Another man approached. He wore jeans and cowboy boots, a cowboy hat, and he was shirtless with chiseled abs. He removed the metal collar, waist-iron, and cuffs of the onion field and put leather cuffs on my wrists and ankles. My neck felt bare. How quickly I’d gotten used to belonging again. I felt unsettled without the universal symbol announcing I was owned.
And then he tightened what can only be called a stainless steel g-string around my waist and pussy. He removed something from the iron collar he’d set aside and hung whatever it was onto the steel now going around my waist. I looked and saw it was a tag with my slave number. So much for feeling as if I weren’t owned.
“I don’t have time to train you during the day, so you’ll work the fields each day until I can send for you. When you’ve learned enough to function with the other ponies, you’ll reside here. If you can’t make it as a pony, you’ll be sent somewhere much worse than the fields.” He motioned towards the barn and turned back to me. I could see lots of other corrals with human ponies being ‘worked’ in them. Some were pulling small chariots, some were running, others were walking funny.
“Ponies piss when they need to go. Doesn’t matter where. The chastity belt will allow you to piss. From here on out, you’ll receive one or two word commands. You’re an animal, not a person. Animals don’t speak. Not even when spoken to.”
I could piss in the chastity belt, but what about shitting? Then it occurred to me I’d likely continue to get enemas. I’d only need to shit when the belt was off for my enema. I wanted to cry, but I knew it would be a bad move. This trainer’s mannerisms told me tears would provoke consequences instead of sympathy.
A stable hand brought another female human pony out, along with a full bag of something. The bag’s contents were dumped on a table in the center of the corral, and I saw a bit gag, reins, a fucking huge butt plug, and a bunch of clamps.
The human pony was beautiful, but I figured staring at her would be bad, so I stole a few glimpses and looked back to the table. I’m used to being plugged, but this one was bigger than I was used to.
The trainer didn’t just use commands. There were pats when I did good, and he’d mutter, “Good girl, that’s it. I know it’s hard,” while he laced my arms into the armbinder, or while he worked the huge plug into my ass. He had to take the chastity belt off to put the plug in, and he rubbed something on my clit while it was off. I moaned when it went back on because my clit burned. The trainer released the cane swinging from his belt loop and gave my ass five hard thwacks. I screamed and jumped, and tears streamed from my eyes even though there were only five strikes, but they were brutal.
He put his mouth to my ear. “You aren’t in the pony mindset yet, so I’ll break the rules just this once to tell you that you’d better be pleased at any attention you get, good or bad. You don’t want to be sent somewhere to work twenty hours a day, hard labor, in total isolation for days at a time, where your pain levels are based on how many tourist gewgaws you can make every fucking hour. Totally mindless tasks, so you can focus on your pain while you work.”
No. I didn’t want that. I looked to the ground and tried my best to appear contrite.
He chuckled and lifted a piece of leather from the table. “Good girl. It’s time for your collar.”
The posture collar positioned my head so I could only look forward, straight ahead. I couldn’t tilt my face up or down, nor could I look left or right. I had to aim my gaze downward to keep from looking anyone in the eye.
It felt more like a neck brace than a collar.
The dragon would have come out if my magic hadn’t been drained off. She was just under the surface and pissed. We were fucking royalty, and probably a thousand times smarter than these people, yet we were being treated as slaves. As less than.
It took everything in me to push the dragon down and keep her from making me call the trainer a fucking bastard cuntwaffle, amongst other things. Only the knowledge that maybe if I behaved and didn’t let my temper run away did I have any chance of this not lasting all week kept me from going off.
Next, the trainer put my hair in a high ponytail and brushed it into total submission. I was then ordered to open my mouth, and he unceremoniously inserted a bit mechanism that seemed to work with the ponytail and the tall headpiece a slave stable hand brought out. I’m not sure I could’ve balanced the heavy, elaborate headpiece without the posture collar.
And finally, something was rubbed on my nipples and then strong clamps attached to them.
“Marigold, prance.”
The other horse took off in the oddest gait. A stable hand had been holding her where I could see her, straight in front of me and out a little bit. She turned and moved away from me, and my trainer said, “M-three-six-two-nine, prance.”
The world slowed around me. The other pony had a name. I was just a number.
Two sharp thwacks to my ass from the cane brought me back to this realm, and I did my best to copy Marigold. He struck the sides and backs of my thighs and ordered, “Higher.” Later, when they were too high, he struck the tops and assumed I’d figure out how to get him to stop hitting me.
In the following hours I also learned trot, gallop, canter, and a few other ways to walk and run. And then he had me full-out run. No special gait, he just wanted me to run as fast as I could while he timed me. When I thought I couldn’t run anymore and I stopped, leaned over, and gasped for air, he beat my ass and thighs with the cane until I started running again.
When he finally let me stop, he pissed into my mouth. I was so thirsty, I didn’t complain.
Shapeshifters can’t get sick from drinking another’s urine. It tastes bad and it’s degrading, but there’s no physical reason we can’t. Able had gone through a phase where he was too good to pee in a toilet. He’d call for a slave anytime he needed to go, and I was frequently the closest.
It’s funny, my inner dragon had about blown a gasket over the posture collar, but didn’t go totally berserk over having to drink piss.
Did the dragon have my memories of my years with Able? It didn’t seem she did. At least not at first, but maybe she’d accessed those memories as a result of being made a slave in Faerie? Whatever the reason, she was easier to manage than she’d been that morning.
In my full pony-girl getup, I was taken to a carnival-type area and strung up so people could pay to whip or flog me. Some people were better at it that others, and my dragon came close to making me scream at a woman who had terrible technique. What the fuck was she doing? Why bother to pay to do something you suck at?
Okay, so much for my inner dragon chilling the fuck out. I once again managed to remain silent, but it wasn’t easy.
I was hooked up to a carriage at one point as well. Two ponies per carriage, transporting up to five people from the parking area. I was whipped a lot until I learned the right tempo and could run in time with the other pony.
When I was finally retired for the day, they stored me in a horse stall. In a barn. My wrist and ankle cuffs were locked to short chains bolted into the floor, so I was stuck on my hands and knees. The headpiece, bit, and posture collar came off, and a sling hanging from the top of the short wall to my right was looped under my hips before the other end was hooked onto the top of the wall to my left. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to sleep, but the sling let me rest my weight without having to balance.