Brenda woke up lying on her left side on the mattress in the training room that had been her home for several months; she had lost track of how long exactly. The brand on her right buttock had almost healed, and was no longer painful, unless she bumped it against something or she was struck there with a whip. The man who considered himself to be her owner, Cornelius McGillicuddy III, who was also the man who had ordered her to be branded, sometimes used a mirror to show how the healing was progressing. The scar, which was in the shape of a block “M” with a small “c” intersecting the right leg, was a dark pink and stood out from her creamy skin the way it was intended to do.

After straddling the drain and urinating, as she did every morning, Brenda, or Raven as she was called by her owner and the men who worked for him, leaned over the basin of water and took a long drink. As always, she had to purse her lips to suck up the water around the bit that was held tightly inside her mouth.

The attached bridle, the coverings on her hands and forearms that were called “hoof-gloves” and the leather collar around her neck were the only things she wore. Her glossy black tail, which closely matched the long, black hair that had earned her ponygirl name was constantly in place, except for the one time every day she was given an enema and her body was cleaned inside and out. The butt plug that held the tail was otherwise always inside her ass, but Raven was used to it by then, and no longer thought about it. Ever since her abduction, the sexy young woman had been virtually naked, much to the pleasure of the thuggish men around her.

That day would, she knew, be a break in the routine. On the previous evening, her owner had told her there would be a parade, and that she would be a part of it. It would be the first time for her to be on display before the shadowy group of men and women who abducted attractive girls and young women and forced them to be ponygirl slaves for their own amusement. For about three weeks, as near as she could tell, her mornings had been spent pulling a sulky under the cruel command of the man who reminded her more of Hitler every time she saw him. He was less free with his whip than he had been the first day but, by no means, did he spare her. Brenda’s ass and thighs were criss-crossed in red from the many lashes she had received, and they were still painful.

Her afternoons had been spent on her hands and knees, carrying her owner around the grassy area she had learned was referred to as the parade ground. Employing what was called “the ponygirl strut” while pulling the sulky was the hardest work Brenda had ever done, even without the whipping , but being a saddle pony was also drudgery, and was even more humiliating. She wore pads on her knees and her hands were encased in her hoof-gloves, so it wasn’t painful, but it was tiring in the extreme.

She had gotten better with practice, and McGillicuddy told her she was getting more sure-footed with her front legs, but Raven doubted she would ever be good at it, nor did she want to be. What she wanted was to escape from her enslavement, but she didn’t yet see how that could be accomplished.

After urinating and quenching her thirst, Brenda lay back down to await the entrance of her owner and his goons. When they arrived, McGillicuddy spoke to her in his usual manner, politely but letting her know his word was law in the house and grounds he owned especially for the ponygirls he also claimed to own. Any disobedience she had displayed had always been punished by severe whippings, and Raven knew enough to do as she was told.

“Raven, my dear,” the old man addressed her as he usually did. “As I told you yesterday, we will have a parade today, and you will be part of it. I hope you don’t mind, but Big Betsy will be pulling the sulky, rather than you. Mr. Krause tells me you aren’t quite ready yet, and we need to build up your stamina. I hope you are not disappointed, because you will still be part of the parade, since I’ll be riding you in front of everybody.”

She was not even a little bit disappointed, and would rather have been left out of the parade entirely but, at least, it would be a change in the dull routine. The old man stepped away from her and the men with him stepped forward with her tack, and silently ordered her to stand so they could begin preparing her for her duties that day as a saddle pony.

The first thing they did was to remove her bridle and reins and bit, which was a surprise, but Raven quickly saw why. They had brought her a new one, made of shiny black leather and adorned with chrome studs, and they affixed it and the new matching reins and bit. McGillicuddy did his favorite part of preparing her, which was to carefully pull her mane through the spaces between the straps of the bridle so it flowed down her back in the way he doted on. When he was done, his men continued the preparations.

They had a new harness that matched the bridle, but that would not be part of her adornment that day. During her earliest training, she had worn both a harness and a saddle, but that had been for the purpose of further humiliation and to save time when they changed her training between cart pony and being her owner’s steed.

The saddle she would wear that day was new too, matching the other tack, and was carefully cinched into place around Brenda’s waist. The last thing they did was strap on her kneepads, and she was almost ready to kneel on the floor and be mounted by her owner. The parade would not be starting for more than an hour and, when she was to be ridden by him, her front legs would be freed from the manacles connected to the chain that hung from the ceiling so she could walk on all fours, and her owner would mount her, place his feet in the stirrups and ride in the style he preferred.

Cornelius McGillicuddy III considered Raven to be the most beautiful ponygirl in captivity, and he couldn’t wait to show her off to his fellow fanciers. Some of the early comers had already started arriving, in their big automobiles or vans that also carried their stables. He came into the training room with one of his men and, after the manacles were released from her wrists, she got down on all fours so he could take his seat on the saddle. Following a light tap from his riding crop, she carried him out the door to the hallway and to the back door of the mansion and the verandah that overlooked the carefully manicured parade ground.

Raven obediently followed the tugs on her reins, and carried her rider down the ramp and to the area where the owners of the ponygirls and their employees would be accommodated. She always enjoyed the deep green of the grass of the parade ground and the adobe bricks that formed the track around it and the structure at one end. She knew that building was the stable for ponygirls, and she would be housed there soon, unless she was able to escape first. That idea was always on her mind, but she knew she would have to be obedient to avoid whipping and other punishment, at least for as long as she was a captive.

“Whoa!” her rider yelled, as he pulled on her reins to order her to stop by the chairs and table with an umbrella that was reserved for him and any guests he might invite. Wanting to keep their activities secret, the ponygirl fanciers only rarely had guests at their parades and other social events, but there were other groups in other parts of the country, and they sometimes visited the old man and others in his society.

A man and a woman approached, and Brenda recognized the man who had wanted to buy her before she was branded and his wife, who had whipped him after a fall. The man approached and, after seeing the brand, patted her ass, but did not take as many liberties as he had the previous time he had been around. His wife kept her distance.

“Hi, Mac,” the man greeted him. “I see you’ve got Raven out for the first time. She’s a beauty, and really sexy.”

“Yes, she is quite attractive,” his wife agreed.

“I think she will be the most beautiful ponygirl that here today,” her owner proudly stated. “And, once she’s fully trained, she will outshine any other in every area.”

His friends may or may not have agreed, but they said nothing about it. They were the first of many who came over to see and admire the new ponygirl they had heard about, and some of the men stroked her ass or fondled her breasts, but nobody touched her pussy. The women limited themselves to stroking her mane, or refrained from touching Raven at all. Everybody commented on her youth and beauty, and there were a few suggestions of the possibility of buying her, but McGillicuddy turned down all offers, whether they were serious or not. Brenda waited on all fours and endured the fondling but neither whinnied nor neighed.

When the time arrived for the opening promenade to begin, McGillicuddy mounted Raven and, as the owner of the site where the parade was being held, rode her to the head of the line that was starting to form. The other ponygirl owners or their representatives, mounted their favorite steeds, who were all on their knees and wearing hoof-gloves, and followed him in a line, past the grandstand where employees and invitees were watching and whistling at the beautiful ponygirls being paraded before them. Other men and a few women followed, riding in carriages being pulled by a pair or in sulkies being pulled by one ponygirl. Raven led the entire group, circling the track twice before being brought to a halt at the place where they had begun the march. Other owners riding on their ponygirls and the rest of their stables stopped in the areas that had been designated for them.

This was the first time Brenda had seen any other ponygirls, although she knew of their existence. She wondered about Big Betsy, who was pulling the sulky she had trained on, and looked over her fellow captive. The other woman was older and also a brunette, but not very much bigger than Raven, although she looked stronger. Her legs were pillars of corded muscle, but she did not look to be in very good condition in general. Betsy’s large breasts were droopy, and her whole body seemed tired and worn out. Brenda wondered whether that would be her own appearance in a few years. She hoped not, and resolved even more to make her escape when the chance arose.

The other two ponygirls who shared her stable were slightly smaller than she or Betsy, and were harnessed to a larger carriage. Both had long blonde hair and were a similar size, apparently chosen for their assignments for that reason. It seemed logical that their owner would want a matched pair to pull the carriage.

All three of Raven’s stablemates were naked except for being outfitted in tack similar to hers, although they wore harnesses instead of a saddle. The other members all wore hoof-boots besides their hoof-gloves, and had their wrists manacled to the lower belts of their harnesses. Each member of the stable had been branded on her right buttock as Brenda had. She surmised they had all been abducted as she had, but the bridles and bits they wore obscured their facial features too much for her to recognize any of them or connect them to any news accounts of missing girls or young women she might have read in a newspaper or seen on a televised news program.

After the opening promenade, the next event was a series of sulky races. Each stable of ponygirls had one entry, and they raced in heats, with each heat matching two teams. The first two ponygirls both ran like the wind, pulling their sulkies twice around the track. It was obvious to Brenda that one reason for sprinting like that was because the drivers used their long whips almost as much as Krause, whom she still thought of as Hitler, had done during her training sessions. One of the teams won, to a smattering of polite applause.

Big Bertha was in the next heat, and it was immediately obvious she was not up to the demands being put on her. She started slowly and fell even farther behind, despite the unmerciful whipping she received from Krause every step of the way. Although it served no purpose by that time, the abuse continued even after the other ponygirl crossed the finish line, winning by at least half a circuit of the track ahead of her. When she stumbled, exhausted and covered with red welts into the area where the rest of McGillicuddy’s employees and members of his stable waited, she was crying from pain and fatigue.

