrogant eyes, to lunge for his face with her teeth.  He’d hurt her for it, she guessed, but he’d made it clear that he’d hurt her no matter what she did.  But then she thought of the pig girl, gang-raped in a filthy sty, and her throat caught.  Not all horrors were created equal.  Could she afford to take that chance for the pleasure of a moment’s defiance?

Caroline nodded.  The man reached back behind her head and undid a clasp.  She thought her jaw was going to dislocate when he pulled the enormous rubber ball from between her teeth.  Her mouth ached, and she wished her hands were free to rub her jaw.  She began to breath raggedly through her mouth.

“So?  What have you decided, Caroline?”

She took a deep breath.

Epilogue

The man had been right about everything, Caroline reflected. 

He had been right about the name.  Everyone in this place called her “Tomboy,” the name that had been chosen for her, but in her head she could still be Caroline. 

He had been right about the hard work.  She was exhausted, her body covered with sweat.  She wanted nothing more than to lie down, but a stable hand would be arriving to clean her and remove her tack, and Caroline would be punished if she wasn’t standing.  At least her new life had been good for her body.  Her legs were smooth and muscled, her stomach flat, her ass tight.  It was hard to take pride in that, though, when she was constantly reminded that she was merely an object for display, kept in good condition by its owner.

He had been right about the bondage.  Unconsciously, she rubbed her tongue against the black rubber bit between her teeth.  It had been months since she’d been allowed to speak to anyone, and at night she would whisper to herself to make sure she didn’t forget how.  She did arm exercises, too, as best as she could, no matter how tired she felt.  Her arms spent all day in a binder, and Caroline wanted to keep them strong.  The piercings had been agony.  She liked the way the wind felt against the rings in her nipples now that they’d healed, but there was nothing more agonizing and humiliating than being controlled by reins threaded through them.  And then there was the tail.  She’d cried when they cut off her hair.  And when they brought it back to her attached to a buttplug, she’d fought back, receiving a whipping for her trouble.  It was the only piece of bondage they made her wear at night, besides handcuffs.  After the first few months, it became like an extension of herself, and when it was removed, a few times a day, she felt strangely empty.

He had been right about the feeling of running, but she had known that already.  Caroline had always been an athletic girl.  In high school, she did track, and in college she rowed.  After school ended, she would simply take a run in the morning before work to keep in shape.  The runner’s high was what made her current imprisonment almost bearable.  Even in full tack, even with the weight of a sulky behind her, it was a pleasure to push her limits, to try and outrun everything, her thoughts, her memories, everything she’d suffered.  The only false note was that the thing she wanted to outrun most of all was what she was pulling behind her.  Still, she had felt proud when her team won last week’s race, proud enough to feel pleased instead of degraded when her jockey kissed her on the forehead and fed her a cube of sugar as a reward.

He had even been right about the sex.  The man had never fucked her during her training, as he promised, but when she arrived at the ranch, Caroline fully expected to be raped.  Dressed in ridiculous, revealing outfits, forced to prance around for the pleasure of the men and women who owned the place, she tried to steel herself for the inevitable.  But it never happened.  And as weeks went by without an opportunity to masturbate, Caroline became steadily more horny. 

The worst was when she was cleaned after a long day’s run in the heat.  The stable hand would walk into her stall, tall, dirty-blond, with a wry smile on his face.  Gently, he’d remove her bondage piece by piece, and slowly wash her with a bucket of soap and water, brush her hair, and shave all over her body.  Inevitably, his hands would linger just a few moments longer than necessary on her breasts, around her pussy and ass.  It took nearly a month for him to work up the courage to fuck her, and by the time he did, Caroline had been fantasizing about it for at least a week.  He left her gag in and her arms bound, removed her tail so it wouldn’t be in the way, and played with her pussy to warm her up.  When he entered Caroline from behind, she moaned through the gag, and he seemed almost surprised that she eagerly pressed her ass back against him.  The stablehand kept one hand on her breasts, and toyed with her clit with the other as he fucked her.  She came noisily shortly before he did. 

After that they fucked every day after her workout.  He never removed her bondage before fucking her, or let her talk to him like she had hoped, but he was gentle and rough with her by turns in just the right ways.  To Caroline’s surprise, she found that she was, if not happy, then at least satisfied.  That was until two weeks ago, when one of the owners caught them.  Caroline wasn’t punished, as she was bound and had no control over whether or not she was fucked, but she never saw the stableboy again.  The new stable hand was a dark-haired girl with pigtails and a cruel smile.  She was rather free with her riding crop, and liked to play painfully with Caroline’s piercings while she cleaned her.  Caroline could hear the new girl’s footsteps approaching outside her stall.

When she first arrived at the ranch, Caroline had been fixated on escape.  She’d mostly given up on that, now.  They were in Arizona, or New Mexico, or some rural foreign desert hellhole, and even in as good shape as she was, getting lost in the wasteland with no clothes and no water wasn’t an attractive proposition.  She had adjusted her hopes downward, step by miserable step.  Now what she wanted most was to be able to talk with other ponygirls – one in particular.  Caroline didn’t know her real name, but the owners called her “Tease.”  Tease was blonde like Caroline, and the same height, but her eyes were green and her hair curly.  They often pulled the same sulky together, and had learned, through long hours in the sun, to run together at the same pace.  When they raced as a pair, their sounds of their feet hitting the ground indistinguishable from each other, Caroline felt an incredible bond with Tease, as if they were sisters.  Caroline longed to hear her partner’s voice, her name, her story, but the best they could do was nuzzle their faces together through a window between the stalls before a race, and vocalize incomprehensibly through their bits.  Caroline sighed softly to herself as the door to her stall was unlatched and the stable girl walked in.  The sting of a crop against her bare ass jolted her from her reverie.

“How’s my favorite pony doing today?”