Jayne was led away by Gregor. Lady J returned with Don Estanio to the study. The formalities were quickly completed. Lady J. would receive weekly bulletins from Don Estanio on Jayne's progress, but would not see her niece - this was insisted upon by Don Estanio as being best for Jayne, to allow her to settle-in undistracted - at least until after she had completed her initial probationary training, been taken to the blacksmith and had been nipple-ringed and branded. This last stipulation, explicitly detailed by Don Estanio, removed any lingering hope in Lady J's mind that her niece might be spared some of the harsher aspects of her new life. Seeing no alternative, she agreed. The contracts were signed and exchanged. A final glass of sherry and the Bentley was summoned. Jayne's fate was sealed.

Without a backward glance - for there was nothing at which to glance, Jayne had already been taken by Gregor to the stables - Lady J allowed Pelham to drive her away from Estancia Estanio. She had in her handbag the guarantee of the end of her financial difficulties, the guarantee of the future security of her tenure at Hardinge Hall, the guarantee of an inheritance to pass on to her beloved niece. But in the meantime, she could not stop herself wondering, could not stop her eyes misting no matter how nobly she tried to hold her head, what had she done? She had handed over her niece completely, body if not soul, not merely to a virtual stranger, but to a regime which would do its best to reshape her, physically and mentally. Jayne was no longer a young woman. She was a pony-girl, and as a pony-girl would live for an entire year. Would she survive, physically and mentally? Lady J hoped that the years of rigorous training on which with her niece she had embarked on the young woman's sixteenth birthday would see her through. There was in the contract no let-out clause.

It mattered not that Jayne herself had agreed to the transaction, had indeed suggested herself that her time of servitude and bondage be extended from six months to a year to be sure of securing financial stability for her aunt. It mattered not that there were two signatures on the contract, her own and that of Jayne. It was she who had arranged the deal. It was she who had just sold her niece into slavery. She prayed her niece would survive with both her beauty and her mind intact.

In the stables, Gregor led Jayne straight to a shower stall and there began to clean her down. At that moment, her training as a pony-girl truly began. In the weeks to come, it would advance in leaps and bounds - sometimes literally.

She learned how she must stand to be soaped and washed - even douched - by her groom. As a pony-girl she was not permitted to do any of these chores for herself. She was then lightly groomed, her hair brushed and her body massaged with oil and taken to her quarters. She did not live like an animal, on straw - here the pony-girls were much too valuable to be mistreated - but more like an athlete or performer in the games and circuses of ancient Rome. Her quarters were simple, but clean. She had a bed, and a rudimentary flush toilet. However, the one thing she found she must learn to do was live without arms. The simple harness in which for most of the time she lived - a lightweight soft leather waist-corselet, with shoulder and crupper straps, and a bitless bridle with a martingale to hold her head always back and up - had cuffs for her wrists both at the sides (forearms facing forwards, elbows pushed back to thrust forward the breasts) and at the rear (arms folded across the small of the back, elbows again forced back to cause the torso to arch and thrust out the breasts). Save for meals - taken seated at a long refectory table with the other pony-girls, and the only time the rule of silence was broken - her arms would normally always be secured.

That evening, Don Estanio sent for Jayne. Released from her harnessing she was given a cloak and led naked save for this single cover to the Big House. There she was led to bedroom, then through into an adjoining dressing room where clothes for her were laid out on a chaise-longue, a simple but elegant black dinner dress hanging from a hanger on the wall. There was neither bra nor pants - merely a pair of sheer, self-supporting dark stockings. A maid lightly made up her face as she sat, docile and naked, on a soft-covered stool, then waited as she pulled on the stockings and stood to smooth them up her long thighs, ensuring a perfect fit. With a minimum of words, always softly and gently spoken but in their context indicating that Jayne must do exactly as bidden, the maid helped her into the gown and provided her with accessories: long, hanging diamante earrings and a velvet choker, a diamante brooch glinting at its centre. Her transformation complete, she was taken into the dining room to join the Don for dinner.

Handing her an exquisitely cut delicate crystal flute of Krug champagne, Don Estanio, himself tall and elegant in black tie and dinner suit, a heavy-link gold wrist chain emphasising both the Spanish colouring of his skin and his Latin flair, explained quite frankly that it was his custom with each new pony girl to exercise the right of droit de signeur. That, he went on, he intended to do this evening with Jayne. If she was unwilling, he could send for the grooms and they would hold her while he simply raped her. He hoped this would not be necessary - it would be so much more civilised if it were not. Jayne assured him that rape would not be required. He smiled, dipped his head in a half bow and gestured toward the opened bottle of Krug nestling invitingly in its dew-clouded ice bucket.

At dinner the Don found Jayne a witty and willing companion, Jayne found Don Estanio a charming and amusing host. After dinner the two retired to Don Estanio's huge bedroom with its magnificent four poster bed. And there, feeling like a virgin bride on her wedding night, Estancio Estanio's newest recruit demurely undressed and willingly gave herself to her new master.

9. TRAINING BEGINS

Next day Jayne began her training as a pony girl, with deportment and simple dressage exercises. Over the next week she learned the basic commands, how to stand, walk-on, slow-step and prance. She learned how exacting were these steps, yet how they must be performed exactly so that she showed off her form and figure to best advantage. In the simple prance, for example, the knees had to be raised each step to exactly the same height and position and the torso held rigid, the back lightly arched so that the pony-girl's bare breasts bounced only once per step. In the high prance the upper leg had to be brought exactly horizontal, and the tiptoeing, dancing step executed in such a way that the breasts bounced twice with each step. Jayne had also to learn the trick of holding her shoulders in such a way that her naked breasts bounced together, in unison: so that, in the jargon she soon began to learn, she was properly gathered.

