Cathy, back in the same hogtie, hoodwink, dildo, clitoris clip and ball gag as before, feels the van bouncing across the desert, taking her someplace she has no wish to go. She fights the ropes, knowing they will not break, feeling them cutting into her sunburned skin. She clenches down on the big vibrating dildo, feeling her vulva's muscles forcing it out so that the clip on her clitoris burns with special fury. She shudders and gasps, feeling her rising passion as you would feel the water rising around you in a sinking ship. She seems to swirl down into a depth of confused passion and pain and pleasure and helpless sexual fever dreams.

* * *

Sometime later, she will never know how long, she feels the van pull onto pavement and accelerate up to highway speed. The tenor comes to her and whispers into her buzzing ear, "Cathy dear, can you understand me?" Cathy nods, trying to ignore the throbbing dildo inside her vulva, the burning clip on her clitoris.

"You are going to compete in a pony show. You will do just fine if you just remember what we have taught you. If we have to whip you we will but that will cost you points. Points that you cannot afford to lose if you want to win the prize."

Cathy nods again, not understanding much but trying to show willing.

"There are three categories in the competition," the tenor continues, his hands caressing her body in ways that both reassure and incite. "Style, heart and passion. Passion you have, heart you have, and if you but remember what we taught you the other day about style, you will win it all."

Without warning Cathy feels his hand removing the clip on her clit. In the wash of agony as blood returns to her nerve filled center she hardly notices the withdrawal of the dildo and its replacement by his big, hairless, unclipped cock. Then, as she again spirals down into sexual slavery, she hears her own gag blocked screams of passion as if they were coming from the throat of another woman.

When he has done with her the woman comes and gently inserts a well greased rubber plug into her ass, a rubber plug adorned with a horse tail by the way it feels. In her afterglow of sexual euphoria Cathy doesn't even think to protest.

After a while the van slows, turns off the pavement and again begins to rock and bounce down a desert track. Inside her hoodwink, Cathy chokes on the swirling dust, feeling as if she must be covered in the stuff, her body sweat, tears and gag drool turning it into a muddy mess that coats her from head to toe. It is especially bad inside the hoodwink, clogging her nose, forcing her to try to breathe around the big, cloth covered ball held deep in her mouth.

Finally, the van stops and the dust settles, leaving Cathy gasping for air and feeling half dead.

Still in her hogtie she can do nothing save await her captors pleasure. She hears voices outside and when the van's sliding door opens knows she is upon display. She feels hands touching her helpless body and hears, "Well God Damn if'n y'all didn't go out and get you a new pony. What happened to the one y'all had last time?" The contralto's voice says, "We done turned her back to pasture, Bubba. No sense in riding them into the ground after all."

"Well shitfire, y'all shoulda given the rest of us a chance ta bid that there little pony. These little fillies take a heap of training and you three always seem to have some of the best in show. Why did y'all let her go so quick? I always like ta git my money's worth outa one afore I turns her loose."

The tenor says, "Well, Bubba, that's where we differ. For us the training is the fun part. Once they're properly broken, the challenge is no longer there." As he speaks he is unhooking the ankle rope from Cathy's hands so that she can walk. "Now if you will excuse us we have to get our new pony cleaned up and ready for the show."

Cathy is led, a strong hand on each of her bent elbows, her new tail brushing the backs of her thighs, over to what feels like a wet slab of concrete. Once there she suffers the shock of a cold shower that rinses away the dust and leaves her shivering in cold and fear as it sweeps up her body from her feet. When the spray then hits her hoodwink the stream of cold water nearly drowns her, causing panic to raise its ugly head once again. She tries to blindly run away only to find her hobble rope is being stood on. She is falling, her hands tied up in the middle of her back, her hoodwinked head unprotected, when, at the last second, the baritone catches her, saying, "Whoa there Cathy, you could hurt yourself like that." As he sets her back on her feet in the center of the slab and begins to use a soapy sponge on her helpless body.

After a thorough toweling comes the sun block, the contralto's hands spreading it into places not usually in danger of exposure to the sun.

Then comes the mask. Cathy cannot see it but it is a masterpiece of papier mache construction that, once it is fixed to her shoulders, makes her look like a humorous horse.

Then comes the touch of a brush to first her nipples, then her pussy lips, the scent of rouge telling her that she is being made up in such a way as to inflame both the judges and the audience.

Sat down on a stool, Cathy feels the hobble rope being removed and then the hoof boots being laced onto her feet. As she works, the contralto says, "The first event is a pull off. You will be hitched back to back to another pony who matches you in weight and the one who pulls the other out of the ring wins. I will be standing by with the whip in case you need some extra incentive."

Helped back to her feet, the hoof boots keeping her up on her toes, Cathy is paraded around in a circle to the applause of what sounds like a hundred people.

Suddenly she is thankful that her face is covered.

Then she is forced to stand still as a harness strap is fastened around her hips.

Over a loudspeaker comes a woman's amplified voice. "Welcome to the Moll Flanders monthly pony show! Our first event will be the pull-off. Starting with the hundred pound and under category we have Cathy from LA and Dottie from Dallas, both girls newbies, visiting our little jamboree for the first time."

