It turned out to be a vacation for him, but not for me. I had never worked so hard in my life. Master took us to a pony ranch in California where I learned how to be a pony girl.
We flew to San Francisco and a man in jeans, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat met us at the baggage claim. It was about two in the morning on the west coast, and he had no trouble picking us out. When he came up to Master and greeted him, it wasn’t with hello, but something else that gave me the first inkling that I was not really on vacation.
“You weren’t kidding, son, she is a beauty,” was how he met Master.
I carried out luggage (of course) to the parking garage. We took the elevator up to the highest level below the roof. The man led us over to a pickup truck with a horse trailer attached.
“Just throw the bags in the back of the truck,” he told me before going to the back of the trailer and unlocking the gate. After the bags were in the truck, Master took me by the arm and led me around the trailer and helped me up inside. The floor of the trailer was covered with straw, and there was a bar about waist high running across the trailer at the front. There were some harnesses and bits hanging from the walls of the trailer on either side. There were also some horse-like tails, of various shades, attached to tapered butt plugs on the wall. Once all three of us were inside, the man pulled the gate closed and lit a flashlight in the dark trailer.
Master told me to remove my clothes. I stripped with the light shining on me, unable to see the two men watching me. When I was naked, the man handed the flashlight to Master and took something off the wall that I heard jangle.
“Open your mouth,” he told me and I opened wide. He fit the bit in my mouth and then fit the leather straps over my head and buckled them. The bit was rubber, and it had a dry, unpleasant taste to it. Once the bit was buckled in place, I was unable to close my mouth completely and I began to drool. I could feel it leaking out the corner of my mouth and running down my chin.
“Spread your feet, bend over, and hold your ankles.”
I did as I was told and heard him doing something behind me. Then I felt him inserting the butt plug with the horse’s tail in my rectum. Thankfully, he had greased it first.
When I stood up, I was facing the front of the trailer. My wrists were cuffed to the bar that ran across the front. I could feel my tail against the back of my calves and really wondered what I looked like.
Master and the other man got out, leaving me alone in the trailer. I heard the door lock from the outside, and then the truck started up. As the truck went down the exit ramps, I was swaying from side to side, trying to keep my balance. I squatted down with my arms held up and it was better. Once we were on the road, I was able to stand again because there weren’t so many tight turns. The constant pressure in my anus was also something that took some time to accept. Master had used me there frequently, and after I was used to it, it was something that I associated with sexual pleasure. But it never took Master that long to climax and then he withdrew. The plug wasn’t coming out and it was maddening.
We drove for about two hours before I felt the truck turn slowly and, from the sound, I knew we were on a gravel road. In another minute, the truck came to a halt.
The man let me out of the trailer, but did not remove the bit. I carried our bags and my clothes from the truck to a large ranch house. The man led me up the stairs to the room were Master was going to stay. Once I put the bags down, he took me back downstairs and outside. In the darkness, I saw a large barn in front of us, and I suddenly flashed back to the first time I had submitted at Master’s barn. Instead of going inside the barn, the man took me around to the back. First he removed (painfully) the plug. There was a trench there with a metal lining and the man told me to relieve myself so I squatted over the trench and peed. Then I was taken into the barn and to my stall. It was about six feet long and four feet wide. There was a coiled chain lying on the ground. The other end of the chain was mounted to the wall. The man picked up the loose end and locked it around my throat. Then he left the stall, closing the gate behind him. With nothing else to do, I lay down in the straw and went to sleep.
I was awakened by the man nudging me in the ribs with his toe. Groggily, I stood up and stretched before he unlocked the chain from my neck. Then he stood behind me and attached reins to the harness I still wore on my head. Leading me out of the stall by the reins, I saw the other pony girls for the first time. All were nude, as I was, and all wore bits and reins. There were four of them, and he had draped their reins over the wall to my stall. He grabbed them in one hand and led all of us out of the barn.
It was early morning, gray from the light of the sun still not risen. We were led to one side of the barn where there was a trough set up. The trough had alternating compartments filled with water and some fresh vegetables. The other girls knew what to do, and I followed their lead. First kneel down at the trough, bend over, and try to take some vegetables into the mouth. Chewing with the bit in place was an acquired skill and it was not easy for me at first. Half the food fell out of my mouth when I tried to eat. Then I noticed that before they swallowed, they tilted their chins up to help the food get by the bit.
