Debby's Plight - Part 2
by SirJeff
©SirJeff (2002)
- for use on SirJeff's Ponygirls.
- with illustrations rendered by SirJeff, primarily from the amazing M. Manning.
- with much thanks to lilg for editorial input.
- do not use without the author's permission.
Author's Note: Debby's Plight - Part 2 is a sequel to Debby's Plight. Currently it consists of six sections. I wrote it to be viewed in an adult illustrated comic style, with the words there just to describe the drawings. If you prefer to only read the story without the drawings, click here. There is one more sequel, Debby's Plight - Part 3.
At sunset, my unknown captor drove this very tired ponygirl back to the warmth of a camp fire. Oh, the sense of freedom when He unhitched me and removed much of my tight harnessing!
How I yelped into my bit as those devilish bells were unclipped. It felt like a thousand pins were tormenting my tender nipples. My knees buckled from these overwhelming sensations and I almost fainted.
My boots and my tail were removed roughly, without ceremony. As He freed me of my bit, a vertical finger momentarily pressed on my lips. Wordlessly, He had demanded my complete silence.
He put a bar of soap in my still-gloved hand, then reined me, almost naked, stumbling, to the lake's edge.
Loud cracks of the whip urged me into, then under the water.
The refreshing liquid eased the aches, quenched the thirst. Slowly, lazily, languishing in the temporary freedom, I soaped the grimy sweat off.
A firm yank on my reins brought back reality.
I was led back to the heat of the fire, and rebitted. My hands were cuffed before me, chain-tethered once more.
He pressed my face down into something squishy and messy. My fleeting revulsion quickly turned into joy. Food! After my arduous day pulling the cart I was tearfully ravenous. My urge was to just shovel the food in, yet sensed eating with my hands would not be acceptable.
Greedily, despite the bit, whatever my lips and teeth found was consumed. The mush of chopped fruits and grains was totally gourmet. And the crunchy carrot cubes tasted like the absolute height of culinary delight.
All too soon He pulled me up by my hair, dripping food and water. With my head back, He lubricated the dark opaque contact lenses covering my light hazel eyes, with eye drops. What did it mean, that the trainer who so easily whipped me also seemed to take such care of His captive?
Bells chimed faintly, teasing my heightening sense of hearing. Something sharp prickled my nipple lightly, startling me. He repeated it, again, and again, on each nipple.
What on earth? Slowly, His meaning dawned on me. He intended to pierce and ring me, very soon. Those bells would become a permanent part of me.
My head bowed to Him, in wordless resignation and acceptance. A cold chill ran down my spine. I shuddered.
He must have stoked the fire, because the logs crackled. Then, there came a feeling of heat radiating, something very hot getting much too near my left ass cheek.
OH NO! It can't be possible! He means to brand me, like a horse! I lost it. Mad with fear, I pulled away until my tether brought me short. I could not run away, sightless, always chained and controlled. Those accursed opaque contacts were so effective! What was I to do?
When His thigh brushed my cheek, I reacted instinctively, bending low, kissing His feet, silently, ever so silently begging Him not to use the branding iron on me.
He never said a word. Only the crickets of the night talked to me. He walked away, abandoning me in my bit and bridle, chained by the fire on all fours, trembling at what will be. Thankfully, despite my anxieties, my exhaustion brought a deep, dreamless sleep.
The lashing sting woke me, still groggy. Chains clinked as I rose to my knees. My eyes beheld nothing! What was that tightness that seemed to enclose my head?
Oh, my bridle and bit. It had been no dream! The plight of yesterday flooded back. The sore muscles, the stiff jaw, and the well-whipped ass were clear reminders of my transformation into a cart ponygirl.
Another sting brought me back to the present. Wielding the whip, He yanked my reins this way and that, until He had me positioned on all fours.
Quickly, I was pulled to my feet, tightly harnessed, all done with calm competence.
That damned tinkling bell! I tensed, squirmed for the anticipated piercing. None took place. Again the cruel clips bit deeply into my tender teats, and again the merry chimes mocked my plight. Still, immense relief washed through me at my reprieve.
