Kalani awoke from a deep sleep to hear her cell door open. She squirmed on the pile of straw that served as her bed, wishing she hadn't been blindfolded so tightly. The soft clink of chains let her jailers know she was awake.

"Get up," a female voice ordered. Her voice was harsh, with a sharp anticipation in it. Kalani squirmed to her knees as bootheels clicked against the cold stone of the floor. A ponygirl was required to be instantly responsive to her Masters, no matter how tired she was. She knelt with her head bowed, knees slightly apart, with her arms behind her back. She couldn't help but assume it, as her wrists and ankles were chained together.

The door of her cell screeched open. Two strong pairs of arms took hold of her armpits, lifting her, and carried her out of the stall. She heard the jealous sighs of the other ponygirls. She couldn't see them, nor they her, but they knew one of their own had been chosen, though whether for something special or terrible, none could say. After a few minutes they would settle down and go back to sleep, their curved, tanned bodies luscious commas in the straw. They couldn't do much else, really, as, like her, they were gagged and hogtied. Their collar chains were all locked to a ring in the center of floor, assuring they had even less freedom of movement.

But they were of no further interest to Kalani. Her captors took her to a place where voices echoed strangely and removed her blindfold. She was in a crude tiled room, a bathing facility lit by hanging lanterns. Several wooden tubs steamed over grates set in the floor and a selection of towels rested on one of the benches. Three of the stable staff surrounded her: Miriam, the harsh- voiced supervisor, and Gonzales and Everett, her lackeys. With them were two of the estate slaves, who knelt on the floor with their heads lowered, waiting for orders as all slaves do.

"No looking about!" Miriam ordered, and struck Kalani sharply on the ass with a narrow leather paddle. Chastised, Kalani quickly lowered her head to the floor. "Do you forget what you are?"

Tears came to Kalani's eyes, remembering the stringent training she had endured the week before. She shook her head.

Miriam smacked her buttock again. "Make sure you don't."

Kalani regarded the dirty white tiles, her asscheek smarting. She blinked her tears away, but her heart was pounding, as much in anticipation as fear. Everett unlocked her wrist and ankle cuffs. "Head up, slave, with your hands behind your neck."

Slave. They had named her that, and it was what she now must think of herself. She had no other identity--not businesswoman, not United States citizen, not sister or lover or wife. She did as she was ordered and kept her eyes down. The heavy metal collar weighed upon her neck, cupping the bottom of her chin. The dangling tag engraved with her pony name was a cold finger against her chest. KALANI, it said. Beneath it, PROPERTY OF PARADISE POINT RESORT, MOLOKAI.

"A guest wants to take a moonlight drive," Miriam announced. "He requested both you and Popolena. He may also have some private games in mind for you, who can tell? This is your first real outing here, so needless to say, you will have to prove yourself worthy." Kalani gasped as Miriam smacked her ass again, taking care to keep her lips pressed together. The welt felt as thick as her finger. An outburst louder than that might be an excuse for another one. "Any mistakes on your part, any foolishness or forgetfulness, and will find you in a position much, much worse than your present one. Do you understand?"

It was a direct question, and if they now thought of her as just another ponygirl, as a ponygirl she had to answer. "Yes."

Miriam struck her again. "Yes Mistress," she said, half a groan, half a sob, as she realized she had to use the speech of a ponygirl, too.

Miriam presented her with the paddle. "Show your respect to your Mistress now, slave."

Kalani bit back another sob and kissed the stiff leather, closing her eyes as she tasted the salt. Her stomach contracted when she imagined the submissive picture she made, sending a shameful wave of passion through her lower body. Tantalizing scenarios danced through her mind. The two men laughed.

"You will serve our guests in whatever they wish?"

"Yes, Mistress."

Miriam pressed the handle of the paddle to the side of Kalani's face, then withdrew it. "Prepare her."

Everett and Gonzales motioned Kalani up and chained her, spread-eagled, between two of the columns. Then they took out razors and a jar of depilatory cream. Kalani began to struggle, but her attempts at disobedience only made them laugh harder. They had been expecting this, even looking forward to it.

