Chapter 1

 

The day had started in what to me, by now, had become routine fashion, although I would never have believed myself capable of describing it as such just a few short months before. But that had been when I was still Roger Mason, a free and independent young man with aspirations and ambitions - now I was Folly, human pony boy and racing champion, or undefeated in the races I had run in to date, at least.

Shamini, the beautiful Indian handler, was in charge of the stable complex that morning. Her tight leather bodice and thigh high boots were shining as brightly as ever, witness to the efforts of one or other of the house slaves, for the dominatrices in Constance Bellamy-Fraser's private empire would never demean themselves by cleaning their own fabulous costumes.

Shamini was probably the smallest of the female handlers, but even so she stood at least five feet ten, even without those towering heels, and there was an aloof dignity about her that commanded instant respect, especially from someone who has been reduced to the level of a human equine, such as myself.

There were other handlers busy around the stables, some male, some female and the deep tang of leather mixed freely with the heavier aroma of rubber which was the lot of the "ponies". As usual, I stood meekly whilst one of the junior stable girls stripped me of everything except my bridle and bit and shepherded me into one of the tiled cubicles to be hosed down. This was the most free I ever found myself, except for the metal cuffs that were snapped about my wrists for the duration of my ablutions, but I had long since abandoned any thoughts of escape.

Not only were there always plenty of staff near at hand to subdue any pony who became troublesome, but Heidi, my now constant companion, had made it clear to me that escape from the estate was impossible. Situated somewhere in the heart of a vast Welsh wilderness, it was bounded by fences, a treacherous river and a swamp and guards patrolled the perimeter day and night. More of Heidi later...

After a vigorous towelling, I was quickly and expertly fitted with a fresh rig, commencing with the heavy latex tights, followed by the high, tightly laced boots with their curious hooves. Inside the boot, the foot was held as though by a conventional stiletto heeled shoe, but outside, sole and heel had become as one and sculpted into the shape of a hoof, complete with iron shoe nailed beneath it.

The sleeve/mittens came next, laced up each arm to the shoulder and terminating in a tapered mitt, to which was attached a sturdy steel ring. A second ring was fitted at the level of the elbow, which could be locked to the side of my girth-corset. The end rings could either be locked to each other behind my back, or again to other rings at the back of the girth, holding my arms crossed immovably behind me.

The girth corset, like my boots and sleeves, was made from very thick and unyielding rubber and was designed to be laced and buckled so tightly about me that it required great practice to be able to breathe at all and no chance of breathing in a normal fashion. Instead, a pony had to learn to breathe in short, shallow gulps and at an incredible rate in order to sustain a canter or gallop.

Not content with that handicap, we were daily fitted with a large butt plug, which was held firmly in position by a Y-shaped strap that was buckled to the bottom of the girth corset. The act of even walking set up some incredible sensations and, at a full gallop, a pony was in real danger of actually reaching a climax. To do so during the course of a race was strictly frowned on, but to erupt after crossing the finishing line was a spectacle much appreciated by the crowds.

With my arms secured once again, my harness, bit and helmet were removed and my inexorably lengthening fair hair treated to a thorough brushing, before being bound up once again into the high ponytail style which was the standard for the occupants of this stable. Each fresh rubber helmet, which covered my face to leave only mouth, nostril and eye openings, also featured a round tubed opening at the crown of the head, through which the hair was carefully drawn, allowing it to cascade attractively down past my shoulders.

My usual overnight bit, a simple hard rubber tube which was drawn back between my teeth, was replaced by one of the metal ones with the hinged tongue plate that would, given the correct pull on the reins, snap up into the roof of my mouth, so I knew that I was in for an energetic morning, either pulling one of Constance's depraved "guests" around the grounds in one or other of the specially designed carts, or else race training around the oval circuit on the far side of the grounds. Silently I cursed, for I had been secretly hoping that I might be permitted a few more hours" rest, possibly without any bit at all, for, since discovering the mistake which had led to me being brought here, Constance had decreed an easier regime for me, which was supposed to include my not being bitted overnight.

The previous evening, however, I had been worked late into the night, satisfying the curiosity and hunger of a young noblewoman who was, it appeared, a recent recruit to the ranks of Constance's clientele and it had been she who insisted the duty stable girls had bitted me for what remained of the night.