The sulky driver didn’t care about how she felt. When they reached that area, Krause angrily jumped out of the conveyance and strode up to his boss, who was disappointed but not surprised by the result. He was still mounted on Raven, because he preferred sitting on the sexy ponygirl’s back to sitting on a chair, so she heard the entire discussion between the two men.

“Mr. Mack, you’ve got to get rid of Bertha. She’s all washed up. It was really embarrassing to me and to you to lose as badly as I just did, but there was nothing I could do about it. She’s old and slow and worn out, and Raven will have to take her place.”

“I suppose you’re right. I really like her as a saddle pony, but my men have their eyes on a new girl, and I can sell Big Bertha and turn Raven over to you. Do you think she’s ready to pull the sulky yet? You said she needed more conditioning.”

“She’ll be ready by the next parade, if you’ll let me have my way with her.” Krause looked at Brenda then, as if just noticing her.

“If you say so. After the final promenade, I’ll move Raven to the stable. The new pony, if we succeed in catching her, can be moved into the training room. It’s time for Raven to be in her new quarters anyhow.

He smiled at the ponygirl under him and patted her on her shapely hip, as if he were doing her a favor. “Did you hear that, My Dear? Starting tomorrow, you’ll be a fulltime sulky pony. Isn’t that exciting! But I hope I still get to ride you some of the time.”

Brenda had heard everything that was said, and the change demanded by Krause was frightening, rather than exciting. She had seen how exhausted Big Bertha was, from the race she had just lost, and from others she had run, and how she had been savaged by Hitler. Brenda had no wish to go through the same experiences, nor would she ever wish them on anybody. All she wanted to do was escape the horrible place she was held prisoner, and report it to the legal authorities if that was possible. Until she could do that, however, she would be Raven, the docile saddle pony, soon to be a sulky pony and part time mount for her owner.

There were two more races in the first round and, when they were finished, two of the four semi-finalists prepared for the next matchup. The audience was taking a greater interest, and they cheered loudly as they watched the winning ponygirl and driver from the first race outrun the team that had easily beaten Krause and Big Bertha. The next race generated just as much enthusiasm, and Brenda realized the people watching were betting on the results. The ponygirl winning the final race, a large Hispanic looking woman who had been the winner in the first race of the day, was bedecked with flowers and paraded in front of the cheering spectators, strutting the way Raven realized she would have to master over the next few weeks.

The final event of the parade, Brenda discovered, would be a judging of the pairs pulling the larger carriages that would be occupied by their owners. McGillicuddy dismounted from Raven and was assisted aboard his carriage, which was still hitched to the two blonde ponygirls. The driver was not Krause, but the handsome henchman who had tricked Brenda. He snapped his whip across the creamy asses of the blondes, and the team strutted smartly away, with other carriages following. Sometimes the teams pulling them, always moving with the ponygirl strut, had the same color hair, but no team matched one another in appearance as closely as those who were pulling the carriage containing Raven’s owner.

The carriages made a single circuit of the track and stopped where they had started. The judges, carrying their clipboards, approached from the infield and closely inspected the teams that had done the pulling. As Brenda and everyone else watched, they took liberties with the ponygirls far greater than any that had been taken with Raven or that she had seen before. The men and woman doing the judging, one team at a time, stroked manes and fondled breasts and asses with their hands and even felt the pussies of those they were inspecting. The teams of ponygirls being subjected to their scrutiny stood still at rigid attention, seeming to never flinch or even move a muscle despite what was being done to them. Brenda believed she would not have had the discipline to control herself under such conditions, but all those being inspected did so.

Partly making up for the loss by Big Bertha, the blonde ponygirl team of the McGillicuddy stable, who were announced as “The Angels,” won first prize in the judging, and their owner returned, smiling broadly and clutching the blue ribbon. He mounted Raven again and, a few minutes later, led all participants in the parade on a final promenade around the track.

When the last circuit was complete, he directed his favorite mount back to the training room, where his henchmen once again cuffed her to the chain hanging from the ceiling. She wondered how long she would stay there before being transferred to the stable to make room for the new saddle pony who would be replacing her. She also wondered if McGillicuddy’s gang of misogynistic thugs would be able to take their intended victim a prisoner and bring her back to the mansion.

She hoped not, partly because she hated the thought of having to pull Hitler in the sulky in future races and the abuse and exhaustion that would entail. Mostly, though, she hated the thought of some other beautiful young woman being abducted and put through the abuse and humiliation she had witnessed and endured.

Brenda had long ago given up on trying to keep any track of time, because it was impossible to do, and her days were so much alike it was pointless. After what was probably a little over an hour, McGillicuddy and two of his goons entered. The old man greeted her, but the others were their usual silent selves as they removed her hoof-gloves and saddle, manacled her wrists to the ceiling again and steered her to the basin where her hygienic needs were met. They removed her tail and gave her an enema and, when that was done working, cleaned her inside and out. They did not put her tail back into her ass, but that was the only departure from the usual procedure. When the washing was done and they returned her from the basin, naked except for her collar and leash, she noticed her mattress was gone.

“Raven, My Dear,” McGillicuddy said to her. “We’re going to take you out to the stable, and that will be your home indefinitely, and we’ll feed you there today. I expect to ride you sometimes too, at least for the next few days but, starting tomorrow morning, you will be training almost full time as a sulky pony. Won’t that be exciting!”

Her new and shiny bridle and bit had been removed, so Brenda could have answered orally, and it would have been in the negative if she had. However, she thought better of it, and just whinnied noncommittally. For as long as necessary, she would have to continue being the docile and obedient Raven.

As usual, McGillicuddy had the mistaken idea that his ponygirls enjoyed their slavery, and he smiled and responded. “I’m glad to know you like the idea, My Dear. Now, these gentlemen will help you on with the harness and other tack you will be wearing.”

It appeared to be the same equipment she had worn through the previous day, and the goons quickly set to work putting it on her, playing with the ponygirl’s breasts and ass and even fondling her pussy as they always did when they had a reason to touch her body. The old man clearly saw what was happening, but he ignored it, as always. They began her preparation with her hoof-boots, tapping her calves to tell her to raise her feet and slipping on the boots and lacing them up.

When they placed the bridle over her head, Raven opened her mouth to accept the bit, but that was also withheld. She remembered she would be fed in the stable, and expected the bit to be put in place after that. As he enjoyed doing, McGillicuddy pulled her long black hair out between the leather straps of the bridle. Her harness would be next, and Brenda raised her arms to allow the collection of straps to be placed over her head so it rested on her shoulders, with her breasts between the top belt and the second one. Those straps and the others were buckled into place, and the bottom one, the widest and heaviest of all, rested just above her mons.

The next items were her hoof-gloves. One wrist at a time was released from the handcuffs hanging from the ceiling; the gloves were slipped onto her and laced up and her arms were pulled down to her sides so her wrists could be locked in place in the manacles fastened to the bottom belt of her harness. Raven made no attempt to resist having any of the tack put in place or her arms pinioned. She knew it would have been futile, and probably would have resulted in a whipping or other punishment. Her owner stood and watched while one of his men took her leash and led her out the door of the training room and the other two followed close behind.

Brenda had seen the outside of the stable many times, but had never been inside and wondered what it would look like and be like and what would be her relationship with the other ponygirls there. Her first impression was that it was very bright inside, with a fluorescent light overhead illuminating the whole interior. Her second impression was the lingering odor of urine. Obviously, the stable was not kept as clean as the training room, possibly because the boss would have spent very little time there. There was nothing she would be able to do about the bad smell, and it was just one more negative fact about her life as a slave.

The stable was a single square room, and on one side were three small areas separated by partitions, which she realized were stalls. The team of blonde carriage ponies occupied the two farthest from the door, their heads protruding through the fronts. They had no bits in their mouths either; Brenda noted the striking facial similarities, and assumed they were sisters. The third stall was vacant, which puzzled her, because Big Bertha should have been in that one.

She was allowed little time to think about the absent ponygirl or anything else, because the man with her leash pulled on it to lead her into the vacant stall. He entered through the back, which was wide open, and handed the leash to one of his associates, who was waiting outside the front, and who tugged on it to silently direct Raven to bend over so her head and upper body leaned out over the low partition that made up the front of the stall. The first man walked out of the enclosure where he had walked in, squeezing, stroking and otherwise fondling Brenda’s ass as he passed by, and rejoined the others.

The second man, still holding her leash, stepped back, pulling it tight to keep their captive from backing away, and the other two men lowered a heavy plank to a point a few inches above her shoulders. Brenda didn’t know the reason for the plank because, once her leash was no longer taut, she would be able to step back into the stall and stand up straight anytime she wanted.

However, the next part of her imprisonment was to slide two metal bars down the front of the stall, either of them passing between her body and her arms, which were still manacled to her harness. Raven had some lateral movement, and she could turn and look at the blonde ponygirls who had silently watched her being confined, but she would be unable to move backward until somebody removed the bars from the front of the stall.

One of the men spoke to Brenda and her fellow prisoners. “Okay, Ponycunts, time for chow and, after that, we got a special treat for you.”

The food brought out and placed on the low shelf attached to the front of the stalls was the same boring boiled vegetables and mush, and Brenda had to eat it the same way, picking it up with her tongue or lips, chewing and swallowing it. She looked at her stablemates and saw they were eating the same way. The men also brought water in separate basins, and all three ponygirls drank as Raven had been doing, sucking the liquid up with their lips and swallowing it. There was no hurry about eating, because all three of McGillicuddy’s men left the stable after putting out the food and water, so Brenda turned to her nearest companion, wanting to know more about them and the situation.