"Our guests expect to see ponygirls properly prepared, and that includes making your skin smooth as silk," Miriam said.

"They'd rather eat the peach without the fuzz, too," Everett added, with a smirk.

Kalani could wait helplessly as the grooms mixed their soaps to make a fine lather, which they rubbed over her torso and limbs. Then they began to shave her, dipping their blades again and again into the warm water, cleaning off the soap and hair. After her body was smooth as glass they began to shave her pussy. She flushed furiously as their hands poked and prodded, opening up her buttocks with their fingers; even her anus was examined and denuded. Once was not enough for them. Twice they shaved her there, using careful strokes to reach all the crevices, and it was torment hearing them banter with each other as they worked. They treated her as if she had no mind or ears, making jokes about the color of her skin, the shape of her nipples, even the length of her clit...which had become moist and engorged as her pubic hair was stripped away.

They slathered her with the white depilatory cream to remove the last of her body hair at the roots, then rinsed her with bucket after bucket of warm water. Their rough fingers sent unwilling shockwaves of pleasure across her denuded flesh. How sensitized it was now, the same way lips were more sensitive than the skin of the back, or a nipple than an ankle. Her body betrayed her again, emitting a warm bead of moisture that slid down her thigh.

Suddenly a hard metal object prodded her asshole. "The guest wants you nice and clean before his play-time. Inside *and* out, if you get what I mean," Miriam said. Rough laughter came from the men.

No, Kalani thought desperately. They didn't say anything about this! But the hard metal nozzle worked its way inside her, and she could only wait stoically as measure after measure of water was pumped into her. When she thought she would burst they pulled the tube out, squeezing her asscheeks together to hold in the water, and another object entered her--a buttplug. It had a wide, round rim on the end of it that spread her buttocks apart, the rubber circle showing any and all how thoroughly she was plugged. Her muscles clenched again and again around the plug, trying without success to expel the intruder.

Her bowels gurgled and cramped, but there was no place for the waste to go. "Please..." she gasped. Her rear shook in little circles in the air.

The grooms only grinned, enjoying the lively show her jiggling cheeks made. Miriam rubbed the handle of the paddle back and forth over Kalani's clit, and Kalani gasped even louder. Her tits heaved up and down with her pants, nipples pointed like bullets. Despite the discomfort her arousal grew.

"Please, Masters..." she begged.

The paddle slapped her rear, jarring the buttplug imbedded inside her. She had only barely recovered from the indignity of the purge and the flesh of her ass clenched even tighter around the hard little rim. She groaned, thrashing her head back and forth, her curly black hair flying with the motions. The paddle struck again. To her utter humiliation she began babbling for mercy. A humiliating orgasm began to build like the slow roll of thunder. Just as she was sure she would come the groom removed the plug and the two resort slaves caught her waste in a basin.

Kalani sagged forward as they laughed, asking her if she had liked it, if she would like having her bowels emptied more often. She could hardly hear them through the lovely static of relief.

They gave her another enema, then left her alone with the bath- slaves. The water this time was full of scent, intending to refresh her or the tongue of whoever would be using that part of her body. "What else are they going to do to me?" Kalani asked the two slaves.

They looked around, unsure. Perhaps they weren't allowed to talk with the ponygirls. "I don't know," the redhead whispered. She was naked except for a long piece of silk that hung between her legs. Her nipples were pierced, the two rings connected with a chain.

"Tell me!" Kalani said forcefully.

"I can't," the slave said miserably. "That's against the rules. Do you want to get us all in trouble here? Please, don't ask us any more."

Or I can wind up like you, Kalani thought. You couldn't get much lower here than being a bath slave bathing other slaves. Gently they removed the plug, and she sagged in relief as the water left her. It made a loud splash in basin. They wiped her clean, then smoothed warm oil over their hands and began to massage her. Thighs, calves, abdomen, shoulders...even the cleft of her ass. When their hands became dry they coated them again, slathering her with yet another layer. The oil had a metallic pigment in it, giving her cafe-au-lait skin the look of gilded bronze. The slaves' skilled hands massaged her tits, squeezing the oil out towards her nipples. The two buttons of flesh stiffened once again, looking like miniature cocks in the lamplight.