I was led towards the racing cart, eyes focussed straight ahead by the large blinkers and backed obediently between the shafts for my traces to be attached. The stable girl, whose name I had learned was Renata, hardly acknowledged my existence, ignoring me but for a few prods with her crop to direct me as she wished. Only when I was finally harnessed up did she address me.

"There you are then, Folly," she said. "All ready for your slut driver - in more ways than one." She reached out and stroked my permanently rigid erection, a result of the constant medication administered to me daily. "But that's not for her today. Lady Katherine wants some more of that when you're finished down at the track. Our little nympho will have to make do with the saddle cock for now."

Renata was referring to the seat upon which the female drivers were perched, a sort of upwardly curving rubber padded bar, from the centre of which rose a monstrous rubber phallus. The unfortunate driver was then hoisted astride this cruel device and lowered onto it with the dildo firmly implanted inside her. I say "unfortunate", but then I have yet to explain about Heidi.

She soon appeared, resplendent in newly polished rubber catsuit and mask, her own hair billowing from the crown of her helmet, her four feet nine or ten made considerably higher by the unbelievable boots in which she was constantly kept. To say that the heels were high would be an understatement of gargantuan proportions; to say that they were impossible would have been nearer the truth, for surely none but a trained ballet dancer, as Heidi had been in her former existence, could have managed to stand up in them, let alone walk.

The boots shaped the instep into a curve, forcing the wearer to stand on the tips of her toes, their length then laced to a degree of tightness that then gave added support to the ankles, knees and leg muscles. Even now I winced at the sight of Heidi walking in them and yet she contrived to do so with a grace and ease that had to be seen to be believed.

Like myself, Heidi had been brought here against her will and was a prisoner, never seen without her mask, catsuit and boots, her own corset laced to show off her splendid figure to maximum advantage, her large breasts, nipple-ringed and chained, protruding through the strategic cut-outs, her shaven sex gaping widely through a similarly designed opening. It, like her other orifice and my own shaft and rear opening, was permanently available at the whim of those in a position to take advantage of it.

Heidi, however, not only never seemed to mind, she positively revelled in her situation, for she was, as she confessed unrepentantly, a nymphomaniac. Constance had decreed that she should share my stable at nights as a way of softening my life, the nearest she was ever likely to come to an apology, but I sometimes wondered whether it was that much of a favour. Heidi was inexhaustible, to the extent that I started the majority of my days exhausted, for I was frequently left overnight in such restraints that I was in no position to resist her advances.

Not that I would have, most of the time, for I had become strangely attached to this diminutive little rubber maiden with her quick tongue and quirky sense of humour. And yet, even after all this time, I had still no idea of what she looked like behind her mask, for she refused to remove it in my presence, even when she was in a position where she was able to. It concealed, she confided to me, a bad facial scar, the result of a teenage car smash and subsequently botched surgery. Her disfigurement had been a source of much psychological pain, but, safe behind her latex mask, she knew that a scar would be the last thing anyone would be worried about.

With Heidi securely strapped on her seat, sex lips stretched about the huge dildo and arms secured in the leather pouch behind her back, gag now securely in position, we were led out into the courtyard and confronted with the sight of the Amazonian Maria, Constance's right hand woman and easily the biggest female I had ever laid eyes upon. As ever, she wore her black leather to display her massive cleavage and powerful thigh muscles to the best advantage, towering over everyone else on the estate, save for two of the male handlers, who possibly topped her by a few inches, or would have done but for her towering heeled boots.

"Well done, Renata," she said, addressing the girl who held my lead rein. "A smart turnout as usual, I see."

"Thank you, Miss," Renata replied, giving a stiff little bow. "But Folly's no trouble."

Maria grinned, wickedly, and pointed her whip towards Heidi. "I should think not," she said. "Little Miss Fiery Cunt back there has the same effect as gelding him would." She tapped my erection and I flinched, automatically. "It'll probably drop off on its own," she chuckled. "Right then, Renata, I'm a couple of trainers short today, so I'm giving you the chance to show me what you can do. Take this pair down to the track and have Folly run a couple of ten circuit stints. Take a stop-watch and notebook and make sure the times are entered in his stable log when you get back. Ah, yes, here comes the troublesome filly."

Without even having to see, I knew who she was referring to. Philippa, the former mistress who had been responsible for the mix up which had led to my abduction, was being punished by having her own three months" stint as a pony. Originally she had been told by Constance that it was to be one month, but the cunning bitch had lied to her in order that she would submit to the punishment passively and the truth had only come out when, booted, bridled and restrained, Philippa had been in no position to resist.