It wasn’t the most pressing matter, but there was something she was curious about. “What happened to Big Bertha? Was this her stall?”

“Don’t call her that. Her name is Frances, but the old man named her Big Bertha. What’s your name, by the way?” the nearer woman asked.

“Okay, I’m sorry. My name is Brenda, but McGillicuddy calls me Raven, and so do all his men and everybody else I’ve seen. So, what happened to Frances?”

“McGillicuddy? Is that really his name? I’ve never heard anyone call him that, but I guess it fits. Would you rather be called Brenda? My name is Rose and my younger sister here is named Susan, but everybody calls her Susie.”

Susie interrupted her sister. “They came and dragged her out right after the parade was over. I suppose they’ll sell her at auction, but we don’t know what’ll happen then.”

“Sell her at auction? Really? I didn’t know they could do that. I’d rather be called Brenda than what I’m called by McGillicuddy and his thugs.”

She was shocked and surprised at the concept, but it did make sense. The old man certainly wouldn’t just turn her loose, and he would have no reason to kill Frances if he could make some money by selling her. After all, she was a slave, just like herself and Rose and Susie, and that’s what happened to slaves.

“Well, it’s against the law, but so is the whole operation here. If the old man didn’t buy you, how did you get here?” Rose asked. “He bought both of us and Frances told us he bought her too, but that was before we got here.”

Brenda described how she had been tricked by McGillicuddy and his thugs and made a prisoner and subjected to abuse, especially the first night. She felt embarrassed at having been such an easy capture, but she wanted to be open with her fellow slaves because, if they were ever to escape, they would have to trust each other and work together.

The sisters described how their enslavement occurred. While driving home from a night class at college, they had been involved in a minor accident on a street with no other traffic. When they got out of their car to exchange names and other information with the other driver, they were overpowered and drugged and woke up chained to a wall. After being raped and starved and tortured for a week or more, they were cleaned up and put on stage, but they didn’t know where it was, to be sold to the highest bidder. From there, they were brought to the old man’s stable, and he turned them into a team of carriage ponies. Because of their beauty and because they looked so much alike, that was the only kind of ponygirl job they ever had, and they hated it.

All three of the young women ate and drank while discussing their situation, because they knew the thugs would return soon and put their bits in place, eliminating conversation among them. Shortly after they finished their food, all three goons entered the stable one of them with Brenda’s tail and both the others with blonde ones, obviously for the sisters. She wondered why neither of the other ponygirls had been wearing a tail, and why hers had been left off so long, but Brenda would not have made any complaint about the oversight, if that’s what it was. As expected, their bits were put back into their mouths, and the three men went to the backs of the stalls, each of them carrying a tail.

A few minutes later, Brenda felt her ass cheeks being spread and felt fingers and a thumb opening the place where the tail would be inserted. She hated the familiarity, always had, and knew she always would, but she also knew there was nothing to be done about it, so she endured it stoically as she had done hundreds of times. Brenda remained in place when she felt the blunt tip against the hole that was being held open, until she suddenly realized there was something different happening this time.

Until that evening in the stable, the man putting her tail in place squirted lubricant into her ass, wrapped an arm around her thighs, inserted the end of the butt plug and started twisting it as he pushed until it was all the way inside and her anal sphincter closed over the base. That was not happening this time. Instead of an arm holding her legs in place, there was a hand on either of her hips and the intruder was being thrust straight into her ass. Abruptly, Brenda realized she was being raped. She was being anally raped!

She tried to move forward to avoid the man, but the metal bars that had been slid in place and made up part of the front of her stall kept her from moving far enough. She tried moving from side to side, but he stayed with her and drove his cock deeper into her ass with a series of strong, straight thrusts. As a last resort, Brenda tried kicking him or stamping on his feet with her steel-soled hoof-boots, but she couldn’t see him, and he was able to avoid her easily.

She heard an evil chuckle and a sneering voice. “You can’t do nothing about it, Ponycunt. You might as well give up trying. Just stand still and enjoy it.”

Brenda knew he was right, but she kept trying, until she realized her efforts were probably just giving the rapist more fun. She looked at the other captives and saw the same revulsion on their faces as must have been on hers, to the degree they could show any expressions with their features distorted by bits. They were slowly rocking forward and back, as if being repeatedly pushed by somebody behind them, and she was certain they were being assaulted the same way she was by the men who had been carrying their tails. Raven noted they were taking her assailant’s advice, at least the part about giving up. She also realized he was right about her impotence to prevent this latest and most disgusting act of degradation to be inflicted on her.

Hating to let him have his way, she did it anyhow. Brenda leaned forward as far as she could against the front of the stall and stood unmoving, hoping he would finish quickly. She felt his hands pulling against her hips as his cock drove into her ass and she felt them pushing against her as he withdrew. It wasn’t physically painful, since constantly wearing the butt plug attached to her tail had stretched her ass open, probably permanently, and his cock would not add to the level of expansion.

She stood waiting for the assailant to finish and leave, and Brenda heard his breathing become louder and raspier, until he sighed, apparently having cum into her ass. A minute later, she felt his cock withdrawing and, after it was out, she even felt the scumball wiping his semen off onto her thighs.

A few minutes after finishing his vile assault, she felt the man wrapping his arm around her thighs and she felt a different intruder, apparently the butt plug that held her tail, inserted into her ass and twisted back and forth until it was snugly in place. Seconds later, the rapist slapped her ass and walked around the end of the stalls. Before leaving, he turned and smiled at her and wished her a good night. Minutes later, the other thugs left, evidently having taken a little longer to rape their victims.

Brenda looked at her stablemates, and saw drops trickling down Rose’s creamy white cheeks, and she could feel her own tears burning her eyes. She vowed she would escape, somehow and sometime, and if it meant killing McGillicuddy and his whole rotten crew, she would have no compunction against doing so. In fact, she realized, she would love to kick or stomp them to death with the steel-soled boots they forced her to wear, and she would take great pleasure in doing it if she ever got the chance.

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Brenda’s Parade

It’s her first outing as a ponygirl.

This is the latest story in the suffering of Brenda, who was abducted and is being forced into the hard life of a ponygirl. It is about rape and torture and abuse, and is nothing at all like my usual stories of fun sex among happy men and women.

Brenda woke up lying on her left side on the mattress in the training room that had been her home for several months; she had lost track of how long exactly. The brand on her right buttock had almost healed, and was no longer painful, unless she bumped it against something or she was struck there with a whip. The man who considered himself to be her owner, Cornelius McGillicuddy III, who was also the man who had ordered her to be branded, sometimes used a mirror to show how the healing was progressing. The scar, which was in the shape of a block “M” with a small “c” intersecting the right leg, was a dark pink and stood out from her creamy skin the way it was intended to do.

After straddling the drain and urinating, as she did every morning, Brenda, or Raven as she was called by her owner and the men who worked for him, leaned over the basin of water and took a long drink. As always, she had to purse her lips to suck up the water around the bit that was held tightly inside her mouth.

The attached bridle, the coverings on her hands and forearms that were called “hoof-gloves” and the leather collar around her neck were the only things she wore. Her glossy black tail, which closely matched the long, black hair that had earned her ponygirl name was constantly in place, except for the one time every day she was given an enema and her body was cleaned inside and out. The butt plug that held the tail was otherwise always inside her ass, but Raven was used to it by then, and no longer thought about it. Ever since her abduction, the sexy young woman had been virtually naked, much to the pleasure of the thuggish men around her.

That day would, she knew, be a break in the routine. On the previous evening, her owner had told her there would be a parade, and that she would be a part of it. It would be the first time for her to be on display before the shadowy group of men and women who abducted attractive girls and young women and forced them to be ponygirl slaves for their own amusement. For about three weeks, as near as she could tell, her mornings had been spent pulling a sulky under the cruel command of the man who reminded her more of Hitler every time she saw him. He was less free with his whip than he had been the first day but, by no means, did he spare her. Brenda’s ass and thighs were criss-crossed in red from the many lashes she had received, and they were still painful.

Her afternoons had been spent on her hands and knees, carrying her owner around the grassy area she had learned was referred to as the parade ground. Employing what was called “the ponygirl strut” while pulling the sulky was the hardest work Brenda had ever done, even without the whipping , but being a saddle pony was also drudgery, and was even more humiliating. She wore pads on her knees and her hands were encased in her hoof-gloves, so it wasn’t painful, but it was tiring in the extreme.

She had gotten better with practice, and McGillicuddy told her she was getting more sure-footed with her front legs, but Raven doubted she would ever be good at it, nor did she want to be. What she wanted was to escape from her enslavement, but she didn’t yet see how that could be accomplished.

After urinating and quenching her thirst, Brenda lay back down to await the entrance of her owner and his goons. When they arrived, McGillicuddy spoke to her in his usual manner, politely but letting her know his word was law in the house and grounds he owned especially for the ponygirls he also claimed to own. Any disobedience she had displayed had always been punished by severe whippings, and Raven knew enough to do as she was told.

“Raven, my dear,” the old man addressed her as he usually did. “As I told you yesterday, we will have a parade today, and you will be part of it. I hope you don’t mind, but Big Betsy will be pulling the sulky, rather than you. Mr. Krause tells me you aren’t quite ready yet, and we need to build up your stamina. I hope you are not disappointed, because you will still be part of the parade, since I’ll be riding you in front of everybody.”