In the tossing prance - a truly exhausting step, very difficult to master - the martingale strap which usually held Jayne's head high and back was unclipped so that the harnessed girl could bend fully forward. Her head had to go forward and down, the spine and torso bending so that the sharply rising knee just touched the corresponding nipple and breast - then the head had to be brought smartly up and back, the back arched, and the breasts allowed to fling up and forwards before the cycle was repeated, this time the upcoming knee touching the breast and nipple on the other side, the entire cycle taking four complete steps. In the tossing prance the energetic nature of the step made it impossible for the pony-girl to remain 'gathered', controlling the quiver and bounce of the breasts, and - in Jayne's case in particular, especially when left unsupported by the training bra - they would not so much bounce as leap excitingly with every step.

And Jayne learned too how, to encourage her to do better or admonish her for a fault, the little multi-thonged trainer her groom carried clipped to his belt could quickly be brought into play. When required she would on command stand and present either or both her firm, white breasts for an admonitory flick with Gregor's biting little training whip. Yet withall, there is nothing we do in this life that does not stand us in good stead for later. Jayne recalled how her aunt had taught her to stand and present her bosom 'for honour', as Lady J had called it, quaintly, with the instruments of correction. The first time had been in the whipping-room in the stable block at Hardinge Hall on the occasion of her first formal punishment flogging; subsequently her lessons had been advanced in other places, at other times. The drawing room had been a favourite, Jayne having to lower the bodice of her dress and present her breasts - often held high and outhrust by one of Collette's tight-laced corsets - for a stinging stroke or more from a little dogwhip her aunt kept in the drawer of an ornate antique desk for just this very purpose. She had learned, too, not merely how to present but how to accept each smarting smack of the little whip without gasping or flinching other than quivering bounce of the punished cone - eventually how to accept in complete silence - how to thank her aunt prettily as the whip was at last set back in its hiding place, and how not to show discomfort as her dress was replaced, even though the stiff material of bodice or corset might rasp uncomfortably across the red and swollen ridges which the little whip had wealed on the white swelling mounds.

And so at Gregor's first command she had been able, without further admonition, to present herself properly to receive the leather's biting little kiss, and did so thereafter prettily, to her groom's pleased admiration. Already, a bond was growing between the apprentice and the teacher - but still there was so much to learn, and but one way to do it, that the little tutor that hung from Gregor's belt had often to be plied. By the end of each of her first few days, both her poor bosoms were reddened, smarting and sore. But within a week, she had mastered the steps. It was a proud Jayne who after her sixth or seventh day, washed and groomed by Gregor and put in her cell for the night, strained against the martingale which held back her head, swivelled her eyes downward over the front of her out-thrust torso and saw that there was not a mark to be seen on either snow-white slope.

Later that evening, after Jayne had been fed, Gregor came into her stall. He was carrying a small bottle of oil and a tiny brush, rather like a toothbrush, the bristles of which were a dull yellow colour, evidently stiff and hard.

He smiled at Jayne, ran his hand over her hair almost affectionately, then lightly stroked one of her breasts.

'Time to begin your nipple training...’

Commanding Jayne to stand with shoulders pulled back to present her breasts he took the stopper from the bottle, tipped a small quantity of oil into the palm of his hand and lightly applied it to each nipple in turn. Instantly, Jayne's stubs began to harden, partly from the simple stimulus of being touched, then more aggressively as the pungent oil began to tickle and tingle the sensitive nubbin. Gregor took each swelling bud between a finger and thumb and began to roll, lightly twisting the burgeoning nubbins first one way, then the other. At first the sensation was entirely pleasant, and Jayne's teats stiffened further in response. Soon, however, Gregor's administrations became firmer, less pleasurable. After a few minutes he was pulling and tugging at the hardened, rubbery teats with vigour, gripping hard and twisting so that it was all Jayne could do to avoid gasping in discomfort.

After ten minutes - ten minutes which eventually seemed to a swim-eyed Jayne an eternity - the swollen, punished tips of the young woman's breasts felt to her as though they had been set on fire, burning and aching cruelly.

Gregor stopped, and took up the small brush. Using one hand to hold the end of the firm, white breast steady, he brusquely scrubbed and polished the tenderised nipple until Jayne thought she must surely faint, so acute and close to unbearable were the sensations which assailed her poor teat. She gasped in relief when Gregor at last released her breast - only to moan inwardly as he without pause turned his attentions to the other, again gripping the breast itself firmly before scrubbing the stiff-bristled brush vigorously back and forth across the sensitised nipple until quiet tears coursed down each of Jayne's flushed cheeks. At last the ordeal was over. Gregor, to Jayne's surprise, kissed her gently on the cheek, his tongue licking away a salty tear.

'There, there, my magnificent beauty. You will get used to it, I promise. Soon your teats will be as tough as saddle leather. We do this every other night until you can hold completely still and let me brush them with a proper wire brush. Then you'll be ready for your harness rings and we can really get into your training.’

Next morning, Jayne's nipples were raw and sore, still swollen from Gregor's firm ministrations. She was sure she would never get used to having her nipples brushed - much less be able to stand having them pierced and ringed. She was relieved when, that night, she was spared any further treatment on her tender breasts. Next evening, however, Gregor returned with the little bottle of oil and the dreaded stiff-bristled brush. It took all Jayne's resolve and iron-willed self-discipline to present herself for another session under the bristles - but she did so, rising and assuming the required position without having to be asked or told. Gregor smiled a smile of small satisfaction as he uncorked the bottle and began to coat the stiffening teats with the burning linament.

By the end of the first month, Gregor had graduated to a small soft-wire-bristled brush and Jayne could take ten minutes of vigorous brushing on each thickened nipple before the tell-tale tears welled in her green eyes and squeezed out onto her waiting cheeks.