Who was being fooled here? Perhaps only me. He lightly caressed my left ass cheek, then gently pricked at my nipple, mocking me. My fate was sealed. Would it be tonight?
He unchained me and led me to the cart. My long-sleeved gloves were re-clipped to my harnessing, high on my back, and my waist reattached to the carriage rods.
A sting on my left thigh, then some light well-placed taps, commanded me to raise my left leg, until just so.
He seemed to move away. The chirping of the birds and the intense buzzing of the cicadas serenaded me after His footsteps died off.
Once more, I stood there, and stood there, blindly, in anguish. My body ached in so many places. Beads of sweat ran down my face. My mouth was wedged open. My head and torso were captive in webs of unyielding pressure. My arms were pinioned back at an impossible angle. My rear was brutally spread, my nipples unbearably crushed. My nostrils flared as I breathed, my saliva pooled and dripped, and my tail sometimes tickled.
Those infernal bells seemed to laugh even more, both at my inability to stay steady on one leg and at my fear of the consequences if I did not. Then, when two flies landed on my breasts and walked about, I was certain I'd go mad. It seemed forever that He was away.
More bells announced His return. He twisted my still-raised leg at an angle, making me point my toes. He brushed a dirt clump off my sole, then something leathery encased my bare foot. A boot? He seemed to be lacing it on all the way up my calf, its bells terribly noisy. OWWW! This one was really tight, and unusually heavy, very different from yesterday's.
His whip bade my booted foot down. It felt somehow wrong! My left leg seemed longer than my right. The weight was forced forward on my toes, reminding me of my bygone ballet lessons. The whip kept at me until I stood only on my longer left foot and raised my right leg.
The bells pealed incessantly, especially since balancing on my strangely booted toes was a lot harder than it had been barefooted. Fortunately, the attached carriage rods helped maintain stability.
Soon my right foot was similarly shod. There I stood, tottering, tall on my toes, boot-bells ringing. He let me be, until I settled into some sort of equilibrium. The bells quieted down. A fleeting irrational worry hit me, a hope, then the certainty - I felt I looked delectable like this, attractive and sexy. My spirits lifted.
This time, when He pressed my head down, my kneeling was instant in obedience. Anything to avoid a repeat of yesterday's whippings.
His weight shifted the cart, as He sat and made Himself comfortable. Then the tug on my reins and a light use of that frightful buggy-whip on my rear. This time I stood, knowing what it meant. A shake of the reins, followed by another loud crack of the whip, and I was off, by now trained, conditioned to that slow high-stepping walk.
Fortunately the grass was soft. Still, it took a few hours for me to get the gait just right in those cruel belled boots. The proud high-steps he demanded made my breasts bounce, my nipple bells sing, my ass wiggle, my tail move, and my insides ever aware.
When He saw me demonstrate full confidence at this pace, He shook my reins and whipped me up to a trot.
Once, He lashed me into a full gallop, until I was ready to collapse. I silently thanked my gym's personal trainer for the excellent conditioning that let me live through it.
All day I pulled His cart. We ranged far and wide, up hills and down slopes, with many bursts at the faster paces, without a mishap. Sometimes I smelled the grass, sometimes the dust the wheels kicked up. But I did not see, nor could hear anything except my bells and my heavy breathing through the bit. Only His reins guided His cart and ponygirl, anywhere He chose, with a light touch and the even rarer whip lash. Expertly, He always knew just how to pace me, to hydrate me, to drive me all out.
I was almost spent, foaming at the mouth. Ever aware of my limits, He eased me to a slow-walking high-step. As he cooled me down, my breathing quieted somewhat. On a flat, paved roadway, I was surprised to hear over my panting the hooves of a real horse.
CLIP. Chime. CLOP. Chime. CLIP. Chime. CLOP. Chime.
Wherever I walked, that horse always seemed close. My mind sometimes felt it was wandering. So was this rider really accompanying us?