She was not even a little bit disappointed, and would rather have been left out of the parade entirely but, at least, it would be a change in the dull routine. The old man stepped away from her and the men with him stepped forward with her tack, and silently ordered her to stand so they could begin preparing her for her duties that day as a saddle pony.

The first thing they did was to remove her bridle and reins and bit, which was a surprise, but Raven quickly saw why. They had brought her a new one, made of shiny black leather and adorned with chrome studs, and they affixed it and the new matching reins and bit. McGillicuddy did his favorite part of preparing her, which was to carefully pull her mane through the spaces between the straps of the bridle so it flowed down her back in the way he doted on. When he was done, his men continued the preparations.

They had a new harness that matched the bridle, but that would not be part of her adornment that day. During her earliest training, she had worn both a harness and a saddle, but that had been for the purpose of further humiliation and to save time when they changed her training between cart pony and being her owner’s steed.

The saddle she would wear that day was new too, matching the other tack, and was carefully cinched into place around Brenda’s waist. The last thing they did was strap on her kneepads, and she was almost ready to kneel on the floor and be mounted by her owner. The parade would not be starting for more than an hour and, when she was to be ridden by him, her front legs would be freed from the manacles connected to the chain that hung from the ceiling so she could walk on all fours, and her owner would mount her, place his feet in the stirrups and ride in the style he preferred.

Cornelius McGillicuddy III considered Raven to be the most beautiful ponygirl in captivity, and he couldn’t wait to show her off to his fellow fanciers. Some of the early comers had already started arriving, in their big automobiles or vans that also carried their stables. He came into the training room with one of his men and, after the manacles were released from her wrists, she got down on all fours so he could take his seat on the saddle. Following a light tap from his riding crop, she carried him out the door to the hallway and to the back door of the mansion and the verandah that overlooked the carefully manicured parade ground.

Raven obediently followed the tugs on her reins, and carried her rider down the ramp and to the area where the owners of the ponygirls and their employees would be accommodated. She always enjoyed the deep green of the grass of the parade ground and the adobe bricks that formed the track around it and the structure at one end. She knew that building was the stable for ponygirls, and she would be housed there soon, unless she was able to escape first. That idea was always on her mind, but she knew she would have to be obedient to avoid whipping and other punishment, at least for as long as she was a captive.

“Whoa!” her rider yelled, as he pulled on her reins to order her to stop by the chairs and table with an umbrella that was reserved for him and any guests he might invite. Wanting to keep their activities secret, the ponygirl fanciers only rarely had guests at their parades and other social events, but there were other groups in other parts of the country, and they sometimes visited the old man and others in his society.

A man and a woman approached, and Brenda recognized the man who had wanted to buy her before she was branded and his wife, who had whipped him after a fall. The man approached and, after seeing the brand, patted her ass, but did not take as many liberties as he had the previous time he had been around. His wife kept her distance.

“Hi, Mac,” the man greeted him. “I see you’ve got Raven out for the first time. She’s a beauty, and really sexy.”

“Yes, she is quite attractive,” his wife agreed.

“I think she will be the most beautiful ponygirl that here today,” her owner proudly stated. “And, once she’s fully trained, she will outshine any other in every area.”

His friends may or may not have agreed, but they said nothing about it. They were the first of many who came over to see and admire the new ponygirl they had heard about, and some of the men stroked her ass or fondled her breasts, but nobody touched her pussy. The women limited themselves to stroking her mane, or refrained from touching Raven at all. Everybody commented on her youth and beauty, and there were a few suggestions of the possibility of buying her, but McGillicuddy turned down all offers, whether they were serious or not. Brenda waited on all fours and endured the fondling but neither whinnied nor neighed.

When the time arrived for the opening promenade to begin, McGillicuddy mounted Raven and, as the owner of the site where the parade was being held, rode her to the head of the line that was starting to form. The other ponygirl owners or their representatives, mounted their favorite steeds, who were all on their knees and wearing hoof-gloves, and followed him in a line, past the grandstand where employees and invitees were watching and whistling at the beautiful ponygirls being paraded before them. Other men and a few women followed, riding in carriages being pulled by a pair or in sulkies being pulled by one ponygirl. Raven led the entire group, circling the track twice before being brought to a halt at the place where they had begun the march. Other owners riding on their ponygirls and the rest of their stables stopped in the areas that had been designated for them.

This was the first time Brenda had seen any other ponygirls, although she knew of their existence. She wondered about Big Betsy, who was pulling the sulky she had trained on, and looked over her fellow captive. The other woman was older and also a brunette, but not very much bigger than Raven, although she looked stronger. Her legs were pillars of corded muscle, but she did not look to be in very good condition in general. Betsy’s large breasts were droopy, and her whole body seemed tired and worn out. Brenda wondered whether that would be her own appearance in a few years. She hoped not, and resolved even more to make her escape when the chance arose.

The other two ponygirls who shared her stable were slightly smaller than she or Betsy, and were harnessed to a larger carriage. Both had long blonde hair and were a similar size, apparently chosen for their assignments for that reason. It seemed logical that their owner would want a matched pair to pull the carriage.

All three of Raven’s stablemates were naked except for being outfitted in tack similar to hers, although they wore harnesses instead of a saddle. The other members all wore hoof-boots besides their hoof-gloves, and had their wrists manacled to the lower belts of their harnesses. Each member of the stable had been branded on her right buttock as Brenda had. She surmised they had all been abducted as she had, but the bridles and bits they wore obscured their facial features too much for her to recognize any of them or connect them to any news accounts of missing girls or young women she might have read in a newspaper or seen on a televised news program.

After the opening promenade, the next event was a series of sulky races. Each stable of ponygirls had one entry, and they raced in heats, with each heat matching two teams. The first two ponygirls both ran like the wind, pulling their sulkies twice around the track. It was obvious to Brenda that one reason for sprinting like that was because the drivers used their long whips almost as much as Krause, whom she still thought of as Hitler, had done during her training sessions. One of the teams won, to a smattering of polite applause.

Big Bertha was in the next heat, and it was immediately obvious she was not up to the demands being put on her. She started slowly and fell even farther behind, despite the unmerciful whipping she received from Krause every step of the way. Although it served no purpose by that time, the abuse continued even after the other ponygirl crossed the finish line, winning by at least half a circuit of the track ahead of her. When she stumbled, exhausted and covered with red welts into the area where the rest of McGillicuddy’s employees and members of his stable waited, she was crying from pain and fatigue.

The sulky driver didn’t care about how she felt. When they reached that area, Krause angrily jumped out of the conveyance and strode up to his boss, who was disappointed but not surprised by the result. He was still mounted on Raven, because he preferred sitting on the sexy ponygirl’s back to sitting on a chair, so she heard the entire discussion between the two men.

“Mr. Mack, you’ve got to get rid of Bertha. She’s all washed up. It was really embarrassing to me and to you to lose as badly as I just did, but there was nothing I could do about it. She’s old and slow and worn out, and Raven will have to take her place.”

“I suppose you’re right. I really like her as a saddle pony, but my men have their eyes on a new girl, and I can sell Big Bertha and turn Raven over to you. Do you think she’s ready to pull the sulky yet? You said she needed more conditioning.”

“She’ll be ready by the next parade, if you’ll let me have my way with her.” Krause looked at Brenda then, as if just noticing her.

“If you say so. After the final promenade, I’ll move Raven to the stable. The new pony, if we succeed in catching her, can be moved into the training room. It’s time for Raven to be in her new quarters anyhow.

He smiled at the ponygirl under him and patted her on her shapely hip, as if he were doing her a favor. “Did you hear that, My Dear? Starting tomorrow, you’ll be a fulltime sulky pony. Isn’t that exciting! But I hope I still get to ride you some of the time.”

Brenda had heard everything that was said, and the change demanded by Krause was frightening, rather than exciting. She had seen how exhausted Big Bertha was, from the race she had just lost, and from others she had run, and how she had been savaged by Hitler. Brenda had no wish to go through the same experiences, nor would she ever wish them on anybody. All she wanted to do was escape the horrible place she was held prisoner, and report it to the legal authorities if that was possible. Until she could do that, however, she would be Raven, the docile saddle pony, soon to be a sulky pony and part time mount for her owner.

There were two more races in the first round and, when they were finished, two of the four semi-finalists prepared for the next matchup. The audience was taking a greater interest, and they cheered loudly as they watched the winning ponygirl and driver from the first race outrun the team that had easily beaten Krause and Big Bertha. The next race generated just as much enthusiasm, and Brenda realized the people watching were betting on the results. The ponygirl winning the final race, a large Hispanic looking woman who had been the winner in the first race of the day, was bedecked with flowers and paraded in front of the cheering spectators, strutting the way Raven realized she would have to master over the next few weeks.

The final event of the parade, Brenda discovered, would be a judging of the pairs pulling the larger carriages that would be occupied by their owners. McGillicuddy dismounted from Raven and was assisted aboard his carriage, which was still hitched to the two blonde ponygirls. The driver was not Krause, but the handsome henchman who had tricked Brenda. He snapped his whip across the creamy asses of the blondes, and the team strutted smartly away, with other carriages following. Sometimes the teams pulling them, always moving with the ponygirl strut, had the same color hair, but no team matched one another in appearance as closely as those who were pulling the carriage containing Raven’s owner.

