When Julianne first became a pony girl, she thought the roughest part of it would be the physical ordeals rather than the psychological ones, but she was wrong.

First, there was the lack of privacy. She quickly got used to being naked, and being harnessed and bridled by male stablehands, but it was extremely embarrassing having them stand watch as she used the toilet. Getting washed down each night also took some getting used to, but it still wasn't as embarrassing as having these strange men insert her tampons every morning (and take them out at night), or carefully shave her pussy as she lay strapped down on a table.

The auction was another ordeal. She had to endure buyers checking out her teeth, hefting her boobies, and examining her pussy. And then there was the "Touch Test" to determine skittishness, in which a pony girl was blindfolded and a prospective buyer cupped her breasts, ran his fingers over her pussy, and fondled her ass to see if she was tame enough to keep from reacting to this invasion of her body.

After she was sold (Sold! Like a piece of merchandise!), she had to contend with her new owner. He preferred to see her prance around braless, took endless home movies of her daily activities, and "trained" her to relieve herself without a toilet. He had even had a hollow tube made to replace the butt plug on her ponytail, so she could shit even while wearing the tail. In time, she lost all inhibitions, letting loose with her bladder or bowels without even thinking about it.

Of course, a pony girl could not show distress due to any "minor irritations," such as flies, boredom, thirst, heat, or cold. There were many times when she was hitched to a post for hours on end, forbidden to swat at flies that buzzed about her and crawled along her bare skin, and forbidden to turn her head to see things that did not concern her, no matter how interesting. No, a pony girl had to stand at attention with her eyes always straight ahead. Naturally, talking of any kind was out of the question, something which every pony girl found extremely hard to adjust to. Even scratching an itch (if that were possible most of the time) was met with swift punishment. As disciplined as Julianne was in her personal and professional life before being drafted as a pony girl, she acquired many stinging red stripes on her derriere before successfully completing her training.

She missed all the "girlie" things she once enjoyed: putting on makeup, shopping for clothes, wearing sexy underthings and designer shoes, indulging in an occasional piece of chocolate or dish of ice cream, getting beauty treatments at the spa . . . Hell, she even missed her hair, as her head had now been permanently depilated along with her pussy. And her breasts-- which she had liked to showcase in a low-cut cleavage-baring dress or push-up bra-- had been freeze-branded at the tops with her Master's logo, forever marking her pristine, blemish-free skin with the scars of servitude.

Even though there were strict laws governing the treatment of pony girls, Julianne sometimes felt they were not enough. She still had to toil away during the hot, humid days of summer with only five-minute drink breaks every hour, naked and with a sanitary napkin stuck under the forehead strap of her bridle to keep the sweat from her eyes. And she still had to work in the winter, wearing only an all-in-one undergarment or spandex workout suit that did little to protect her against the frigid temperatures. Fortunately, when it rained or temperatures dipped below freezing, Master dressed her in a neoprene catsuit, which kept her warm and dry, though this was more for practical reasons than for her comfort (a sick or dying pony girl was money down the drain, as he liked to point out).

There had been occasional problems, as well. Such as the stablehand who groped her whenever he felt he could get away with it (fortunately, a hidden camera had caught him before it had gone on too long), the bugs in her feed (which she learned to ignore), and even (shudder!) the infrequent scary-looking spider who decided to build a web in her stall. The worst scare, though, had been the earthquake-- tethered in their stalls, she and the other pony girls had screamed and pissed themselves as the ground rumbled beneath their pony boots and the stable threatened to collapse on top of them. The quake had lasted less than a minute, but it was months before they were able to sleep well again.

And she knew things would not get any better after "retirement," as she would be taken to the barn and locked up in a tiny pen, where a bra with plastic cups would be strapped to her chest and she would be milked by a computerized machine all day, then held down to be impregnated by a pony boy each night, becoming a nonstop producer of milk and babies for the rest of her life.

Yet, despite this, she would never choose to be a freewoman again, because she was trapped by her addiction to orgasms. A microchip impanted in her head allowed the pleasure centers of her brain to be stimulated as a reward for good behavior, creating the most intense orgasmic feeling she had ever experienced in her entire life, something she knew she would never be allowed to experience should she return to her pre-pony life.