They rubbed the oil deep between her legs. They were careful not to touch her pussy, but even so she was panting again before they were finished. As a final touch they gathered her long, curly hair in a clip at the back of her head, giving it the appearance of a mane.

Miriam and the grooms came back into the room. Everett held a tangle of black, shiny straps. It was a slave harness, but more finely made than the ones Kalani had trained in. Gonzales carried a suitcase-sized cabinet. Inside would be compartments holding manacles, clamps, dildoes of many materials, buttplugs and gags, chains, collars. Kalani's heart turned over at the sight of it, but in repugnance or fascination, she could not say.

They looked her over one last time...there was no need to, as the slave girls had done a good job of wiping her down...and untied her from the posts. She felt weightless as a slip of paper and voluptuously submissive, her smooth, rounded body gleaming with oil. She dropped to her knees again, kissing the leather of Miriam's high-heeled boots in gratitude.

Miriam stroked her scalp. "Good girl. Mistress is pleased. Now stand, so we can harness you."

Kalani stood, her fingers linked behind her neck as she had been taught. She trembled with fear, with arousal, with the realization it was finally happening to her...the very thing she had feared, yet somehow yearned for, throughout her mainland life.

The harness was new and marvelously supple. First came a tight belt that was buckled around her hips, then leather cuffs for her wrists, which were pulled behind her and buckled to the belt at the small of her back. She no longer had the use of her arms. Then they selected two dildoes, one for her pussy, the other for her asshole. To her humiliation, her pussy provided more than enough lubrication for both of them. Each dildo was buckled to the belt she wore. She couldn't even hope to expel them now. The strap ran tightly through her crack; when she walked, the rubbing motion would remind her constantly of how well her ass had been packaged.

Next they buckled a strap beneath her tits, lifting them high in a pair of shallow cups; though they might jiggle as she trotted, they wouldn't flop around, which most guests found aesthetically displeasing...especially in large-breasted women like herself. Another tight strap led from this to her collar, which was buckled and made tight.

Black leather boots were laced up her legs, reaching to mid- thigh. The coverage they gave only made her feel more naked. They had only slight heels and cushioned insoles, as they were designed for running.

Then Miriam opened a special drawer revealing a selection of horsetails which the three poured over intently. They finally chose a plain black one, which they screwed into the protruding shaft of Kalani's buttplug. They buckled the base of the tail to her belt to hold it up proudly between her cheeks, and when she trotted it would bob back and forth most becomingly.

She was true ponygirl now. Never could she be anything else.

Tears wet her eyes as she thought of the level she had sunk to. Vision blurring, she could only watch in trepidation as Miriam picked out two polished nipple clamps which had the look of fine jewelry. They fit over Kalani's nipples like little caps, and clenched the areola tightly in a firm, even pinch. A second clamp pinched the base of the nipple itself, forcing it out through an opening on the end...a scarlet jewel in a silver setting. Her nipples seemed to lengthen on their own, straining to escape from the tiny holes they popped out of. Kalani whimpered. The discomfort from the dildoes was quickly forgotten.

"Quiet, slave!"

Slave. It was a slave's lot to endure, to be violated, and she had never experienced such a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Like that, slave? You will like this even more." Miriam showed her a second pair of clamps, the jaws concealed under a pointed conical head. Quickly, she fastened them to the exposed tips of Kalani's nipples.

The sensation pushed past pain, past pleasure, and there was nothing Kalani could do but absorb it. Fresh fluids released themselves inside her to cream over her thighs.

Miriam took up one last clamp. She knelt. And Kalani felt the cold kiss of metal nip her painfully erect clit, a counternote of shock to the two being played above.

She bit back a groan as fresh tears started to flow.