After eating and drinking our fill, we were led around to the trough in back which was our toilet. When each of us had finished, we were hosed down and our hair was brushed by other ranch hands, which had joined us in back. They weren’t very careful about the tangles, just pulling and yanking the brushes through as quickly as they could. The next to last step in our preparation was to be covered from head to toe with sunscreen. This was actually going to be one of the highlights of each day, just standing there and having one of the guys (all very good looking) rub the lotion in all over. The last step in our preparation was the insertion of our tails. In the daylight, I noticed that mine was red, very close to the color of my own hair. Once the tails were in, the other four girls were taken to a corral, while I was taken toward the house. My reins were tied around a hitching post while the man went inside. In another minute, he came out with Master.
“You will be here two weeks,” he started, addressing me from the porch. “While you are here, you will not be permitted to talk at all. You will follow all of the instructions given to you, and you will make yourself available to whoever wants to use you. If you understand these directions, paw the ground once.”
I lifted my foot and brushed it against the ground once.
“Tom, come over here,” he yelled toward the corral.
One of the young men who had brushed out our hair came sauntering over.
“Get her shod and started on the maypole.”
He undid my reins and took me back to the barn. At one end was an open area without stalls. It looked like a blacksmith’s shop. There were metal horseshoes of different sizes hanging on the wall. For a moment, I panicked, thinking that they were going to nail them to my feet. He came around behind me and bent over. Then he lifted my right foot and measured the length and width. Once he knew the dimensions, he cut two pieces of leather into roughly the right size. Then he attached a lightweight horseshoe to each one at the toes. The shoe was attached by way of clips that had four prongs attached to the head. The clip went through the shoe so that the head fit in a recessed area of the shoe and then the four legs were bent outward and hammered into the leather. Each shoe took four of these clips to fasten it to the leather sole. When the shoes were on properly, he brushed the back of each one with adhesive. Then he carefully fit the leather to the soles of my feet. The adhesive held them firmly to the bottom of my feet and I wondered how they were going to get them off without ripping the skin off my feet. When both shoes were on, he trimmed away the excess leather around the edges of my feet.
The advantage to this process, as near as I could tell, was that the bottom of my feet had some protection, but I was not wearing any obvious footwear. In fact, they were so easy to miss that I hadn’t noticed them on the other girls when I was taken from the stall.
I was led out to the corral where I saw the other girls working for the first time. Two of them were pulling a single cart around the corral, hitched up in tandem. One of the others was doing wind sprints from one end of the corral to the other. The fourth girl was walking around in a circle. There was a man in the middle, who held a long leather lead and a long whip. He was giving her commands, to speed up or slow down, occasionally cracking the whip at her shoulder or bottom. I saw her flinch once, and he cracked her again almost immediately.
Beside the corral was a metal pole with spokes coming out of the top. At the end of each spoke, a rope hung down. Tom led me over to one of the ropes and tied it to my reins. Then he cuffed my hands behind my back using handcuffs he had pulled from his belt. He stepped back and told me to start walking. As soon as I did, he cracked me with a riding crop across my bottom.
“When you walk, lift your knees up higher.”
I did and got cracked again. “Higher”
I finally figured out that they wanted my knees to come up to waist level. As soon as I was doing that, I started getting cracked for my posture. Back straight, chin up, balance, shoulders back, one thing after another. When I concentrated on doing one thing, I forgot something else and got cracked with the crop.
It took me about an hour to get around the circle five times without getting whipped. As soon as I completed the fifth revolution, I was told to speed up. When I got the pace right, not too fast or too slow, he stopped hitting me with the crop. The new pace was cantor. For the second hour attached to the pole, I alternated between walking and cantering.
By now the sun was well up in the sky and the day was hot. I was slick and sticky with dust and sweat when he stopped me. He took a ladle and scooped out some water from a barrel nearby. The water was cool and clean, and I don’t think I had ever tasted anything so good. After I drank, he wiped the worst of the grime off me, reapplied sunscreen, and we started again.
The rest of the morning was spent learning two new paces, trotting and running. When it was finally time for lunch, I felt like my bottom was raw from the riding crop. We were fed at the corral, with ranch hands cutting up pieces of apple and putting them in our mouths. After we drank, we were back at work. I spent the rest of the day harnessed to the maypole. As I walked, cantered, trotted and galloped around the pole, I saw Master sitting on the corral fence watching the other pony girls and me working.
