DAY THREE - Day At The Races

Waking up in Molly's big bed, Jenny stretches in luxury and remembers the pleasures of the night before. As she moves her hand, the steel circlet on her wrist comes to her notice. God, I hope the chain's long enough to reach the toilet, she thinks, remembering it being locked around her wrist the night before, after she'd given her Mistress her third "good night" orgasm. She gets up and, taking care not to awaken Molly, goes into the bath, trailing the long silver chain behind her. She finds that the chain is plenty long and shivers to know that she has no say in when it might come off.

The worst part of being a slave is not having any say in what will happen . . . she thinks, feeling the relief draining from her bursting bladder. On the other hand, the BEST part of being a slave is not having any say in what will happen.

Finishing her task, Jenny jerks at the slight soreness that remains in her thorn pricked and over used labia. She stands up and looks at herself in the mirror holding the chained wrist up before her. You stupid little cunt! What have you got yourself into this time? she thinks, trying to fight back her self-satisfied smile.

After money, sex is the best thing Jenny has found. For her, within limits, the rougher the sex the better. Limits are the trick, of course, she thinks, once you're helpless, its hard to negotiate.

"A penny for your thoughts," Molly says from the bathroom door, her bull dyke look in her eyes.

Jenny turns and smiles at her new owner. "It'll cost you a lot more than a penny, Mistress." she says, trying for a good morning hug.

Molly stops her with a hand between her breasts and says, "Don't squeeze me, unless you want to clean up the mess." then sits down and gets a look of religious ecstasy in her face as her yellow stream flows.

The phone rings. "Hello?" Molly says. "Speaking . . . Yes? . . . Damn! Tell them I'll be there in forty minutes."

Ten minutes later Jenny finds herself alone, her wrist still chained to the ring above the head of Molly's bed.

The bedroom door is well out of her reach, as are the telephone, her clothes and the key to the steel circlet on her wrist.

With a smile, Jenny heads for the bath tub, a place that her wrist chain will reach. While she waits for the tub to fill, she stands in front of the big gilded mirror, looking at her own nude, ripe, woman's body. Cradling her big breasts in both hands, her thumb nails tickling her extended nipples, she thinks, A little too big up here. A little too wide back there. Turning to look at her bottom in the mirror, she then grins and thinks. Works for me.

God how I love it when they make me come!

What is happening to me? What a slut I've become! Will I survive this month? Can I die of pleasure? Will I be me when they finish with me? Will I be happy? Will I finally find satisfaction?

Jenny eases down, lies back, closes her eyes and relaxes in the steaming water. Softly to herself, she sings, "I Can't GET NO . . . Sat-tis-Faction . . .

It is about twenty minutes later when suddenly the bathroom door opens and in walks the cameraman from her first day, the handcuff key in his right hand and a gym bag in the other.

"What are you doing here?" she says, cringing down into the water, suddenly knowing how completely helpless she is, naked and tethered by the wrist chain.

He only grunts and pulls out a length of braided Nylon rope.

Jenny knows she can't run and knows better than to try to fight, but sitting there in the water and allowing this man to tie her elbows together behind her back is not an easy thing to do. She has a hundred questions she dares not ask. Instead, she remains the perfect slave, meekly offering her arms to the rope.

As soon as he finishes cinching her elbows, he hoists her up out of the water and sets her on the toilet so he can cross and tie her ankles. When this is done he produces a red rubber ball on a strap and soon she is gagged and having the draw string of a black velvet sack tied down under her chin. She is now completely blind, helpless and unable to make intelligible speech. She feels his hands begin to caress her naked body, remembers how sexy he looked the first time she saw him and shudders in anticipation of the pleasures to come.

She feels the cuff being released from her wrist and replaced by a tight noose of rope. Then her hands are being tied together across her tummy, saving her the trouble of waving them around in the useless circles allowed by the elbow rope.

As her helpless body is being hoisted up onto his muscle-bound shoulder, she wonders if Molly knows she's being kidnapped but now has no way of asking.

He carries her downstairs, through the empty nightclub and out into the parking lot. Hoodwinked, naked, gagged, helpless and still dripping wet from the bath, Jenny feels like a piece of luggage as he puts her in the trunk of a car and closes the lid. When the motor starts the music of The Who comes thundering down into the enclosed space. Roger Daltry is telling the world he's free.

Before the car has turned three corners she has no idea where they might be going.

She only knows it seems like forever and it finally ends with a long, very rough, very dusty dirt road.

The car stops, backs up a few feet and the motor shuts off, leaving her ears ringing with the after-effects of his high wattage stereo. She feels the air pressure from the slamming of his door but does not hear his footsteps coming back to open the trunk. She's praying he isn't going to leave her like this. Her bound elbows are now on fire.