There was a eyelet on the end of each nipple clamp and an eyelet on the clamp on her clit. Between these Miriam strung thin silver chains, taut even considering Kalani's head and shoulders were bowed. She understood now what would happen when she held her head up and began to walk or trot: the motions from her clamped, bobbing nipples would travel along the chains to her clit, pulling on it and tormenting it whenever she took a single step.

And she would have to wear this all night.

"This is how you will pull the cart," Miriam said. "Properly, with all the proper tack a true ponygirl should have. Every time you are rented out, you will wear this. You'd better get used to it." She struck at Kalani's ass, not with the paddle this time but a whip. A switch, more accurately. Kalani gasped.

"And this is how you will be driven. As I said, you'd better get used to it." Another crack hit Kalani's left buttock.

Kalani's field of vision went black and red. She thought of nothing then, not even fear--only the shock of the pain as her flesh swelled, grow hot, then itched, then burned. The smack had been harder than the ones before. It was designed to force a sluggish, sedentary human body to pull another human, or two, in a two-wheeled surrey for a mile. Or more.

"Walk, slave!" Miriam attached a leash of silver links to a ring on the front of her collar, and another switch brought Kalani back into herself. Meekly, she followed her mistress of the moment out of the stable.

The resort was still active this late at night. Guests lounged around the pool, the insect coils sending thin blue plumes into the night. Slave girls carried trays, fetched drinks. Some had been pulled into the undergrowth, their feet pointed high in the air as they were fucked. Music came from the ballroom, the clink of ice, the conversations of the rich and powerful, those who had the money and clout to visit a resort like this. Kalani tried not to look at them, fearing recognition. Once she had walked among them, as their equal: confidant, relaxed, the world at her fingertips. Now, she was nothing.

She relished the feeling like a fine, rare wine. She was a slave, they were her masters; any one of them might command to drop to her knees, mouth open, to suck his or her cock or pussy; afterwards they might order her to present her ass for a whipping. And she would obey without question.

"Faster, slave! Keep your head high!" Smack. Her left buttock smarted, suffused with warm blood. The heat made her asshole itch, trapped helplessly around the plug that pursed it. No one watched from the pool to appreciate the show. No one cared; there were dozens of ponygirls here. One paddled ass looked much the same as another.

The guests did not look, but the staff did. Cooks gawked, security guards grinned. Titters followed, tart remarks, laughter. They all knew a new ponygirl was receiving her first drive tonight.

They crossed the lawn. The surrey waited by the side of the road. The other ponygirl, Popolena, was waiting. She was a tall, slim Australian with curly red hair and a tail dyed to match. Freckles covered her face and chest. The pink stripes on her ass were a mute testimony to the depth of her submission. She champed nervously on her gag, eyeing Kalani from the corner of her eye; being already collared and in harness, she couldn't turn her head to look.

Miriam spoke some words to the driver but Kalani couldn't hear what was being said. He had to have been given instruction, though, in the proper methods of driving a surrey like this; it was one of the rules here. The resort took care of its ponygirls; the rules, along with a good diet and hard cardiovascular exercise, ensured their careers might span twelve years or more. If Kalani passed her test this night hers would too.

Suddenly she heard a woman's low, sophisticated laughter. A date, she thought sourly, realizing there were two people in the surrey. A supermodel, by the looks of her. Kalani's heart sank. She wouldn't mind so much pulling a man, or two men, but to be humiliated like this in front a of a female guest...she wanted to sink into the earth. There would be no attention for the ponygirls tonight. Their Master already had his prize. The display they made in their black leather harnesses would all go for nothing.

Then Miriam was maneuvering her into position in the yoke, which was positioned low, at her hips, near Kalani's center of gravity. She buckled the shafts at either side and gagged Kalani with a thick block of leather attached to a snaffle and bridle, then hooked up the reins. The driver pulled Kalani's head to the left, to the right; Kalani was astounding at how thoroughly they controlled her. It was a sensation too novel to be called painful or uncomfortable. It was only subjugating.

Miriam had no last words to say to her, but then that wasn't her job. Kalani had been told the way things worked here. She'd had her training, and if she proved herself she could be serving here for years to come. If she didn't, she would never get this chance again.