The carriages made a single circuit of the track and stopped where they had started. The judges, carrying their clipboards, approached from the infield and closely inspected the teams that had done the pulling. As Brenda and everyone else watched, they took liberties with the ponygirls far greater than any that had been taken with Raven or that she had seen before. The men and woman doing the judging, one team at a time, stroked manes and fondled breasts and asses with their hands and even felt the pussies of those they were inspecting. The teams of ponygirls being subjected to their scrutiny stood still at rigid attention, seeming to never flinch or even move a muscle despite what was being done to them. Brenda believed she would not have had the discipline to control herself under such conditions, but all those being inspected did so.

Partly making up for the loss by Big Bertha, the blonde ponygirl team of the McGillicuddy stable, who were announced as “The Angels,” won first prize in the judging, and their owner returned, smiling broadly and clutching the blue ribbon. He mounted Raven again and, a few minutes later, led all participants in the parade on a final promenade around the track.

When the last circuit was complete, he directed his favorite mount back to the training room, where his henchmen once again cuffed her to the chain hanging from the ceiling. She wondered how long she would stay there before being transferred to the stable to make room for the new saddle pony who would be replacing her. She also wondered if McGillicuddy’s gang of misogynistic thugs would be able to take their intended victim a prisoner and bring her back to the mansion.

She hoped not, partly because she hated the thought of having to pull Hitler in the sulky in future races and the abuse and exhaustion that would entail. Mostly, though, she hated the thought of some other beautiful young woman being abducted and put through the abuse and humiliation she had witnessed and endured.

Brenda had long ago given up on trying to keep any track of time, because it was impossible to do, and her days were so much alike it was pointless. After what was probably a little over an hour, McGillicuddy and two of his goons entered. The old man greeted her, but the others were their usual silent selves as they removed her hoof-gloves and saddle, manacled her wrists to the ceiling again and steered her to the basin where her hygienic needs were met. They removed her tail and gave her an enema and, when that was done working, cleaned her inside and out. They did not put her tail back into her ass, but that was the only departure from the usual procedure. When the washing was done and they returned her from the basin, naked except for her collar and leash, she noticed her mattress was gone.

“Raven, My Dear,” McGillicuddy said to her. “We’re going to take you out to the stable, and that will be your home indefinitely, and we’ll feed you there today. I expect to ride you sometimes too, at least for the next few days but, starting tomorrow morning, you will be training almost full time as a sulky pony. Won’t that be exciting!”

Her new and shiny bridle and bit had been removed, so Brenda could have answered orally, and it would have been in the negative if she had. However, she thought better of it, and just whinnied noncommittally. For as long as necessary, she would have to continue being the docile and obedient Raven.

As usual, McGillicuddy had the mistaken idea that his ponygirls enjoyed their slavery, and he smiled and responded. “I’m glad to know you like the idea, My Dear. Now, these gentlemen will help you on with the harness and other tack you will be wearing.”

It appeared to be the same equipment she had worn through the previous day, and the goons quickly set to work putting it on her, playing with the ponygirl’s breasts and ass and even fondling her pussy as they always did when they had a reason to touch her body. The old man clearly saw what was happening, but he ignored it, as always. They began her preparation with her hoof-boots, tapping her calves to tell her to raise her feet and slipping on the boots and lacing them up.

When they placed the bridle over her head, Raven opened her mouth to accept the bit, but that was also withheld. She remembered she would be fed in the stable, and expected the bit to be put in place after that. As he enjoyed doing, McGillicuddy pulled her long black hair out between the leather straps of the bridle. Her harness would be next, and Brenda raised her arms to allow the collection of straps to be placed over her head so it rested on her shoulders, with her breasts between the top belt and the second one. Those straps and the others were buckled into place, and the bottom one, the widest and heaviest of all, rested just above her mons.

The next items were her hoof-gloves. One wrist at a time was released from the handcuffs hanging from the ceiling; the gloves were slipped onto her and laced up and her arms were pulled down to her sides so her wrists could be locked in place in the manacles fastened to the bottom belt of her harness. Raven made no attempt to resist having any of the tack put in place or her arms pinioned. She knew it would have been futile, and probably would have resulted in a whipping or other punishment. Her owner stood and watched while one of his men took her leash and led her out the door of the training room and the other two followed close behind.

Brenda had seen the outside of the stable many times, but had never been inside and wondered what it would look like and be like and what would be her relationship with the other ponygirls there. Her first impression was that it was very bright inside, with a fluorescent light overhead illuminating the whole interior. Her second impression was the lingering odor of urine. Obviously, the stable was not kept as clean as the training room, possibly because the boss would have spent very little time there. There was nothing she would be able to do about the bad smell, and it was just one more negative fact about her life as a slave.

The stable was a single square room, and on one side were three small areas separated by partitions, which she realized were stalls. The team of blonde carriage ponies occupied the two farthest from the door, their heads protruding through the fronts. They had no bits in their mouths either; Brenda noted the striking facial similarities, and assumed they were sisters. The third stall was vacant, which puzzled her, because Big Bertha should have been in that one.

She was allowed little time to think about the absent ponygirl or anything else, because the man with her leash pulled on it to lead her into the vacant stall. He entered through the back, which was wide open, and handed the leash to one of his associates, who was waiting outside the front, and who tugged on it to silently direct Raven to bend over so her head and upper body leaned out over the low partition that made up the front of the stall. The first man walked out of the enclosure where he had walked in, squeezing, stroking and otherwise fondling Brenda’s ass as he passed by, and rejoined the others.

The second man, still holding her leash, stepped back, pulling it tight to keep their captive from backing away, and the other two men lowered a heavy plank to a point a few inches above her shoulders. Brenda didn’t know the reason for the plank because, once her leash was no longer taut, she would be able to step back into the stall and stand up straight anytime she wanted.

However, the next part of her imprisonment was to slide two metal bars down the front of the stall, either of them passing between her body and her arms, which were still manacled to her harness. Raven had some lateral movement, and she could turn and look at the blonde ponygirls who had silently watched her being confined, but she would be unable to move backward until somebody removed the bars from the front of the stall.

One of the men spoke to Brenda and her fellow prisoners. “Okay, Ponycunts, time for chow and, after that, we got a special treat for you.”

The food brought out and placed on the low shelf attached to the front of the stalls was the same boring boiled vegetables and mush, and Brenda had to eat it the same way, picking it up with her tongue or lips, chewing and swallowing it. She looked at her stablemates and saw they were eating the same way. The men also brought water in separate basins, and all three ponygirls drank as Raven had been doing, sucking the liquid up with their lips and swallowing it. There was no hurry about eating, because all three of McGillicuddy’s men left the stable after putting out the food and water, so Brenda turned to her nearest companion, wanting to know more about them and the situation.

It wasn’t the most pressing matter, but there was something she was curious about. “What happened to Big Bertha? Was this her stall?”

“Don’t call her that. Her name is Frances, but the old man named her Big Bertha. What’s your name, by the way?” the nearer woman asked.

“Okay, I’m sorry. My name is Brenda, but McGillicuddy calls me Raven, and so do all his men and everybody else I’ve seen. So, what happened to Frances?”

“McGillicuddy? Is that really his name? I’ve never heard anyone call him that, but I guess it fits. Would you rather be called Brenda? My name is Rose and my younger sister here is named Susan, but everybody calls her Susie.”

Susie interrupted her sister. “They came and dragged her out right after the parade was over. I suppose they’ll sell her at auction, but we don’t know what’ll happen then.”

“Sell her at auction? Really? I didn’t know they could do that. I’d rather be called Brenda than what I’m called by McGillicuddy and his thugs.”

She was shocked and surprised at the concept, but it did make sense. The old man certainly wouldn’t just turn her loose, and he would have no reason to kill Frances if he could make some money by selling her. After all, she was a slave, just like herself and Rose and Susie, and that’s what happened to slaves.

“Well, it’s against the law, but so is the whole operation here. If the old man didn’t buy you, how did you get here?” Rose asked. “He bought both of us and Frances told us he bought her too, but that was before we got here.”

Brenda described how she had been tricked by McGillicuddy and his thugs and made a prisoner and subjected to abuse, especially the first night. She felt embarrassed at having been such an easy capture, but she wanted to be open with her fellow slaves because, if they were ever to escape, they would have to trust each other and work together.

The sisters described how their enslavement occurred. While driving home from a night class at college, they had been involved in a minor accident on a street with no other traffic. When they got out of their car to exchange names and other information with the other driver, they were overpowered and drugged and woke up chained to a wall. After being raped and starved and tortured for a week or more, they were cleaned up and put on stage, but they didn’t know where it was, to be sold to the highest bidder. From there, they were brought to the old man’s stable, and he turned them into a team of carriage ponies. Because of their beauty and because they looked so much alike, that was the only kind of ponygirl job they ever had, and they hated it.

All three of the young women ate and drank while discussing their situation, because they knew the thugs would return soon and put their bits in place, eliminating conversation among them. Shortly after they finished their food, all three goons entered the stable one of them with Brenda’s tail and both the others with blonde ones, obviously for the sisters. She wondered why neither of the other ponygirls had been wearing a tail, and why hers had been left off so long, but Brenda would not have made any complaint about the oversight, if that’s what it was. As expected, their bits were put back into their mouths, and the three men went to the backs of the stalls, each of them carrying a tail.

A few minutes later, Brenda felt her ass cheeks being spread and felt fingers and a thumb opening the place where the tail would be inserted. She hated the familiarity, always had, and knew she always would, but she also knew there was nothing to be done about it, so she endured it stoically as she had done hundreds of times. Brenda remained in place when she felt the blunt tip against the hole that was being held open, until she suddenly realized there was something different happening this time.