Even worse was to come. As Philippa, the dominatrix had been excessively proud of her firm, small breasts, but now, as the filly Firefoot, they had been surgically enlarged, so that they bounced merrily when she trotted, with that strange, stiff-legged gait that the tight boots imposed upon we ponies. The bells on her freshly pierced nipples tinkled in time to her progress, as did the third bell that hung down from the ring that had been inserted through her elongated clitoris. Just the thought of that made me wince.

Firefoot, led by another junior girl, clattered to a halt beside me. I dared not turn my head and the blinkers obscured my vision, but I guessed that another girl driver must be strapped and impaled in position as was Heidi. The smaller girls found themselves selected for this task, but they were mainly there for decorative purposes, for, without the use of their arms, they could not direct the ponies by means of the reins.

It was left to the ponies to select race tactics, only too aware of the painful consequences for their helpless drivers if they made a mistake that ended up with the cart toppling over. In practice, because of the extra wide wheel span, this rarely happened, but there was always that risk, no matter how small.

I saw Maria stretch out a hand and guessed, from the jingling sound that followed, that she was tormenting Philippa's nipples. My presumption was proved when she spoke.

"I still think the mistress should have had them done even bigger," she sneered. I heard a snorting sound from behind Philippa's bit and could imagine the thoughts going through her mind. "Never mind," Maria continued, "you're still being medicated, so they'll grow a bit, given time. Yes, big tits suit you, pony girl. Big tits and a bell on your clit, so everyone knows what a useless filly you are."

I wondered what would happen when Philippa finally reached the end of her three months" punishment period. She was not as big, nor as powerful as Maria, but I had heard tales that she was an expert with the bullwhip. I wanted to be around to see the result of that contest, without a shadow of a doubt.

"I think Renata can handle the pair of you," Marie decided. The other handler passed "Firefoot's" lead rein across. "Same thing again, Renata. Ten lap stints, with the other one resting in between. And lay that crop of yours across their flanks if they don't match their regular times."

We walked side by side, following Renata along the rutted track, docile ponies on their way to begin another day in training, Heidi, doubtless, already on the verge of orgasm, as the wheels bounced over the uneven surface and she jiggled up and down on her phallus. In competition, Heidi was our ace-in-the-hole (no pun intended), her insatiably sexual fervour ensuring that, even in a close run race, we were never in danger of losing.

In fact, to date I had yet to be headed by any opposition, so Heidi's peculiar talent had not really been brought into play. Under the competition rules that prevailed in this curious "sport", races were scored in two ways. The first was the most obvious and a judge would measure the winning distance between the two competing outfits (I had never competed in a race where there were more than two, the tightness of the track making it impracticable and also dangerous if overcrowded) and the result entered in metres.

Secondly, each driver was fitted with an electronic monitor, which registered every time she attained an orgasm during the course of the race. Every climax was worth five metres, except in specially designated contests, and that total distance was then brought into the equation. It was therefore possible for a pony to win by ten or twelve metres, only to find that his opponent's driver had climaxed three times more than his own, thus giving away fifteen metres.

With Heidi there was no danger of this happening, for she regularly outscored her opposite numbers, clocking up results that frequently staggered the uninitiated spectators, so I always raced safe in the knowledge that I could probably lose by ten metres and more and still not have to suffer the painful consequences that were the loser's regular lot.

And, strangely, I was becoming quite proud of our prowess, needing no urging or threat of the whip to keep me up to the mark in training. I and my delectable little driver were champions, a source of pride for our usually quite cruel mistress and, consequently, treated much better than the other stable inmates. As a result - and I know you will find this impossible to understand, unless you were to experience my situation at first hand - I had, in my own way, become quite content with my strange new life.

That is not to say that I should not have tried to escape had the opportunity ever arisen, simply that it had, so far, not and, if Heidi were to be believed, never would. This I did not believe, but I did realise I would have to be patient. A botched escape attempt would bring dire retribution, I knew and it was a risk not worth contemplating. Therefore I waited, watched and learned and, in the meantime, actually enjoyed some of the most exciting and exhausting sex I had ever known, thanks mostly to Heidi, but also, on occasions, due to the inventiveness of Constance's guests.

So, being a fatalist as well as a realist, I resolved to make the best of things. My time would come, of that I was absolutely certain. It was just a question of when and whether the combination of training, racing and Heidi's gymnastic demands would leave me too exhausted to take advantage of it when it did.