The switch cracked across her ass; Popolena gasped. They took off in a trot.

After all her training it seemed like second nature. The road was of packed dirt, but smooth and free of ruts. Their pace was brisk. A single headlamp at the top of the surrey lit the path ahead for a distance of twenty feet. Insect noises came from the tropical vegetation on either side, the surrey squeaked, the soles of their boots thudded down. Kalani thought of little other than keeping up with Popolena's long strides. The other ponygirl handled it like a veteran, her red hair swaying, the tail in her ass jiggling saucily back and forth. Her posture was erect and angled slightly forward, her knees lifting and falling in a perfect rhythm Kalani strained to match.

The Master plied them hard in the beginning to set a good pace, but let up as their pace evened out. Still Kalani lived in dread of that *pop* SMACK sound, the sudden fire across her ass. Though she loved it too, of course. Anticipation made it all the more sweet.

A full moon looked down on them, providing a soft silver light the headlamp couldn't hope to match. How romantic, Kalani thought. Her tits bounced up and down with her exertions; though protected by their undercups, the torture was still piquant enough to keep her heart racing. The vibrations traveled along the chains to her clit, and back up again; she felt the three knots of flesh engorge even further. She'd always wondered how Frazetta's barbarian girls kept their metal pasties on. Now she knew.

Her heel hit a stone and she stumbled. Three cracks across her left cheek.

You're getting sloppy, she warned herself. Keep your eyes on the road. Her shoulders ached from her arms being pinned back; sweat rolled down her face and chest. The dildoes pumped inside her like a pair of twin pistons, well-lubricated by the cream she continued to gush. If she hadn't been so aroused they would have been quite painful.

They reached a curve, the bit in her mouth guiding her inexorably to the left. The tail tickled her backs of her thighs as they turned. She felt her ass undulate from side to side with the pace; the couple in back were getting quite a show.

They hit a grade. Of necessity, they were forced to slow down.

It was hard going, unlike the vigorous pace they could keep on level ground. They shifted into lower gear. The noise of their footfalls and the creaks of surrey lessened, so Kalani was able to hear some of her Master's conversation.

"Why do they do it?" the woman said.

"Who knows." The click of a cigarette lighter, the smell of a cigar. "Can't say I don't enjoy the show, though."

"You're hopeless," the woman said in a bitchy tone.

"Eh, now, listen here babe. Those two, they wouldn't trade places with you for anything in the world. Why do you think they do this? They're pain junkies, humiliation junkies. A pair of right exhibitionists, too." Popolena squealed as he popped the whip at her.

The woman made a disgusted noise but Kalani couldn't hear her words.

"No, you're wrong about that. They were guests once, like you, like me. But the pony world sucked them in. They crave it, now. It's their whole reason for living. They like to be garbage, nothing, but at the same time they're something--slaves, objects for sexual use, in a way they could never be in the real world. Pathetic, really. But I can't say I don't enjoy it."

Kalani felt tears come to her face, even as the tight jiggling of the dildo caused mews of pleasure. He was right, he was so right. She suddenly wished the world could see her now, clamped, chained, paddled, harnessed, her true self flashed in living color across the globe.

They reached the top of the grade. The road leveled. They trotted briskly along the road for several more minutes, then the Master reined them to a stop. Below was a view of the bay, the moonlight a white stripe on the still water. They'd come about three- quarters of a mile. Both she and Popolena were covered with sweat by now. Kalani could smell her arousal, a smoky, meaty scent that mixed nicely with the odor of humus and jungle foliage and plumeria.

The woman carried a picnic basket to the edge of the cliff and began to spread out a cloth. A midnight supper, Kalani guessed. There was an angry abruptness in her gestures as she set the plates, dished the food. Kalani guessed she didn't like the Master's being so philosophical about the ponygirls. Kalani hadn't been a ponygirl for long, but she knew that women, if they had the inclinations, were as apt to be taken with ponygirls as men. Even more so, in some cases; their cruelty and harsh use was an open secret in the stables. But this woman only seemed disgusted by the whole thing. Kalani pitied her.