She cries out in relief as she feels a rush of fresh air as the trunk lid opens. Then, as the smells of a horse barn assail her velvet covered senses, she whines and wiggles against the ropes. She knows how sexy she must look, so completely helpless and vulnerable. She hopes he's as horny as she, hopes he'll fuck her soon.

She feels her body being hoisted out of the car and her bare bottom being sat down upon a prickly bale of hay. She finds that with her ankles crossed she dares not try to stand up and escape this discomfort. She whines behind the gag, within the hoodwink, trying to beg for mercy.

She hears his deep chuckle and feels a wide leather collar being buckled around her throat, just below the tight drawstring of the head bag. She feels him attaching straps to the D rings under each of her cloth covered ears then feels him drawing these so tight that she is tethered from two opposing directions, as you would secure a horse in a stall. She feels her ankles being untied and then she feels leather restraint cuffs being strapped around them instead. As soon as he's done, she kicks her feet experimentally and discovers she's been closely hobbled by a single, double ended snap hook.

He grips the rope that binds her elbows, slides a hand down under the crack of her butt, slides two fingers into her vagina, his thumb into her butt and lifts her like a bowling ball, kicking and screaming in gag garbled panic, to stand in a bent over position, her hobbled feet now behind the bale, her throat still held in the collar.

She shuffles her feet in the scattered hay and tries to find her balance.

He kicks away the hay bale and begins to caress her naked, helpless body, his hard hands finding her most sensitive places, using them to arouse her. She snorts like a mare, stamps her hobbled feet and tosses her bag covered head.

She feels his fingers tracing the wet folds of her sex, feels his other hand cupping her hanging breasts, teasing first one nipple then the other, making them ache with arousal, with desire.

She finds her orgasm lurking in the darkness of the hoodwink and knows that she will soon lose the last shred of her self control. She snorts and kicks and tries to deny that moment, for as long as humanly possible. But after only a few minutes, only seconds before she is going to come, he stops what he is doing and leaves her, panting and helpless, her passion juice oozing down the insides of her thighs. She stands, bent over at the waist, her bound arms squeezing her short ribs, her throat held in the twice tethered collar, her ankles hobbled to a two inch shuffle.

She now expects the pain of a riding crop, whip, cane or paddle. Instead, she feels a greasy finger finding and invading her tight, slightly sore brown eye. When the grease is well applied, high up in her shitter, the finger is replaced by the pointed tip of a well greased, heavy rubber butt plug. She knows better than to resist so she wills her spincture to relax, accommodating the invader into her bowels until she feels as stretched as a woman could ever be. When the tight ring of her anus is gripping the neck of the diamond shaped butt plug she feels a tickling sensation. Suddenly she knows the horrible truth. She's been tailed! The butt plug is merely the support point of what feels like a horse hair tail. When she moves her hips to and fro she can feel the long silky hairs tickling her bottom, getting wet as they come in contact with her dripping sex. She can also feel the weight of the gut filling butt plug. Her pussy gulps air as her anus clenches around its smooth greasy hardness.

Next come a pair of extremely high heeled shoes that strap on her feet and hobble her fully as much as the link between her ankles.

She thinks she knows what is coming next, but is surprised to feel him untying her wrists instead. Stretching these out as wide as the elbow rope will allow, he attaches them to a pair of waiting leather cuffs. She finds that her hands are being attached to two strong parallel horizontal poles at what feels like their mid points. When this is done a second pair of leather straps are buckled around her upper arms, attaching her shoulders to the same horizontal bars. The elbow binding is left as it is, tightly holding her elbows together in the middle of her back.

She finds herself trapped between the poles, still bent at the waist, her bottom sporting a horse tail. Suddenly she understands. She's being harnessed to a sulky! She's going to be the cameraman's trotter.

She feels the humiliation burning within her helpless body, feels the rising revolt that she knows can only fail.

She also feels the secret contentment of the well cared for slave girl.

He unhooks the twin tethers from the walls, drapes the long leather straps back over her shoulders to use as reins, removes the snaphook between her ankle restraints and climbs up into the sulky's seat.

She thinks about the view he must have of her round, tightly plugged butt. Her dripping, in season sex. Then she feels the cracker of his sulky whip caressing up between her thighs.

"Giddy-up Jenny, I'll tell you when to turn," he says, sliding the leather braid covered stiffness up and down through her swollen labia, coating the leather with her wonderfully copious secretions. When, at first, she doesn't move, he expertly slaps her butt with the reins, making her start in pain, startling her into lunging forward, pulling the sulky and its passenger across the barn floor and out into the hot sun.

The whip touches her right hip, just below the stinging spot so recently acquired. "Turn slightly to the right Jenny, I want you to take me for a nice long afternoon ride."

