The cream my trainer had rubbed on my clit and nipples earlier had been some kind of irritant. It’d driven me crazy at first, but the effects had died down after a while. Now, in the quiet and dark, my nipples and clit came alive again. Hot and itchy and burning, but I couldn’t do anything about it. Even if my knees weren’t restrained apart, the chastity belt had a dome over my clit so nothing touched it.
I slept with my cheek on the floor between my hands, my arms awkwardly bent, and my ass in the air. I was awakened long before dawn the next morning, my irons were put back on, and I was teleported back to the onion fields. I don’t think I had more than three or four hours of fitful sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ember
The following two days, I spent my mornings harvesting onions in what felt like sub-tropical, stale heat. I ate lunch with the other field slaves both days, so I was there longer than half the day before I was taken to my trainer at the stables. I was put into races against other ponies, often in a huge arena with a large crowd watching, but I wasn’t in front of the audience long enough to have to pee in front of so many people.
I’m not sure why I drew that line in my head, but at some point I decided I wasn’t going to pee in front of the crowd.
When I ate dinner on my third day, I was told I had to drink all my water.
After we ate, a group of us were rubbed down with oil and outfitted in matching headpieces, much bigger than anything I’d worn before. We were taught a short routine, so we performed different gaits as the songs changed. The trainer called out the next gait, we just had to do it smoothly with the music.
We were taken to a small corral in the center of the larger corral, and stable hands put armbinders on us. We were free to move around the little corral through at least a dozen races. One of the other ponies went to her knees to rest, but she was struck with a bullwhip at least a dozen times before she managed to stand. I didn’t dare even lean against the fence.
By the time they pulled us out and put us in line, I had to pee so bad it hurt. The routine lasted ten minutes, tops. I could do this and then pee once we were taken away.
Except I hadn’t realized it was a parade. We marched around and around the arena, and various animals were changed out ahead of us and behind us with every lap we made around the track.
I finally had no choice because the pain was making me screw up, and one of the trainers hit me with his whip at least once or twice a minute.
And so, while performing in front of a crowd, I pissed myself. We pissed ourselves in the fields, too, though it hadn’t been an issue my first morning because I’d been dehydrated. Still, for two and a half days, I’d pissed when I’d needed to, wherever I happened to be. I should have been used to it by then, but in my head, doing it in front of a crowd made me an animal. I can’t explain why, but it did.
From that point forward, I was a pony. I didn’t go back to the onion fields. When my trainer wasn’t around, another was.
I ate oatmeal from a wooden trough in the morning, and some kind of stew in the evening. I was fed small bites of apples from the other trainers when they were pleased, but never from my trainer.
I performed well in races from the beginning. However, on the evening of the fourth day I had a horrible start and came in second to last place. My trainer was clearly unhappy with me. I was taken to the carnival area, leaned over a bale of hay, and everything from my neck up was removed — bit gag, posture collar, and headpiece. They put something like a Jennings gag in, only it forced my mouth open with magic instead of steel. A rope was connected between my ponytail and chastity belt, and then tightened so I couldn’t lower my head or look to the side.
And then people paid to either fuck my throat or paddle my ass. There were two lines — one at the front and one at the back.
I don’t know how long I was there, but it was hell. An hour? Two hours? Three? It felt like ten, but they removed me before nightfall.
I didn’t get dinner, though. I also didn’t get my evening enema with the other horses. I was taken to one of the corrals, and more than a dozen stable hands fucked my throat while the magic still forced my mouth open.
From what I gathered by listening to them, the magic that holds the slave’s mouth open feels exactly like what the person doing the fucking most likes — tight ass, wet pussy, a little bit of teeth, whatever. I also picked up during this that the people who’d bet on me to win had been given first dibs to pay to paddle me. I guess that explained why some of them seemed so angry with me.
I was pretty sure the other ponies were all in their stalls, and I was the only one still out. When they’d all taken as many turns fucking my face as they wanted, the men took my chastity belt off and gave me my enema. They filled me so damned full I looked a little pregnant, and the water was so soapy it looked like milk.
The stablemaster put his face a few inches from mine. “Hold it. Don’t shit it out. No Shit.”
Ponies are only given short commands. However, from the conversation I heard from the men talking to each other, if I could hold it fifteen minutes then I’d get to sleep on a cot. If I didn’t, I’d be bound to the wall and would have to try to sleep in a standing position. Either way, it sounded like I was only going to get around two hours of sleep.
My trainer latched the end of a rope to my posture collar, and then put the other end on a pole in the center of the corral. “Walk. High step, slow motion.”
I started walking and he popped my ass with the tip of a whip. “Slow.”
It took a few corrections before I understood he’d been literal when he said slow motion. I had to lift my foot, partially straighten the knee, and then put the foot down well in front of the other one in fucking slow motion.
The men started placing bets, and again, I listened to their conversation and understood that I was starting out with one hundred and fifty lashes. Every minute I could hold out was ten less strikes of the bullwhip, given by the stable master. Other people arrived and also placed bets.
These coarse, uncouth people bet on me like I was an animal, complete with the way they analyzed my posture and temperament. As if I couldn’t understand them.
There were probably fifty men and women watching by this time, which means when I finally released, I’d have to crap myself in front of an audience. Not a huge audience, but still.
There’s really no sense telling everything that happened the rest of my days at the stables, because this night broke me. They’d taken the magical device from my mouth, so I was free to talk, and when I hadn’t been able to hold the enema in any longer, I’d screamed and cussed and called the stablehands every name I could think of while I shit myself. I screamed that they weren’t any better than me, and I combined insults in ways that had to come from the dragon because I’d have never thought of them before. I also insulted their intelligence in ways that still make me ashamed to remember.
I wasn’t fed for two days. I wasn’t allowed to sleep for two days. I got way more than one hundred and fifty lashes. They let other slaves fuck my throat. I was even taken to the onion fields where I’d worked. The slaves who filled their baskets within a certain time limit were allowed to fuck my throat. Unless it was a woman, in which case I was forced to perform oral sex on her.