Doh! The bells finally gave it away. That horse was me! There had to be horseshoes under my boots, a-clipclopping. I actually giggled, relaxing, to enjoy the music that my bells and hooves made as I toiled. They certainly defined and framed the reality of this new existence as a ponygirl.
At long last He reined me in, and we stopped. I knelt to let Him off the cart, feeling beyond tired. When I rose, he watered me though my bit. I was so happy it was over.
No, not quite. Alternately, He caressed my ass left cheek, and pricked my nipple. Again, and again, repeating until He made me understand in this non-verbal ponygirl way.
In a cold sweat, sobbing, I had to choose what came next, rings in my nipples or His brand on my cheek. I shuddered at the inevitability.
"Who was this silent man?" I pondered, distraught. "Was He M, my Master, or was He not?" In truth, He controlled me, fully. If I picked His brand, I'd choose Him exclusively. But if I chose the rings, I could still hope to be another's, perhaps finding my true Master.
Clearly, I was now trained to obey Him. But was I ready to totally accept Him unseen and unheard, to be branded as His, unconditionally? No way! Never!
Anxiously, with closed eyes, I pressed against Him each time He pricked my nipple, and drew away each time He caressed my ass cheek. Frightened, needy and soaking wet, this ponygirl silently gave Him her answer.
That night, after I was washed, fed, watered and rebitted, I knelt unseeing and chained, awaiting my fate. He teased my left nipple, fingering and circling me.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm... His scent, His touch, His power, seduced me, and I wanted Him, desperately. My hardened bud totally adored Him, even though I feared Him so.
Incredibly, my loins were suddenly on fire, soaking in involuntary excitement at my predicament. I yearned for this dominant trainer's caress, His manhood, His words. I longed to passionately surrender myself to this stern Male, to service Him. Yes! Now!
He eased out my bit and unzipped. My reaction was primeval.
I licked His delicious Manhood in needful worship...
...kissed Him, caressed Him with my lips, took His shaft in fully...
...served him with abandon.
My heart pounded impossibly, I had given my all. I prayed He would be well pleased. Surely He could never brand or ring me now!
He came, powerfully, in waves. After He was sated, He seemed to mark something on my left breast with His seed. Then He casually replaced my bit, as if nothing happened.
Indifferent to my needs, He took my traitorous nipple between two fingers...
...pinched hard, pulled, then...
...firmly pressed a needle through, horizontally!
"NNEEEEiiiiihh!" My blind, bitted protest was quite useless and surprisingly equine. The inevitable was done, quickly, clinically. To my relief, He pulled the weapon out. But right away, He drove it through again in the reverse direction, leaving me whimpering,
An eternity of agony later, I felt something thick working into me, then a loud CLICK of finality. When His hands released me, I shied away from Him, and another infernal chime echoed my motion. My left nipple was ringed permanently, and belled!
He left me there, kneeling and sobbing, absolutely shocked. The repreive was short lived, maybe fifteen minutes. He returned and again drove the needle through me, in the same terribly expert way.
I was still singing horsie "NNEEEEiiiiihh!" encores of protest, but he was finished, my adorned teats a matched set.
Much later that evening, as He removed the bells, I mused in mock relief that only the rings were permanent.
While I chomped and drooled into my bit, He caressed my breasts, gently applying generous dabs of cooling salve to my violated nips. He clearly was a Master at what He was doing. Everything He did was executed with admirable confidence.
The fare-thee-well bites of His whip lingered long after He had left. Chained for the night. I felt so confused. My body felt submissive to His Mastery, completely. My mind too, letting Him train me, tease me, use me, and ring me. Yet my heart and soul were not ready to accept His unconditional ownership.
Drifting off to an achy, tired sleep, I deluded myself, dreaming of my future life as a beautiful, magically independent equine, running wild, enjoying the open prairie. And yet, deep inside me there was no doubt the next sunset would see me visionless, worked hard in harness, His personally owned, freshly-branded ponygirl.
Copyright © 23 September 2002, by SirJeff. All rights reserved.
Do not repost nor repurpose without permission.