Amber couldn't believe it when the well-dressed big spender at the strip club had asked her to go on a tropical vacation with him. After all, she got those offers at least once a week, right? But then Big Spender had given her a thousand bucks in cash and a plane ticket, so Amber had gathered up her stuff from the dressing room, telling the strip club owner to go fuck himself as she strutted out the door to meet her new boyfriend.

He told her to pack only the barest essentials, as he would buy her what she needed on the island resort. Within two hours of leaving the club they were in the air. So her actions had been a little bit reckless, but you had to seize opportunity when it came, right?

The flight was long, so by the time they arrived at the island paradise, Amber was dead tired. She dozed off as soon as they settled into the limo.

She was awakened by the smell of wood and soil, and the caress of a warm wind over her bare skin. Puzzlement turned to alarm when she realized she was bound by a network of leather straps on her face and body. She opened her eyes, but a leather blindfold blocked her vision.

Amber struggled to her feet, hampered by ankle hobbles and high-heeled boots. She realized she was completely naked. Without thinking, she gave a cry of anguish, which was garbled by the rubber bit that held her tongue down.

Footsteps approached. "We're finally awake, are we?" A male voice, unknown to her. What had happened? Where was her new boyfriend? She cowered in a corner, the wood rough against her skin.

She heard a metal latch open, and the squeak of hinges. Hands grabbed her arms and pulled her forward.

The stripper resisted, but she was soon strapped into place in what was apparently the center of a small cell, making it impossible to move even her head more than an inch. The blindfold was removed, and Amber saw that she was in a horse stable, and she was harnessed and bridled in one of the stalls.

There was the clip-clop of horse's hooves, and two ponygirls went by, led along by their reins. The woman began to hyperventilate with fear, realizing that she had been tricked. She was now a kinky sex slave in some unknown place.

"Easy, girl. Just cooperate and we won't hurt you."

Reins were clipped to her bridle, and she was dragged out to a fenced-in compound, where other ponygirls were being trained and exercised. Rage filled her mind as her fists balled up and her arms strained against her leather straps. They had no right to treat her like this!

Still, there was nothing she could do as they led her out and started her training. Reluctantly, she followed orders, prancing and galloping and cantering on command. But when she wasn't being led around by her reins, she plotted. Tied to a hitching post during her rest periods, she noted that she was indeed in a tropical paradise. If this was an island like Big Spender said, then escape would be almost impossible. Her only hope was to somehow get a message out to somebody who could help her.

As the weeks went by, her training expanded to include carts and sulkies, often paired with another ponygirl. Special leather gloves that zipped up the wrists held her fists tight around the shafts of the cart. Not that getting free of them would have done any good-- straps led from the vehicle to the back of her harness.

Amber hated her training, hated sleeping on hay in a tiny stall, hated eating from a feedbag, and hated being helpless and naked while strange men told her what to do. She wished she was back working in the strip club, making money and having control over her life.

Most of the other ponygirls didn't seem to enjoy the situation any more than she did, with a few exceptions. Though they seemed to be from all over the world, all were young and athletic.

She wondered what they were being trained for. She guessed she would soon find out, as those who seemed to complete their training disappeared, soon replaced by new unwilling captives. Several weeks into her training, she was also taken away.

Amber knew something was up as soon as they put the sports bra on her. Despite the fact that she had been a stripper, the two months of nakedness made the familiar garment feel alien. And though it was clearly a sports bra it was cone-shaped like a '50s bullet bra, and had the centers of the bra cups cut out, exposing her nipples.

After she was harnessed and bridled, a vinyl skirt was put on her, which had a ponytail and flared outward, but which covered her butt and crotch. She was then led outside, loaded onto a horse trailer, and strapped in. Apprehension blossomed into fear when she was blindfolded and her ears plugged.

There was a lurch, and then the feeling of movement. Was she being taken to Big Spender? If so, she would give him a piece of her mind-- well, as much as she could, given the circumstances.

After a ride that seemed to take hours (how big was this island, anyway?), they stopped, and Amber was released from her mobile prison.

She saw to her dismay that she was at another stable. However, she wasn't taken inside-- she was immediately hitched up to a wagon with another ponygirl, the two of them connected by loose straps at the waist and neck. Amber wanted to at least make eye contact with the other woman, but knew from her training that this was forbidden; the other ponygirl, well-trained, didn't even glance her way.

A man climbed aboard the wagon, gathered up the reins, and cracked a whip. Automatically, the women responded, pulling the heavy wagon.

They entered a brick road, and Amber saw that they were in a quaint European-style village, the shops, restaurants, and homes busy with activity.

It didn't come as any surprise that they weren't the only ponygirls working: a number of healthy women of all races served as taxis and mules, ferrying people and goods up and down the streets. While some were dressed in revealing sports bras and vinyl skirts like she and her yoke-mate, others were completely naked or dressed in hooded spandex catsuits, body-shaping foundation garments, or just latex hoods. Those who weren't toiling away under the hot sun were hitched to rails along the curbs.

Amber found it frightening how many women were forced to slave away like common animals. Who were these women? News stories flashed through her head. The two college girls who had disappeared during spring break in Mexico? The swimsuits models whose boat was found capsized? The rising pop star who supposedly died like her idol Jim Morrison, her death disputed by friends and fans alike? Young women who were believed to have succumbed to natural disasters, but were snatched in the chaotic aftermath?

A tug on the reins told them to move to the curb, which they did. The stripper found she was already sweating, despite her good health and her training. The driver tied their reins to the rail and went into a shop.

Amber's yokemate crouched over a storm drain and relieved herself, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Amber grimaced as the smell hit her nostrils. She would resist sinking to that level as long as possible.

The driver returned, and he and two other men began filling the wagon with boxes. The ponygirl could feel the wagon shake as each one was loaded. They had to be kidding, right?

They weren't. The driver climbed back into his seat and cracked the whip. The two ponygirls struggled, barely managing to get the wagon moving again, their bodies leaning forward almost horizontally against the weight.

Luckily, the town was all on level ground, as it was tiring enough carrying the load several blocks to a hotel. As the ponygirls stood there, taking sips of water from water bottles strapped to their bridles and trying to catch their breath, one of the hotel employees stopped and looked Amber up and down.

"Who's the new filly?"

"That's Sassy Dancer," said the driver.

Sassy Dancer?

"Nice titties," said the employee.

So this is what she had become-- an anonymous mule with nice titties, her past forgotten and her future as a human being non-existent. She was becoming nostalgic for her old job as a stripper.

Days were spent hauling goods and nights were spent in a dark, closet-sized stall. Life outside the town was a fading memory.

There were free women on the island, but they were just as indifferent to her plight as the men, if not more so. Amber soon came to understand that this was a playground of the rich and famous, and that-- even if she was able to escape-- there was no place on earth she could find sanctuary, as she knew too much, and they would just hunt her down and recapture her.