There comes another round of applause and shouted approval and Cathy hears a strange man's voice beside her say, "Spread your knees Sweetmeat, this dildo is kind of large."

Dildo? Thinks Cathy, I'm supposed to do this with a dildo up inside me? She hears a buzzing and then feels the thing rattling against the gates of her vulva. She wants to bolt but knows it will only earn her pain. She spreads her knees and accepts the greasy thing up inside her, feeling how much it stretches her, how it rattles against her g spot, how it, combined with the tail plug is going to make every step an intensely sexual experience.

She feels a pair of straps being passed down between her legs, through a ring on the exposed end of the dildo, passing on both sides of her tail then up between her bottom cheeks to be threaded through a ring at the rear of her harness belt. When they are tightened she suddenly knows the dildo must have several inches of extra length sticking out of her already stretched vulva. "When you pull against these straps the dildo will not only be pressed in deeper but it will rev up its vibrator and begin to swell within you." The stranger says, attaching her straps to the ones on Dottie's harness. "When the gun goes off each of you must try to pull the other out of this thirty foot ring you're standing in. The one who loses will be eliminated from the competition and will spend the rest of the day in the brood mare corral being serviced by any and all comers. May the best woman win."

Cathy feels the presence of her opponent standing behind her. Still tightly gagged she snorts a greeting to her fellow prisoner, trying to make some sort of a connection other than the one they have attached between their two vulvas.

Dottie snorts in response then pulls hard against the harness, forcing both dildos up and nearly pulling Cathy off of her hoof-booted feet.

Cathy staggers and fights to regain her balance, aware that the dildo inside her has both swollen and revved up to a higher, more insistent note. Well, she thinks, if that's the way you want to be, Dottie from Dallas, then let the games begin!

The starting pistol goes off close beside her and Cathy lunges into the harness, feeling the dildo ramming up inside her, stretching her beyond anything she's ever known, vibrating so hard now that she fears for her fillings, inflating within her in such a way that the vibrations are being transmitted directly against her g spot. She grits her teeth and lunges harder, taking three slow steps forward as Dottie gasps and fights to get her footing.

The men and women around the two ponies are shouting in excitement, making bets and laughing at how the two dildos have already slipped up out of sight, bringing the cooze splitting straps into contact with the girl's pink and swollen clits.

Cathy takes another short step forward, dragging Dottie back a little more, then at the sound of a whip crack feels Dottie lunge into the harness, pulling Cathy back the other way. Digging her hoof boots into the dirt she stops her backwards motion and ignoring the stretching of her vulva lunges even harder in the other direction.

Dottie surprises Cathy by swinging around to one side and pulling at ninety degrees to Cathy's direction of pull, nearly pulling her off her feet. By the time she regains her footing, Cathy no longer knows where she is in the circle. She is also spasming into a strange kind of an orgasm, an orgasm that is so powerful it seems to weaken her knees and sap her will, filling her with a peaceful feeling that has no relation to the competition at hand.

She staggers backwards, losing several feet before she remembers the penalty awaiting the loser. As she digs in again, not sure where they are in the circle she again hears the whip cracking against Dottie's flanks.

This time Cathy is prepared for Dottie's lunge, bracing her feet and taking the dildo deep within her as she holds her ground. Then, one determined step at a time she begins to walk blindly forward, the dildo vibrating its way up into her clenched cervix, stretching her vulva as it has never been stretched before. Behind her, she hears the whip cracking again and again against Dottie's bare bottom, feels the unseen girl's desperate attempts to resist being hindered by her reflexive jerks of pain and orgasmic, gag garbled cries of passion.

Unexpectedly, Dottie swings around to the side a third time, this time catching Cathy off balance and toppling her from her too high heels. The crowd shouts its approval and Cathy hears several side bets being made against her. She feels herself being dragged several feet across the dirt before she can flop over onto her stomach and get into position to dig her iron shod toes into the dirt and regain control. Then lunging forward, the dildo all the way up inside her now, the twin cooze straps pinching her clit out so that it looks like a small penis, her gag ball clenched in her teeth, Cathy begins walking forward, her orgasm humping her hips in a dance of lust, her leg muscles knotted and straining.

Suddenly it is over. There comes a rising crescendo of cheering and a second shot from the starter's pistol signifying the end of the contest.

Cathy feels hands on her naked body holding her up as the pulling rig is loosened and released. The dildo deflates and is slowly withdrawn, its motor still in overdrive giving her one last thrill as it slides out of her stretched and dripping vulva.

"You won Cathy!" whispers the contralto, hugging the still convulsing pony girl. "We thought she had you when you fell but you got back up and beat her!" Cathy, her knees so weak that she fears falling, lets the woman hug her, discovering in the process that, like her, the woman is nude.

There comes a pat to her rump and then a more lingering and intimate caress as the man called Bubba says, "Name your price darlin', I'm a'hankerin' to own this here filly. She makes my blood boil jest a'thinking about 'er."