"Are you going to join me?" the woman said in an annoyed voice.

"Not yet," the Master said. "I've got to take care of these two."

Kalani waited in anticipation as the Master wiped Popolena with a soft towel, then her, and released them from the surrey. He walked them over to a tree and removed their bridles, then pushed Popolena to her knees so her face was in front of Kalani's crotch.

"Do her," the Master commanded.

Kalani's eyes widened as the other ponygirl began to eat her. It was...it was...*my god.* Kalani felt her knees sag. She had no words for the exquisite sensations that gripped her. Popolena's skilled tongue was a pleasurable counterpart to the dildoes and the clamp on her clit, soothing and exciting at the same time. Around and around it went, licking her clit, cleaning the juices that had leaked out of her, the sweat, the musk. It probed at the leather straps, tried to find entrance to her pussy, which was, of course, useless, but Kalani's thighs trembled all the same.

She began to pant, She was going to come, and it was going to be divine! Popolena continued to work, unfailingly, blandly, her face buried against Kalani's shaved crotch; the moist sounds her mouth made only stimulated Kalani further. She was...she was....*oh god* she whimpered in the back of her throat, letting a gush of breath out between her teeth. Invisible sparks flew in the air as she came.

Popolena stood, licking her lips. After a few seconds the Master motioned Kalani to her knees.

Still dizzy with the luscious afterglow, Kalani obeyed. She never thought she would lick another woman's pussy but if that was one of the prerequisites of her position here, she'd be happy to do it. She only hoped the Master was enjoying the show.

Arms fastened behind her, she had to move with care. She didn't want to unbalance herself. The naked cunt, a plain pink slit, loomed before her. Though her mouth was dry she extended her tongue and gave it a lick. The taste was heavenly, the smell, even more so. A slight movement on Popolena's part told her she was as aroused as Kalani was, so Kalani, made bolder, nestled her tongue in further, snaking it around Popolena's clit-clamp. Kalani licked the chains holding it in place, then Popolena's strapped pubic lips, then inhaled and gave the area a good, hard suck.

Popolena's thighs trembled against her shoulders. She likes that, Kalani thought, and kept up the treatment. She used her teeth, giving little bites, then sealed her mouth to the bare pussy before her, swirling her tongue. Sooner than she expected Popolena gave a little cry and shook against her.

Wow, Kalani thought. I did that. The sight of the swooning, naked ponygirl strapped tightly in her harness, could have inspired her to do it again.

But the Master was separating them, tethering them to two separate branches so they could not touch. They could only look at each other now. He brought out two feedbags full of trail mix he strapped over their mouths and chins. Each had a squirt-bottle attached to the side with a tube so they could drink without removing them. Only then did he go to his picnic. As he left he whispered to Kalani, "You passed."

Kalani sagged in relief, slipping past apprehension and pain to a woozy contentment. She was perfectly happy, at the moment, to be a tool no longer needed; a decoration, a thing. She passed the muster; she had made it. She was a true denizen of the resort now. For two more weeks she would serve here as a ponygirl, then fly back to her public relations job in Los Angeles. Whenever she had free time she could fly back here to take a vacation from the stress of always hustling, always being in control. But she would still use her talents. Her gym-sculpted body, her brisk efficiency and drive for perfection...all were assets for a ponygirl's career. With the resort's acceptance all she would pay was her airfare. The staff would take care of the rest.

Kalani ate, sipped. She felt very content.

Moonlight glimmered on the Pacific like silk. The Master and his woman were eating, the woman trying to be alluring with her fluttery gestures, her insipid jokes. What does she know, Kalani thought. Fool. The next two weeks promised to bring bigger rewards than a stupid lover's picnic. She scooped up another load of granola with her tongue, chewed it down. Two weeks.

Two luscious weeks.

END

This wonderful work is copyrighted 1999 by Cobalt Jade (CobaltJade@aol.com). One copy of this story may be made for viewing. This story may not be archived or reposted without her permission. Charging a fee for access to this story, or publishing it without her approval, this preface, or her author credit, violates her copyright.