As the sun began to set, all of us were taken back to the barn. We were hosed down together, but instead of just rinsing us, we were washed with soapy water and brushes. The brushes weren’t harsh, and I liked the pampered feeling I got from having one of the men wash me. This was the other highlight of my day while I was there. When we were cleaned up, it was time for supper. This time there were oats mixed with our vegetables at the trough. After eating, I was taken to relieve myself and then to my stall by one of the men that I hadn’t really seen yet. Once I was chained in, he removed the bridle and tail and had me kneel in the center of the stall. After unzipping his fly, I took him in my mouth. As I sucked on him, sliding back and forth, I felt and heard the chain rustling. I thought how neat it must be for him, working all day with naked women who had to please him whenever he wanted. Pay might not matter much in a job like that.
As soon as he left, I lay down and was asleep in no time at all.
The next day was much the same as the first except the weather was cooler because of an overcast sky. I noticed that I had burned some in the sun the day before despite the sunscreen and I wondered if Master intended for me to tan. I spent the day attached to the maypole walking the circle. It was on the third day that I was allowed to walk the circle in the corral attached to a long leash. And the fourth day I was actually harnessed to a cart and pulled it.
The harnessing arrangements for the cart were simple. Two poles stuck out from the front. I was placed between the poles and my wrists were locked to them. The ends of the poles had handles at right angles to the poles pointing up for my hands to grip. I pulled the cart around the corral all day, with the rider constantly changing my gait with verbal commands and the reins. Then he quit issuing verbal commands and I had to figure out what he wanted just from the signals through the reins.
This was the first time that I noticed others coming to the ranch. Cars would pull up and one of the other girls would be harnessed to a cart and someone who did not work there would ride her away. She would return a couple hours later, dirty and sweaty. Then she was taken to the barn to be cleaned up and used by the stranger.
On the fifth day, I was harnessed with another girl to the two-person cart. This was much harder because we had to remain in sync with each other. The danger was that if we were not pulling together, one of us might trip and take us both down. It took a couple of hours for the driver to satisfy himself that I could do this.
When I was released from that cart, I was harnessed to another one and Master got his first ride with me pulling. There was a path leading away from the house that he steered me toward it. For the next thirty minutes, I pulled him up and down some small hills. We came to a small stream and Master took me out of harness. After letting me drink and wash in the stream, we made love. I was so tired, I wasn’t able to participate the way Master liked. I lay there on my back while he entered me and pumped up and down. When it came time for my orgasm, there was a dilemma. I couldn’t talk, but I had to ask for permission. I solved it by not saying anything, which I guess was the right response because Master did not whip me.
When we got back, the man who had picked us up at the airport took me out. We only went out about ten minutes before he turned me around and we came back. When he dismounted, Master was still there.
“She is ready for customers,” he told Master. “You wouldn’t be interested in selling her, would you?”
“No, I don’t think so. It would be too hard to replace her.”
“Not as hard as you think. There are lots of women out there who want that kind of life. We probably train fifty a year right here.”
“No, I think I’ll keep her.”
“Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
So for the next week and a half, I pulled strangers. I had about two or three customers a day. When I wasn’t pulling, I was kept in my stall. The services included more than just pulling the carts, as you might have guessed. Customers also got to use me for their pleasure. About half the time, they would un-harness me from the cart halfway through the ride. The other half waited until I was back in my stall.
I was surprised at the number of women customers. About a quarter or a third of all the renters were women. Invariably, they were far harsher than the men were. They used the whip more, spoke to us more hurtfully, and generally treated us as if we were the scum of the earth. The dichotomy was that while they did this, they were not as exacting at the male customers. The males expected a very high level of service, and when they received it, they were satisfied. The women, on the other hand, usually couldn’t tell when we did something well or not. Mistakes that I recognized went unpunished and I was sometimes whipped after doing something very well.
The night before we left, Master came into my stall leading another pony girl by the reins.
“I have something for you. Lie down.”
I did and then Master dropped the other girl’s reins then took off her bit. “You know what to do,” he said and she pawed the ground once.
He left and closed the gate. Then she knelt down beside and started kissing me. I was shocked at first, and by the time I recovered, she had already moved down and was licking one of my nipples. I was getting incredibly turned on and I took her head in my hands and pushed it down between my legs.
