The hogtie is as tight and inescapable as ever.

She wonders at how many orgasms she has had in so short a time.

She wonders why the most intense of these were when she was in the most pain.

She wonders.

As time passes she becomes aware of the growing chill in the desert air and the smell of a cooking fire. Soon she is drooling at the smell of bacon frying and wishing her lunch hadn't been so skimpy and so long ago.

She hears them talking together as they eat but cannot make out anything they are saying. She shivers with fear and cold and wonders if she will survive the coming night.

At long last the woman comes and covers her with a second blanket, saying, "Don't worry Cathy, we have laid out a big loop of horsehair rope on the ground around you to keep away the rattlesnakes and scorpions."

A fresh panic engulfs Cathy as the thought of a snake finding her in the night and she struggles anew against her bondage, gaining nothing save the loss of her blanket.

After a while the baritone comes and covers her up again, saying, "Don't do that again or you will have a mighty cold night." before quickly fucking her, then leaving her alone again.

By dawn Cathy is a sex slave, willing to do anything in return for the least sign of caring from her captors. Each time one of them visited her in the night she tried to please, hoping that they would stay with her longer, sharing their warmth, giving her their protection, giving her the shelter of passion to replace the cold terror of being alone and helpless in the cold.

Breakfast is a big drink of sorely needed water and some hot cream of wheat shoveled into her ring stretched mouth. Swallowing with her mouth stretched wide is a skill she has to learn quickly because they pinch her nose closed with what feels like a clothespin.

After breakfast, she feels someone applying a cool lotion to her naked body and the contralto says, "We don't want you to get sunburned after all."

After every exposed inch of Cathy's helpless body has been covered in sun screen she feels them removing the ankle ropes and lacing very heavy, knee high, extremely high heeled boots onto her feet. She is helped to stand and led, still hooded and helpless, over to what turns out to be a sulky. As she walks she realizes that the boots are equipped with iron horseshoes so that she sounds like a pony walking on the gravel.

When she gets to where they want her she is forced to bend at the waist and soon she feels a wide leather collar being buckled around her throat, forcing her to remain in that position. A second wide leather strap is cinched tightly around her waist, fixing her between a pair of sulky shafts like a mare, ready to trot. She feels a weight behind her and knows someone is sitting down on the seat of the sulky. She imagines the view this person must have of her bent rump and dreads the whip she knows must be coming.

With only a swish as a warning the first crack of the whip explodes a star of sudden agony on her right butt cheek. "Giddy-up Cathy, time for you to learn to trot." Comes the woman's voice from behind her.

Cathy lunges into the harness, pulling her tormentor behind her, not knowing what lay before her but needing to avoid another cut of the whip. Beneath her iron shod feet she can feel the rocky ground of the desert track.

Guiding her with reins attached to each side of her ring gag, the woman uses the whip to drive her forward, fast at first but allowing her to slow as exhaustion sets in.

The morning passes in a nightmare of fear, exhaustion and passion. Every time Cathy becomes too tired to run she is fucked by one of the three while standing hobbled in her traces. Of these three she learns to fear the woman the most. This is because the woman has a tireless strap on vibrating dildo that is half again as big as either of the men's cocks. Every time she finds the energy to stumble onward someone rides in the sulky behind her, urging her on with the whip. When she needs to pee she is forced to do it as a horse would do it, on the trail with her tormentor watching. For the first time she is glad she's wearing the hoodwink because they cannot see her blush.

At noon she is unhitched and taken to the shade of her blanket. The woman again feeds and waters her, then leaves her to rest, the hogtie preventing her from any thought of escape.

When they wake her up it is to change her bondage. Numb from 20 hours of bent helplessness, her arms have no strength to resist as they release them from the rope cuffs, bend each of them double on itself and secure them with three straps so that her hands end up between her shoulder blades again, only now with her elbows pointing straight up in the air on each side of her hoodwinked head. The rope burns on her shoulders and wrists hurt almost as much as the numerous whip marks on her bottom and flanks.

"Time for your dressage training." announces the tenor, rolling the hoodwink up just enough to expose the ring gag again. When it is removed she discovers the pain of cramping jaw muscles as she tries to close her mouth.

Before she can do this, however, she feels the hoodwink again rolled down, then a large egg shaped something being inserted behind her teeth, taking the now filthy cloth with it into her mouth and with a clicking sound expanded so that her jaws are fully extended, stretched so wide that she fears the corners of her mouth might be ripped. Attaching reins to the front of this new gag, her trainer continues, "Your first lesson will be in obedience to the whip."

Cathy is helped to her feet and, hobbled by the heavy hoof boots; she follows her trainer out into the late afternoon sunlight. She wonders at how much more exposed her new arm bondage makes her feel. Trapped behind her hoodwinked head, her arms are completely lost to her except as rudimentary balance. Her hands are simply useless, trapped as they are between her shoulder blades. She thinks about how she must look and realizes why these things are being done to her. It is the power rush her captors must be feeling, knowing that her body is theirs for the taking, knowing that there is nothing she can do to protect any part of herself.

Conversely, she feels a similar rush of slave passion, the awareness of her own vulnerability making her vulva cream with readiness for whatever might be coming.

Stumbling blindly, she follows the dictates of the reins to a place nearby where she hears the creaking of a gate. As she moves forward she feels the ground under her iron shod feet become smoother and softer. She is led to a place, stopped and, after a second, given a pat on the rump.

As the reins pull her head up and forward she is forced to follow just to keep her balance. The reins pull her around in what feels like a ten-foot circle. She hears an electric motor and suddenly remembers once seeing a kind of merry-go-round for horses, a contraption that would lead a horse around and around in a circle in order to cool him off after a training exercise. She knows she is attached to something like that and starts to fight its dictates even though she knows she will surely lose. The first warning crack of the whip close behind her bare bottom tells her that resistance will be painful as well as useless but she continues to fight the bit just the same, her pride overruling her fear for the moment.

The second crack of the whip strikes her bottom like a snakebite, the cracker finding its way up between her ass cheeks and popping against her already sore starfish. She staggers from the shock but continues to fight the reins, the gag in her mouth pulling against her teeth. The second slashing blow of the whip cuts across her lower back, igniting a fresh line of fire across her sacral dimples and bringing her to her senses. She settles down and begins following the bit, suddenly docile and obedient, reserving her remaining strength for some future battle that she might have a chance of winning.

The tenor's voice is gentle as he says. "Lift your knees higher as you walk, Cathy, this is dressage, style is important."

Style? Thinks Cathy. They are taking me someplace public?!?! Again pride and panic rise up within her, conspiring to send her into useless resistance. She lunges back against the reins, trying to break free of her bondage, trying to find some escape.

Again the whip cracks, this time across her loins, the cracker biting into her mons Venus and leaving an angry red stripe in its wake. Cathy screams behind her gag, fighting all the harder as more blows land, each one leaving its mark, each one teaching its lesson.

When again she regains her self-control the whipping stops, leaving her body burning from her neck down to her knees, the marks looking angry and red, just like they feel.

"Now that I have your attention, Cathy, please try to lift your knees as you walk." Comes the man's now husky voice. "It really is important." Defeated, Cathy begins to learn dressage.