Denise looked at the old man, stopping in the search for her credit card.

"Why-- is the road closed or something?"

The gas station attendant gave her a squinty-eyed look. "You know how it got it's name, don't you?"

"No."

"Well, about a hunnert years ago, there was a man who had the fastest horses in the land. In fact, he bragged one day that he could beat the devil himself. Well, as soon as he said this, the devil appeared and challenged him to a race. The man agreed, and said that if he should lose, the devil could take his wife.

"They started the race, and the devil wuz winnin', but the farmer, he had a trick up his sleeve-- he took a detour through the cemetery where a saint had been buried. The devil tried to follow, but as soon as his horses passed this holy ground, they vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Enraged, the devil demands the man's wife, anyway, but the man refuses, saying he had won fair and square.

"Well. the devil had lost the race, but he wasn't going to be cheated by a mere mortal. So, one night when the man's wife was walking down the road, the devil came by and snatched her away, threw a harness and bridle on her, and used her to pull his carriage. From then on, he has travelled the road at night, searching for women to add to his team."

The young brunette recoiled. "Yuk, what a disgusting story. You don't expect me to believe that crap, do you?" She found her credit card and tossed it on the counter.

"Sorry. Jes' thought I'd warn ya." He ran her card through the machine. "Have a free cup of coffee as my way of apology."

Denise retreated from the elderly attendant, got a cup of coffee, and retrieved her credit card before turning toward the door.

"'Member what I told ya," he cackled.

Denise glanced back as she went out the door. "Pervert."

She got into her car and drove off, vowing to avoid these out-of-the-way places in the future. Too many weirdos out there.

As a freelance photographer, the young brunette searched out hidden and obscure places to photograph, and there was some beautiful scenery she wanted to capture around here. But first she had to find a good motel, so she could get a good start in the morning.

Denise sipped her coffee as she drove down the dark country road. Devil's Run, my ass, she thought. The devil can kiss my ass.

She had drunk most of the coffee before she noticed it had a bitter aftertaste. She opened her window and dumped the rest of it out onto the road. Let the devil drink it. "Booga booga," she said.

The winding road was dark, with large overhanging trees keeping out the moonlight. Suddenly, there was a loud bang, and she had to fight to keep her car from swerving off the road. Skidding to a halt, she eased it onto the shoulder, the thumping telling her she had blown a tire.

After she calmed down, she got out and inspected the flat, silently swearing to herself. She would have to fix it herself, as there was no one around for miles.

Denise popped the trunk and was about to pull out the spare when she heard the crack of a whip and the pounding of horses' hooves. What the hell--?

From around the bend came an old stagecoach, pulled by a team of-- women. As the brunette stood there in amazement, the freakish spectacle slowed to a halt as it approached her car. There were nearly a dozen women, all harnessed and bridled and in underwear dating from various periods of the last hundred years-- a skimpy see-through bra and panties from the '70s, a heavy-duty all-in-one garment from the '40s, a flowery bra and girdle from the '60s, a corset from the turn of the century, a lacy chemise and tap pants from the '30s, a sports bra and briefs from the '90s. The women stood there, panting and sweating, their unfocused eyes gazing straight ahead.

A maniacal laugh made her look up at the driver. "Another young filly for my team," he sneered.

Sure enough, it was the devil himself, red-skinned and horned, holding the reins in one hand and a whip in the other. His evil eyes bored right into her soul.

As the coach door opened, a frightened Denise turned and ran. She had only taken two steps when there was a scythe-like sound. The leather whip snaked around her body, pinning her arms to her sides. A sharp tug sent her reeling backwards, the woman letting out a cry of alarm as she tumbled to the ground.

Before she could react, three imps surrounded her, ripping at her blouse and skirt.

'HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY, PLEASE!" As she screamed, the one imp threw a bridle over her head. The metal breaking bit tore at her tongue as he buckled it tight, stifling her screams.

Denise fought, but the imps were too strong. In less than a minute, she was stripped, her nearly-naked body harnessed in chains.

The brunette photographer began sobbing as two of the imps jerked her reins, forcing her to her feet and toward the coach as the third smacked her ass from behind with a riding crop. She had been overpowered so quickly that there was no more fight left in her body. Her mind fought to deny what was happening even as she was put in place and hitched to the coach. Through vision blurry with tears, Denise could see the back of the next woman, scantily dressed in an '80s lace teddy.