Until that evening in the stable, the man putting her tail in place squirted lubricant into her ass, wrapped an arm around her thighs, inserted the end of the butt plug and started twisting it as he pushed until it was all the way inside and her anal sphincter closed over the base. That was not happening this time. Instead of an arm holding her legs in place, there was a hand on either of her hips and the intruder was being thrust straight into her ass. Abruptly, Brenda realized she was being raped. She was being anally raped!

She tried to move forward to avoid the man, but the metal bars that had been slid in place and made up part of the front of her stall kept her from moving far enough. She tried moving from side to side, but he stayed with her and drove his cock deeper into her ass with a series of strong, straight thrusts. As a last resort, Brenda tried kicking him or stamping on his feet with her steel-soled hoof-boots, but she couldn’t see him, and he was able to avoid her easily.

She heard an evil chuckle and a sneering voice. “You can’t do nothing about it, Ponycunt. You might as well give up trying. Just stand still and enjoy it.”

Brenda knew he was right, but she kept trying, until she realized her efforts were probably just giving the rapist more fun. She looked at the other captives and saw the same revulsion on their faces as must have been on hers, to the degree they could show any expressions with their features distorted by bits. They were slowly rocking forward and back, as if being repeatedly pushed by somebody behind them, and she was certain they were being assaulted the same way she was by the men who had been carrying their tails. Raven noted they were taking her assailant’s advice, at least the part about giving up. She also realized he was right about her impotence to prevent this latest and most disgusting act of degradation to be inflicted on her.

Hating to let him have his way, she did it anyhow. Brenda leaned forward as far as she could against the front of the stall and stood unmoving, hoping he would finish quickly. She felt his hands pulling against her hips as his cock drove into her ass and she felt them pushing against her as he withdrew. It wasn’t physically painful, since constantly wearing the butt plug attached to her tail had stretched her ass open, probably permanently, and his cock would not add to the level of expansion.

She stood waiting for the assailant to finish and leave, and Brenda heard his breathing become louder and raspier, until he sighed, apparently having cum into her ass. A minute later, she felt his cock withdrawing and, after it was out, she even felt the scumball wiping his semen off onto her thighs.

A few minutes after finishing his vile assault, she felt the man wrapping his arm around her thighs and she felt a different intruder, apparently the butt plug that held her tail, inserted into her ass and twisted back and forth until it was snugly in place. Seconds later, the rapist slapped her ass and walked around the end of the stalls. Before leaving, he turned and smiled at her and wished her a good night. Minutes later, the other thugs left, evidently having taken a little longer to rape their victims.

Brenda looked at her stablemates, and saw drops trickling down Rose’s creamy white cheeks, and she could feel her own tears burning her eyes. She vowed she would escape, somehow and sometime, and if it meant killing McGillicuddy and his whole rotten crew, she would have no compunction against doing so. In fact, she realized, she would love to kick or stomp them to death with the steel-soled boots they forced her to wear, and she would take great pleasure in doing it if she ever got the chance.

Brenda’s Parade

It’s her first outing as a ponygirl.

This is the latest story in the suffering of Brenda, who was abducted and is being forced into the hard life of a ponygirl. It is about rape and torture and abuse, and is nothing at all like my usual stories of fun sex among happy men and women.

Brenda woke up lying on her left side on the mattress in the training room that had been her home for several months; she had lost track of how long exactly. The brand on her right buttock had almost healed, and was no longer painful, unless she bumped it against something or she was struck there with a whip. The man who considered himself to be her owner, Cornelius McGillicuddy III, who was also the man who had ordered her to be branded, sometimes used a mirror to show how the healing was progressing. The scar, which was in the shape of a block “M” with a small “c” intersecting the right leg, was a dark pink and stood out from her creamy skin the way it was intended to do.

After straddling the drain and urinating, as she did every morning, Brenda, or Raven as she was called by her owner and the men who worked for him, leaned over the basin of water and took a long drink. As always, she had to purse her lips to suck up the water around the bit that was held tightly inside her mouth.

The attached bridle, the coverings on her hands and forearms that were called “hoof-gloves” and the leather collar around her neck were the only things she wore. Her glossy black tail, which closely matched the long, black hair that had earned her ponygirl name was constantly in place, except for the one time every day she was given an enema and her body was cleaned inside and out. The butt plug that held the tail was otherwise always inside her ass, but Raven was used to it by then, and no longer thought about it. Ever since her abduction, the sexy young woman had been virtually naked, much to the pleasure of the thuggish men around her.

That day would, she knew, be a break in the routine. On the previous evening, her owner had told her there would be a parade, and that she would be a part of it. It would be the first time for her to be on display before the shadowy group of men and women who abducted attractive girls and young women and forced them to be ponygirl slaves for their own amusement. For about three weeks, as near as she could tell, her mornings had been spent pulling a sulky under the cruel command of the man who reminded her more of Hitler every time she saw him. He was less free with his whip than he had been the first day but, by no means, did he spare her. Brenda’s ass and thighs were criss-crossed in red from the many lashes she had received, and they were still painful.

Her afternoons had been spent on her hands and knees, carrying her owner around the grassy area she had learned was referred to as the parade ground. Employing what was called “the ponygirl strut” while pulling the sulky was the hardest work Brenda had ever done, even without the whipping , but being a saddle pony was also drudgery, and was even more humiliating. She wore pads on her knees and her hands were encased in her hoof-gloves, so it wasn’t painful, but it was tiring in the extreme.

She had gotten better with practice, and McGillicuddy told her she was getting more sure-footed with her front legs, but Raven doubted she would ever be good at it, nor did she want to be. What she wanted was to escape from her enslavement, but she didn’t yet see how that could be accomplished.

After urinating and quenching her thirst, Brenda lay back down to await the entrance of her owner and his goons. When they arrived, McGillicuddy spoke to her in his usual manner, politely but letting her know his word was law in the house and grounds he owned especially for the ponygirls he also claimed to own. Any disobedience she had displayed had always been punished by severe whippings, and Raven knew enough to do as she was told.

“Raven, my dear,” the old man addressed her as he usually did. “As I told you yesterday, we will have a parade today, and you will be part of it. I hope you don’t mind, but Big Betsy will be pulling the sulky, rather than you. Mr. Krause tells me you aren’t quite ready yet, and we need to build up your stamina. I hope you are not disappointed, because you will still be part of the parade, since I’ll be riding you in front of everybody.”

She was not even a little bit disappointed, and would rather have been left out of the parade entirely but, at least, it would be a change in the dull routine. The old man stepped away from her and the men with him stepped forward with her tack, and silently ordered her to stand so they could begin preparing her for her duties that day as a saddle pony.

The first thing they did was to remove her bridle and reins and bit, which was a surprise, but Raven quickly saw why. They had brought her a new one, made of shiny black leather and adorned with chrome studs, and they affixed it and the new matching reins and bit. McGillicuddy did his favorite part of preparing her, which was to carefully pull her mane through the spaces between the straps of the bridle so it flowed down her back in the way he doted on. When he was done, his men continued the preparations.

They had a new harness that matched the bridle, but that would not be part of her adornment that day. During her earliest training, she had worn both a harness and a saddle, but that had been for the purpose of further humiliation and to save time when they changed her training between cart pony and being her owner’s steed.

The saddle she would wear that day was new too, matching the other tack, and was carefully cinched into place around Brenda’s waist. The last thing they did was strap on her kneepads, and she was almost ready to kneel on the floor and be mounted by her owner. The parade would not be starting for more than an hour and, when she was to be ridden by him, her front legs would be freed from the manacles connected to the chain that hung from the ceiling so she could walk on all fours, and her owner would mount her, place his feet in the stirrups and ride in the style he preferred.

Cornelius McGillicuddy III considered Raven to be the most beautiful ponygirl in captivity, and he couldn’t wait to show her off to his fellow fanciers. Some of the early comers had already started arriving, in their big automobiles or vans that also carried their stables. He came into the training room with one of his men and, after the manacles were released from her wrists, she got down on all fours so he could take his seat on the saddle. Following a light tap from his riding crop, she carried him out the door to the hallway and to the back door of the mansion and the verandah that overlooked the carefully manicured parade ground.

Raven obediently followed the tugs on her reins, and carried her rider down the ramp and to the area where the owners of the ponygirls and their employees would be accommodated. She always enjoyed the deep green of the grass of the parade ground and the adobe bricks that formed the track around it and the structure at one end. She knew that building was the stable for ponygirls, and she would be housed there soon, unless she was able to escape first. That idea was always on her mind, but she knew she would have to be obedient to avoid whipping and other punishment, at least for as long as she was a captive.

“Whoa!” her rider yelled, as he pulled on her reins to order her to stop by the chairs and table with an umbrella that was reserved for him and any guests he might invite. Wanting to keep their activities secret, the ponygirl fanciers only rarely had guests at their parades and other social events, but there were other groups in other parts of the country, and they sometimes visited the old man and others in his society.

A man and a woman approached, and Brenda recognized the man who had wanted to buy her before she was branded and his wife, who had whipped him after a fall. The man approached and, after seeing the brand, patted her ass, but did not take as many liberties as he had the previous time he had been around. His wife kept her distance.

“Hi, Mac,” the man greeted him. “I see you’ve got Raven out for the first time. She’s a beauty, and really sexy.”

“Yes, she is quite attractive,” his wife agreed.