"She's not for sale, Bubba." Says the tenor, his boots crunching in the loose dirt as he walks up behind the Texan. "She's been promised her freedom just as soon as we three are done with her."

Cathy, cuddling in post-coital bliss, wonders when that will happen, wonders if that is really what she wants to happen. Then wonders where that thought has come from.

Well, if'n y'all change yur minds, y'all know where ta find me." Says the Texan, tugging on Cathy's tail one last time before walking away.

As the same amplified woman's voice as before begins to announce the next pull-off pair, the baritone says, "Lets get our little filly ready for the harness race, shall we?"

The tenor chuckles and caresses Cathy's sweaty flank, then slips his fingers in between her thighs to touch her still swollen labia where they hang down, still crimson and dripping with passion juice.

Cathy, corked in both ends, hoodwinked, hoof-boot hobbled, arm bound and helpless, cannot resist. She is panting, so tired her knees are going out on strike. But the fingers between her legs send thrill after thrill into her fresh fucked sex. She screams around the gag, feeling yet another orgasm coming on, looming up before her blinkered eyes like a cobra ready to strike.

* * *

By the time this monster of an orgasm has finally passed, she finds herself stripped of her papier mache head, gag, tail and boots, spread eagle tethered in an open air shower and already, from the neck down, very, very clean, inside and out. From this information she deduces that her orgasm has lasted at least thirty minutes.

From this she thinks, I have never known an orgasm could last so long, that a woman could survive what just happened to me. And from this comes the thought, completely unbidden, Or that she would not only enjoy it, she'd want more!

What is wrong with me? She thinks in a kind of panic as she feels the cord under her chin being loosened. What have they done to me? How will I ever be satisfied with vanilla sex again? Am I now a sex slave? A woman who gets her kicks only while in pain, while tightly restrained, while under the lash? When the knot is finally loosened and the black mud-stained hoodwink is slowly rolled up over Cathy's eyes, she opens them, then flinches in the sudden sunlight. Then, slitting her light deprived eyes against the glare she finds herself the focal point of a bank large mirrors set up all around her, all aligned with the desert sun, all focused on her. As blinded now as ever, Cathy is spared the danger of seeing her captors. Seconds later she feels plastic swimmer's goggles being placed over her clenched eyelids.

When she tests her eyes again she finds that the goggles have been painted black. She feels safer, not knowing anything she can use to find this place again or these people again. If she knew her captors identities how could she ever be trusted not to go to the police? The bucket of soapy water comes as no surprise to the spread eagled Cathy.

Nor do the soapy hands that start out washing her hair but keep slipping down to massage first her tits and then groin, even though they've just been thoroughly washed.

She counts hands and comes up with way too many. There had been just her three captors but now there are twenty hands on her body, caressing her soapy skin in sensuous ways that sweep thought from her like you'd sweep horse droppings from a stable.

Have they drugged me, slipped me some kind of Spanish Fly? Thinks Cathy unable to stop what the hands are doing to her.

Just as the orgasm is nearing its climax, at the last possible moment, just before Cathy is about to achieve it, it all stops, the hands withdraw, leaving our naked girl spread-eagled, alone and as sexually frustrated as it is possible to be.

"Twenty thousand quid, for just one hour of her time!" An Englishman says from the watching crowd, his voice husky with lust. "I promise I'll bring her back in the same condition as I take her. Fresh fucked and ready for more."

The crowd laughs at this and the Englishman says, "What?" as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

"We've all seen your girls after you are done with them, m'lord. The tenor says, laying his hand on Cathy's hairless groin, tickling her just enough to keep her libido high. "Twenty thousand isn't going to buy this little one, at least not before the harness race."

"Ah, but perhaps after the race and before dressage." Oils the Englishman.

"I could do the honors, rump wise. Can't have her going out without at least three o' the best marking her rump, after all. It wouldn't be fair to the poor pony. She can't hope to win without stripes, its right there in the rules . . . I tell you what, I'll pay you a thousand quid a stripe?" "Again we must refuse, m'lord." says the tenor, bending down to untie one of the ankle spreading ropes. "We have no need of your help today, sir, especially since Cathy here is the odds-on favorite to beat your filly."

"Curses, foiled again!" the Englishman says, in his best bad actor Snidely Whiplash.

The crowd laughs and then, chuckling, watch as Cathy is put into the three strap arm bondage that again positions her hands at the back of her neck.

They then tie a soft rope through her bent elbows, lashing them together above and behind her head. She is still wondering why when they begin rolling a new, clean, much larger hoodwink down over her head and bound arms, covering her to just above her breasts. The Baritone whispers to her as he works. "You're two fur two, Cathy, win place or show in the harness race and you won't have to get those dressage stripes tonight. That's because we won't even need to enter you tomorrow. You will have already won Best In Show, fair and square." Still in her slave need, Cathy allows herself to be walked away between two of her captors, the third walking behind, cracking a whip just to make it pop, reminding her that it was there if they had needed it.

Behind her the crowd explodes in applause as the three judges award a perfect ten for Cathy's display of passion.