There was a crack of the whip, and the ponygirl team lurched forward. Denise stumbled and was nearly knocked off her feet, and had to scramble to keep pace with the others. She raced along, feeling angry and humiliated and scared all at the same time, her mind too befuddled to wonder what the hell was happening to her.

They sped down the road, the metal horseshoes on their boots clip-clopping on the hard asphalt. Denise was glad she was in good shape-- her leather harness dug into her body as she pulled her share of the weight of the coach.

After a mile or two, they veered off the road and headed down a dirt path. The newly-captive ponygirl had to struggle to keep her footing on the less-firm and uneven ground. The exertion was almost too great, and she strove to remain conscious.

A cave appeared before them, and they plunged into the waiting darkness. The absence of light was so total that Denise could barely see the white undergarment of the woman three feet in front of her.

The brunette felt a pull backwards, and the whole team slowed to a halt. All the women, Denise especially, stood there panting and gasping for breath, the sounds of their exhalations echoing in their underground destination.

When she had regained her breath, Denise looked around her. They were in a large room-like cavern, dimly lit by flaming torches. The only thing she could see was a small waterfall at the far end.

One by one, the imps stripped the ponygirls of their tack and undergarments, bound their hands behind them, then led them across the cavern by a collar and leash, where they pushed them under the waterfall. The cold water washed the sweat from their bodies and cooled them down.

Denise screeched with discomfort as she was pushed through the freezing cascade, then stood there dripping and shivering with the others, her arms hugging her naked body.

They were in a small room. As each ponygirl was brought in, she was hitched to a ring set in the stone wall. The new girl noticed the others remained still, obediently facing the wall.

Denise couldn't believe what was happening to her, yet the evidence was right there before her eyes. She should've listened to the old man. She could be sleeping peacefully in a nice motel room somewhere, instead of being an imprisoned ponygirl to Satan himself.

As the devil chuckled, each girl was led off. Denise's eyes widened as the devil approached her.

"Ah, another spirited little filly for my stable. Now you will know the endless suffering of being one of my personal pony slaves."

As the brunette shrank from his evil face, the devil slapped a hand on her bare ass cheek. Instantly, she felt the searing pain as her flesh burned. She screamed and twisted away, but it was already too late. She couldn't turn her head to see her injury, but the incredible agony of her burn told her she would be scarred forever.

Satan laughed. The tears blurring her eyes made him look even more hideous and demonic. The imps returned and, jeering at her terror, grabbed her leash and led her away.

They took her to a stable. Denise could see each of the others in her own little stall that was barely big enough to move around in, with walls and a front gate made of ancient wood. Each stood desultorily eating from a feedbag, their blank stares indicating this was nothing new to them, that this had been the sum of their existence for years and that it would never change.

The brunette was shoved into her stall, and the gate slammed shut. The imps pulled her forward by her leash and shoved a feedbag over her face, buckling it tight behind her head. The young woman tilted her head back and got a mouthful of a dry granola-like mixture. She ate, the food soothing her terrified mind. Her ass still throbbed with pain.

-----

The elderly gas station attendant sat at a table in the local bar. He took a sip of beer, then looked at his companions, a tall muscular man with an evil look and three midgets.

"So how's the new girl fitting in so far?"

"Excellent," said the tall man. "She truly believes she's in Hell, thanks to that drugged coffee."

"Good. And the brand?"

"Scarring nicely. I'm gonna need a new glove, though. The chemicals are starting to burn through on this one."

"Speaking of needing things, what about clothing?"

The tall man thought for a second. "How about a fifties look? Rubber girdles and circular-stitched bullet bras."

"Shouldn't be a problem. I'm sure I can find something on the internet." The old man took another sip of beer and addressed the midgets. "How are you guys doing?"

They all gave thumbs-up gestures. "Sure beats the fuckin' circus," said one. It had been nearly a dozen years since they had dreamed up the Devil's Run scheme, and they had averaged almost one woman a year. None of them missed the circus.

"I could do without those damn pointy Spock ears, though," said one.

The old man shrugged. "Yeah, but look at the benefits."

The midgets saw images of sexy helpless women being trained as ponygirls dance before their eyes and grinned. They leaned forward and high-fived each other.

The one midget held up his beer bottle. "To single women out on their own."

They all clicked their bottles together and took a drink, celebrating a good night's work.

-----

Back in the cave, lying in the darkness, Denise-- still under the influence of the drug-- wondered what she had done in her life to allow herself to be taken, body and soul, by the Evil One himself.