“I think she will be the most beautiful ponygirl that here today,” her owner proudly stated. “And, once she’s fully trained, she will outshine any other in every area.”

His friends may or may not have agreed, but they said nothing about it. They were the first of many who came over to see and admire the new ponygirl they had heard about, and some of the men stroked her ass or fondled her breasts, but nobody touched her pussy. The women limited themselves to stroking her mane, or refrained from touching Raven at all. Everybody commented on her youth and beauty, and there were a few suggestions of the possibility of buying her, but McGillicuddy turned down all offers, whether they were serious or not. Brenda waited on all fours and endured the fondling but neither whinnied nor neighed.

When the time arrived for the opening promenade to begin, McGillicuddy mounted Raven and, as the owner of the site where the parade was being held, rode her to the head of the line that was starting to form. The other ponygirl owners or their representatives, mounted their favorite steeds, who were all on their knees and wearing hoof-gloves, and followed him in a line, past the grandstand where employees and invitees were watching and whistling at the beautiful ponygirls being paraded before them. Other men and a few women followed, riding in carriages being pulled by a pair or in sulkies being pulled by one ponygirl. Raven led the entire group, circling the track twice before being brought to a halt at the place where they had begun the march. Other owners riding on their ponygirls and the rest of their stables stopped in the areas that had been designated for them.

This was the first time Brenda had seen any other ponygirls, although she knew of their existence. She wondered about Big Betsy, who was pulling the sulky she had trained on, and looked over her fellow captive. The other woman was older and also a brunette, but not very much bigger than Raven, although she looked stronger. Her legs were pillars of corded muscle, but she did not look to be in very good condition in general. Betsy’s large breasts were droopy, and her whole body seemed tired and worn out. Brenda wondered whether that would be her own appearance in a few years. She hoped not, and resolved even more to make her escape when the chance arose.

The other two ponygirls who shared her stable were slightly smaller than she or Betsy, and were harnessed to a larger carriage. Both had long blonde hair and were a similar size, apparently chosen for their assignments for that reason. It seemed logical that their owner would want a matched pair to pull the carriage.

All three of Raven’s stablemates were naked except for being outfitted in tack similar to hers, although they wore harnesses instead of a saddle. The other members all wore hoof-boots besides their hoof-gloves, and had their wrists manacled to the lower belts of their harnesses. Each member of the stable had been branded on her right buttock as Brenda had. She surmised they had all been abducted as she had, but the bridles and bits they wore obscured their facial features too much for her to recognize any of them or connect them to any news accounts of missing girls or young women she might have read in a newspaper or seen on a televised news program.

After the opening promenade, the next event was a series of sulky races. Each stable of ponygirls had one entry, and they raced in heats, with each heat matching two teams. The first two ponygirls both ran like the wind, pulling their sulkies twice around the track. It was obvious to Brenda that one reason for sprinting like that was because the drivers used their long whips almost as much as Krause, whom she still thought of as Hitler, had done during her training sessions. One of the teams won, to a smattering of polite applause.

Big Bertha was in the next heat, and it was immediately obvious she was not up to the demands being put on her. She started slowly and fell even farther behind, despite the unmerciful whipping she received from Krause every step of the way. Although it served no purpose by that time, the abuse continued even after the other ponygirl crossed the finish line, winning by at least half a circuit of the track ahead of her. When she stumbled, exhausted and covered with red welts into the area where the rest of McGillicuddy’s employees and members of his stable waited, she was crying from pain and fatigue.

The sulky driver didn’t care about how she felt. When they reached that area, Krause angrily jumped out of the conveyance and strode up to his boss, who was disappointed but not surprised by the result. He was still mounted on Raven, because he preferred sitting on the sexy ponygirl’s back to sitting on a chair, so she heard the entire discussion between the two men.

“Mr. Mack, you’ve got to get rid of Bertha. She’s all washed up. It was really embarrassing to me and to you to lose as badly as I just did, but there was nothing I could do about it. She’s old and slow and worn out, and Raven will have to take her place.”

“I suppose you’re right. I really like her as a saddle pony, but my men have their eyes on a new girl, and I can sell Big Bertha and turn Raven over to you. Do you think she’s ready to pull the sulky yet? You said she needed more conditioning.”

“She’ll be ready by the next parade, if you’ll let me have my way with her.” Krause looked at Brenda then, as if just noticing her.

“If you say so. After the final promenade, I’ll move Raven to the stable. The new pony, if we succeed in catching her, can be moved into the training room. It’s time for Raven to be in her new quarters anyhow.

He smiled at the ponygirl under him and patted her on her shapely hip, as if he were doing her a favor. “Did you hear that, My Dear? Starting tomorrow, you’ll be a fulltime sulky pony. Isn’t that exciting! But I hope I still get to ride you some of the time.”

Brenda had heard everything that was said, and the change demanded by Krause was frightening, rather than exciting. She had seen how exhausted Big Bertha was, from the race she had just lost, and from others she had run, and how she had been savaged by Hitler. Brenda had no wish to go through the same experiences, nor would she ever wish them on anybody. All she wanted to do was escape the horrible place she was held prisoner, and report it to the legal authorities if that was possible. Until she could do that, however, she would be Raven, the docile saddle pony, soon to be a sulky pony and part time mount for her owner.

There were two more races in the first round and, when they were finished, two of the four semi-finalists prepared for the next matchup. The audience was taking a greater interest, and they cheered loudly as they watched the winning ponygirl and driver from the first race outrun the team that had easily beaten Krause and Big Bertha. The next race generated just as much enthusiasm, and Brenda realized the people watching were betting on the results. The ponygirl winning the final race, a large Hispanic looking woman who had been the winner in the first race of the day, was bedecked with flowers and paraded in front of the cheering spectators, strutting the way Raven realized she would have to master over the next few weeks.

The final event of the parade, Brenda discovered, would be a judging of the pairs pulling the larger carriages that would be occupied by their owners. McGillicuddy dismounted from Raven and was assisted aboard his carriage, which was still hitched to the two blonde ponygirls. The driver was not Krause, but the handsome henchman who had tricked Brenda. He snapped his whip across the creamy asses of the blondes, and the team strutted smartly away, with other carriages following. Sometimes the teams pulling them, always moving with the ponygirl strut, had the same color hair, but no team matched one another in appearance as closely as those who were pulling the carriage containing Raven’s owner.

The carriages made a single circuit of the track and stopped where they had started. The judges, carrying their clipboards, approached from the infield and closely inspected the teams that had done the pulling. As Brenda and everyone else watched, they took liberties with the ponygirls far greater than any that had been taken with Raven or that she had seen before. The men and woman doing the judging, one team at a time, stroked manes and fondled breasts and asses with their hands and even felt the pussies of those they were inspecting. The teams of ponygirls being subjected to their scrutiny stood still at rigid attention, seeming to never flinch or even move a muscle despite what was being done to them. Brenda believed she would not have had the discipline to control herself under such conditions, but all those being inspected did so.

Partly making up for the loss by Big Bertha, the blonde ponygirl team of the McGillicuddy stable, who were announced as “The Angels,” won first prize in the judging, and their owner returned, smiling broadly and clutching the blue ribbon. He mounted Raven again and, a few minutes later, led all participants in the parade on a final promenade around the track.

When the last circuit was complete, he directed his favorite mount back to the training room, where his henchmen once again cuffed her to the chain hanging from the ceiling. She wondered how long she would stay there before being transferred to the stable to make room for the new saddle pony who would be replacing her. She also wondered if McGillicuddy’s gang of misogynistic thugs would be able to take their intended victim a prisoner and bring her back to the mansion.

She hoped not, partly because she hated the thought of having to pull Hitler in the sulky in future races and the abuse and exhaustion that would entail. Mostly, though, she hated the thought of some other beautiful young woman being abducted and put through the abuse and humiliation she had witnessed and endured.

Brenda had long ago given up on trying to keep any track of time, because it was impossible to do, and her days were so much alike it was pointless. After what was probably a little over an hour, McGillicuddy and two of his goons entered. The old man greeted her, but the others were their usual silent selves as they removed her hoof-gloves and saddle, manacled her wrists to the ceiling again and steered her to the basin where her hygienic needs were met. They removed her tail and gave her an enema and, when that was done working, cleaned her inside and out. They did not put her tail back into her ass, but that was the only departure from the usual procedure. When the washing was done and they returned her from the basin, naked except for her collar and leash, she noticed her mattress was gone.

“Raven, My Dear,” McGillicuddy said to her. “We’re going to take you out to the stable, and that will be your home indefinitely, and we’ll feed you there today. I expect to ride you sometimes too, at least for the next few days but, starting tomorrow morning, you will be training almost full time as a sulky pony. Won’t that be exciting!”

Her new and shiny bridle and bit had been removed, so Brenda could have answered orally, and it would have been in the negative if she had. However, she thought better of it, and just whinnied noncommittally. For as long as necessary, she would have to continue being the docile and obedient Raven.

As usual, McGillicuddy had the mistaken idea that his ponygirls enjoyed their slavery, and he smiled and responded. “I’m glad to know you like the idea, My Dear. Now, these gentlemen will help you on with the harness and other tack you will be wearing.”

It appeared to be the same equipment she had worn through the previous day, and the goons quickly set to work putting it on her, playing with the ponygirl’s breasts and ass and even fondling her pussy as they always did when they had a reason to touch her body. The old man clearly saw what was happening, but he ignored it, as always. They began her preparation with her hoof-boots, tapping her calves to tell her to raise her feet and slipping on the boots and lacing them up.

