The Forum is crowded with captives in chains,
And guards that the Emperor always maintains,
My Master inspects me and gives me a grin;
The ponygirl race is about to begin.

I'm bitted and booted and bridled and reined -
A high-stepping ponygirl, artfully trained.
The reins give me guidance, caressing my skin,
And I must trot swiftly so my Master can win.

Together, five ponygirls make up the field,
Each one of us nude so no charms are concealed.
A cymbal's loud clang, and the race has begun -
My Master now urges me into a run.

At last I am into the rhythm I need
To outpace the others with breathtaking speed;
My bosoms swing free as I stretch out my lead
And my nipples grow stiff with the heat of my need.

The whistles and catcalls the crowd sends my Master
Convey a clear message: That I must run faster!
So the tip of the whip takes its place in the race
And the hiss of its kiss makes me hasten my pace.

The finish line nears, then we reach it - first place!
The passions that filled me while making the chase
Reach climax at last and I moan at the rapture:
And I thank all the gods for the fact of my capture!