Jenny, helpless to do ought else, pulls the sulky out into the farm yard, wondering if there are other eyes watching, other cocks waiting. She has no more say in what will happen now than would a harnessed horse. Her Master rides up behind her, his eye full of her business, his whip urging and guiding and stimulating her helpless body.

When, after a few minutes, he tells her to speed up, she whines in protest, her tone suggesting that she is already going as fast as she can, impaled, bound, hobbled and hoodwinked as she is. The sudden supernova of pain on her left buttock proves her a liar. Spurred by the fear of a second one she takes off like a road runner, her shoes kicking up puffs of dust where they hit the smoothly raked track. He lets her run for about fifty yards, then, just before she is completely winded, pulls back on the reins and says, "Whoa there my little filly. Nice horsy." and gets down to stand close behind her, his big cock hard as iron and ready for a little stump breaking.

Inside the hoodwink, behind her gag, Jenny is gasping to the tune of, "Camp town race is five miles long, Doo Dah'ahhhh, Doo Dah-'ahhhh" as she feels his cock plowing into her, his two fisted grip on her hips lifting her kicking feet from the ground.

DAY FOUR - Breaking Training

Waking up in the bed beside Molly, Jenny sees that she has a problem. The chain on her wrist is trapped under her Mistress's sleeping body. She needs to pee but she cannot get up without waking Molly. She decides holding it is the safest thing for her to do, for the present.

She tries to distract herself from thinking about her bladder by taking a trip down memory lane. She smiles as she remembers her day at the races. After Molly's cameraman had wrung three wonderful orgasms from her there in the middle of the track, he'd led her up to a patch of thick, close cropped grass. There, he re-hobbled his pony girl and began talking loudly, as if to a silent crowd gathered around them. "Here you have her, ladies and gentlemen, one of the finest trotters I've ever brought to you. Firm of flesh, fine of fettle. Look at these hams, these breasts, these nipples, this pussy. Have you ever seen such flesh? She may not be the fastest trotter I ever put whip to but, believe me, she gives her Master a nice ride." He patted her bottom, gently, caressingly, intimately.

Jenny, panting and dripping with sweat, drool and come, the tail still stretching her anus, her head still inside the black velvet bag, could almost see the crowd around her. These would be the Power People, the Money People. The kinds of people who cannot go to places like Molly's North Beach club, for fear of the paparazzi, fear of exposure. The kinds of people who, because they pay richly for what they want, want more. She knew that Molly was intending that she pay for her keep. She whined for mercy, expecting none.

Yet it worked, after a fashion, for her driver immediately released her from the sulky shafts, untying her elbow bondage quickly and carefully. Still helpless in her head bag and hobbles, she felt the agony of being straightened up after being bent over so long in the traces. She felt her arms being stretched wide and cuffed in leather to the side of a paddock fence plank. She remained just as helpless, but at least now she could stand up straight, at least her elbows were no longer bound together behind her back. Next, she felt him lashing her to the fence rails, using the reins to crisscross her naked torso into position. As he worked, he continued the auction, apparently taking silent bids as her price skyrocketed from merely expensive up through outrageous to the land of OHMYGOD!

"Sold to the lady in the veil!" he finished, banging a gavel against the the fence post on her right. "Please pay the cashier and enjoy your afternoon, madam. Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen, weather permitting, we hope to have this little mare here again the last Thursday this month."

Jenny remembers standing against the fence, her arms stretched out wide, her horse tail hanging down and tickling the backs of her legs. Having no say in the matter, she was waiting to find what would be done with her helpless body and through it, her helpless mind.

Someone, probably not a man, began to bathe Jenny's exposed, dust covered, cum dripping body, using a bucket of warm soapy water and a loofa sponge. Jenny stood against the fence and felt the tender treatment, the caressing hands, the knowing, skillful, intrusive fingers.

Starting from a state of post-coital exhaustion, it took Jenny's silent new lease holder only a few minutes to bring her back to full blown sexual involvement. It was like black magic, the way the unseen fingers inflamed her body, making her want more of what she'd already had plenty. She was straining against the straps, moaning behind her gag, feeling the tender, gentle, loving caresses on her helpless, soap covered body. I'm being reduced to some kind of orgasm machine! A something, rather than a someone! She thought, writhing against the fence, lifting her hips to the pleasure.

Suddenly, the woman withdrew her hand and stepped away, leaving Jenny panting with lust, writhing against her restraints, her pussy hanging open like an empty pea coat sleeve, right out on the verge of yet another orgasm.

Without the slightest warning, she was hit by a bucket of cool, clear water, the unexpected shock to her senses propelling her far beyond orgasm out into a wilderness of mindless passion, a forest of delicious pleasures.