When they placed the bridle over her head, Raven opened her mouth to accept the bit, but that was also withheld. She remembered she would be fed in the stable, and expected the bit to be put in place after that. As he enjoyed doing, McGillicuddy pulled her long black hair out between the leather straps of the bridle. Her harness would be next, and Brenda raised her arms to allow the collection of straps to be placed over her head so it rested on her shoulders, with her breasts between the top belt and the second one. Those straps and the others were buckled into place, and the bottom one, the widest and heaviest of all, rested just above her mons.

The next items were her hoof-gloves. One wrist at a time was released from the handcuffs hanging from the ceiling; the gloves were slipped onto her and laced up and her arms were pulled down to her sides so her wrists could be locked in place in the manacles fastened to the bottom belt of her harness. Raven made no attempt to resist having any of the tack put in place or her arms pinioned. She knew it would have been futile, and probably would have resulted in a whipping or other punishment. Her owner stood and watched while one of his men took her leash and led her out the door of the training room and the other two followed close behind.

Brenda had seen the outside of the stable many times, but had never been inside and wondered what it would look like and be like and what would be her relationship with the other ponygirls there. Her first impression was that it was very bright inside, with a fluorescent light overhead illuminating the whole interior. Her second impression was the lingering odor of urine. Obviously, the stable was not kept as clean as the training room, possibly because the boss would have spent very little time there. There was nothing she would be able to do about the bad smell, and it was just one more negative fact about her life as a slave.

The stable was a single square room, and on one side were three small areas separated by partitions, which she realized were stalls. The team of blonde carriage ponies occupied the two farthest from the door, their heads protruding through the fronts. They had no bits in their mouths either; Brenda noted the striking facial similarities, and assumed they were sisters. The third stall was vacant, which puzzled her, because Big Bertha should have been in that one.

She was allowed little time to think about the absent ponygirl or anything else, because the man with her leash pulled on it to lead her into the vacant stall. He entered through the back, which was wide open, and handed the leash to one of his associates, who was waiting outside the front, and who tugged on it to silently direct Raven to bend over so her head and upper body leaned out over the low partition that made up the front of the stall. The first man walked out of the enclosure where he had walked in, squeezing, stroking and otherwise fondling Brenda’s ass as he passed by, and rejoined the others.

The second man, still holding her leash, stepped back, pulling it tight to keep their captive from backing away, and the other two men lowered a heavy plank to a point a few inches above her shoulders. Brenda didn’t know the reason for the plank because, once her leash was no longer taut, she would be able to step back into the stall and stand up straight anytime she wanted.

However, the next part of her imprisonment was to slide two metal bars down the front of the stall, either of them passing between her body and her arms, which were still manacled to her harness. Raven had some lateral movement, and she could turn and look at the blonde ponygirls who had silently watched her being confined, but she would be unable to move backward until somebody removed the bars from the front of the stall.

One of the men spoke to Brenda and her fellow prisoners. “Okay, Ponycunts, time for chow and, after that, we got a special treat for you.”

The food brought out and placed on the low shelf attached to the front of the stalls was the same boring boiled vegetables and mush, and Brenda had to eat it the same way, picking it up with her tongue or lips, chewing and swallowing it. She looked at her stablemates and saw they were eating the same way. The men also brought water in separate basins, and all three ponygirls drank as Raven had been doing, sucking the liquid up with their lips and swallowing it. There was no hurry about eating, because all three of McGillicuddy’s men left the stable after putting out the food and water, so Brenda turned to her nearest companion, wanting to know more about them and the situation.

It wasn’t the most pressing matter, but there was something she was curious about. “What happened to Big Bertha? Was this her stall?”

“Don’t call her that. Her name is Frances, but the old man named her Big Bertha. What’s your name, by the way?” the nearer woman asked.

“Okay, I’m sorry. My name is Brenda, but McGillicuddy calls me Raven, and so do all his men and everybody else I’ve seen. So, what happened to Frances?”

“McGillicuddy? Is that really his name? I’ve never heard anyone call him that, but I guess it fits. Would you rather be called Brenda? My name is Rose and my younger sister here is named Susan, but everybody calls her Susie.”

Susie interrupted her sister. “They came and dragged her out right after the parade was over. I suppose they’ll sell her at auction, but we don’t know what’ll happen then.”

“Sell her at auction? Really? I didn’t know they could do that. I’d rather be called Brenda than what I’m called by McGillicuddy and his thugs.”

She was shocked and surprised at the concept, but it did make sense. The old man certainly wouldn’t just turn her loose, and he would have no reason to kill Frances if he could make some money by selling her. After all, she was a slave, just like herself and Rose and Susie, and that’s what happened to slaves.

“Well, it’s against the law, but so is the whole operation here. If the old man didn’t buy you, how did you get here?” Rose asked. “He bought both of us and Frances told us he bought her too, but that was before we got here.”

Brenda described how she had been tricked by McGillicuddy and his thugs and made a prisoner and subjected to abuse, especially the first night. She felt embarrassed at having been such an easy capture, but she wanted to be open with her fellow slaves because, if they were ever to escape, they would have to trust each other and work together.

The sisters described how their enslavement occurred. While driving home from a night class at college, they had been involved in a minor accident on a street with no other traffic. When they got out of their car to exchange names and other information with the other driver, they were overpowered and drugged and woke up chained to a wall. After being raped and starved and tortured for a week or more, they were cleaned up and put on stage, but they didn’t know where it was, to be sold to the highest bidder. From there, they were brought to the old man’s stable, and he turned them into a team of carriage ponies. Because of their beauty and because they looked so much alike, that was the only kind of ponygirl job they ever had, and they hated it.

All three of the young women ate and drank while discussing their situation, because they knew the thugs would return soon and put their bits in place, eliminating conversation among them. Shortly after they finished their food, all three goons entered the stable one of them with Brenda’s tail and both the others with blonde ones, obviously for the sisters. She wondered why neither of the other ponygirls had been wearing a tail, and why hers had been left off so long, but Brenda would not have made any complaint about the oversight, if that’s what it was. As expected, their bits were put back into their mouths, and the three men went to the backs of the stalls, each of them carrying a tail.

A few minutes later, Brenda felt her ass cheeks being spread and felt fingers and a thumb opening the place where the tail would be inserted. She hated the familiarity, always had, and knew she always would, but she also knew there was nothing to be done about it, so she endured it stoically as she had done hundreds of times. Brenda remained in place when she felt the blunt tip against the hole that was being held open, until she suddenly realized there was something different happening this time.

Until that evening in the stable, the man putting her tail in place squirted lubricant into her ass, wrapped an arm around her thighs, inserted the end of the butt plug and started twisting it as he pushed until it was all the way inside and her anal sphincter closed over the base. That was not happening this time. Instead of an arm holding her legs in place, there was a hand on either of her hips and the intruder was being thrust straight into her ass. Abruptly, Brenda realized she was being raped. She was being anally raped!

She tried to move forward to avoid the man, but the metal bars that had been slid in place and made up part of the front of her stall kept her from moving far enough. She tried moving from side to side, but he stayed with her and drove his cock deeper into her ass with a series of strong, straight thrusts. As a last resort, Brenda tried kicking him or stamping on his feet with her steel-soled hoof-boots, but she couldn’t see him, and he was able to avoid her easily.

She heard an evil chuckle and a sneering voice. “You can’t do nothing about it, Ponycunt. You might as well give up trying. Just stand still and enjoy it.”

Brenda knew he was right, but she kept trying, until she realized her efforts were probably just giving the rapist more fun. She looked at the other captives and saw the same revulsion on their faces as must have been on hers, to the degree they could show any expressions with their features distorted by bits. They were slowly rocking forward and back, as if being repeatedly pushed by somebody behind them, and she was certain they were being assaulted the same way she was by the men who had been carrying their tails. Raven noted they were taking her assailant’s advice, at least the part about giving up. She also realized he was right about her impotence to prevent this latest and most disgusting act of degradation to be inflicted on her.

Hating to let him have his way, she did it anyhow. Brenda leaned forward as far as she could against the front of the stall and stood unmoving, hoping he would finish quickly. She felt his hands pulling against her hips as his cock drove into her ass and she felt them pushing against her as he withdrew. It wasn’t physically painful, since constantly wearing the butt plug attached to her tail had stretched her ass open, probably permanently, and his cock would not add to the level of expansion.

She stood waiting for the assailant to finish and leave, and Brenda heard his breathing become louder and raspier, until he sighed, apparently having cum into her ass. A minute later, she felt his cock withdrawing and, after it was out, she even felt the scumball wiping his semen off onto her thighs.

A few minutes after finishing his vile assault, she felt the man wrapping his arm around her thighs and she felt a different intruder, apparently the butt plug that held her tail, inserted into her ass and twisted back and forth until it was snugly in place. Seconds later, the rapist slapped her ass and walked around the end of the stalls. Before leaving, he turned and smiled at her and wished her a good night. Minutes later, the other thugs left, evidently having taken a little longer to rape their victims.

Brenda looked at her stablemates, and saw drops trickling down Rose’s creamy white cheeks, and she could feel her own tears burning her eyes. She vowed she would escape, somehow and sometime, and if it meant killing McGillicuddy and his whole rotten crew, she would have no compunction against doing so. In fact, she realized, she would love to kick or stomp them to death with the steel-soled boots they forced her to wear, and she would take great pleasure in doing it if she ever got the chance.