As she licked and kissed me, I responded by thrusting my hips up toward her face. She climbed over my leg so she was kneeling between my legs instead of being on the side. As her tongue entered me, I whimpered, not from anything being wrong, but from the joy of having someone else satisfy me. This was the first time in year that I was getting pleasure without any strings attached, without having to be more worried about the other person than myself. As she ate me, I reveled in the feelings that came without obligation.
When my orgasm came, I cried out in pleasure. It was the first time I had used my voice in almost two weeks. Between disuse and the bit, I am not even sure that it worked properly, but I know the message my mind sent.
After I came, Master came in and led her out.
The next morning, I was taken to the area where I had been shod. One at a time, my feet were lifted up and sprayed with some kind of aerosol. The ranch hand held my foot up after spraying it and my shoe fell off after a minute. Then he did the same thing to the other foot. I saw him tag the shoes with my name and put them in a box. The fact that he saved them made me think that I would need them again someday.
I was loaded into the trailer again. In the parking garage, the men came in and I got dressed, putting on clothes for the first time in two weeks. It was the longest period of time, up until then, that I had remained nude. Finally, the bit that I had worn in my mouth almost constantly for two weeks was removed. The corners of my mouth were a bit chaffed from rubbing against it, but the drool kept it lubricated most of the time so it wasn’t too bad.
On the flight back, Master wanted to know if I’d enjoyed my vacation. I told him it was hard work, not a vacation, but that if he was happy, I was. Then he told me that he had made more than three thousand dollars. Every time I was rented out for two hours, the customer paid the ranch and Master got half of the rental. It turned out that the vacation had not cost him anything, he actually made money.
“Master, may I ask a question?”
“Master, what are you going to do with all of the money you make from this and the dancing?”
“You will see very shortly.”
When we got back to Atlanta, I got the bags while Master got the car. Once I had the bags in, we started off home. But it didn’t take long to realize we weren’t going to the apartment. Master had used the money to buy a small house.
It was only two bedrooms and not very big. But it was close to campus and the neighborhood was pretty good. As we pulled into the garage, Master explained that the money went to the down payment and some remodeling. While we were away, the work on the house was finished and movers took our things from the apartment. Master said that the payments were actually less than we were paying for rent.
As soon as we pulled into the garage and the door was closed, Master told me that I would never be clothed in the house. I had to get dressed or undressed in the garage. So I got out of the car and undressed, hanging my clothes on a hook by the door. We entered in the kitchen and went directly to the basement so I really didn’t see the house at that time. But Master had a bedroom and the other bedroom was made into an office and study area. The other rooms on that floor were a living room, the kitchen, dining room and bathroom.
The basement had been done as a dungeon. My cage was on a platform in corner sitting on bricks that had been mortared, not just stacked. There was a tray underneath for waste. One of the pillars had rings bolted into it at different heights. There was also an electric hoist hanging from the ceiling with a chain that had cuffs attached to it. There was a table that also had built in restraints and there were about five or six different kinds of whips and other equipment hanging from one wall. One corner had a showerhead with a single faucet and a drain, but no curtain or walls. Nearby, on the wall, was a shelf for cosmetics and a mirror. On one wall was another mirror, six feet high and six feet across in a single piece. And last was my sleeping area, an old mattress that had a ring with a chain attached to the wall nearby.
It didn’t bother me that I was paying for all of this, despite the fact that it was all being done by Master. We had a home, with some privacy, and Master was obviously making a long-term commitment to owning me by outfitting the basement the way he had. That night, as I curled up on my mattress, chained to the wall at my collar, I was very happy.
Little did I know that as I started my second year of college that I was also starting my last semester and, more importantly, my last year with Master. Sometimes I regret not finishing college, but it really never was my choice after I made the decision to become a full-time slave. At first, I thought that I would be able to back in and out of the role, that it would be fun and exciting and sexy to be a slave sometimes. Master never intended it to be part-time, something that could be turned on and off. The longer I spent as a slave, the less real the non-slave role became. Soon, it had shrunk to class and library time. The rest of the day I was a slave, unable to exercise control over my own life. And then even the class time disappeared from my life.
It was at the semester break that Master told me I would not be returning to school. He said he was going to take more classes at night, while I was dancing, so we could be together more during the day. He would have me to help him with some of his schoolwork and I would be available whenever he needed me.
I simply nodded as he explained. I really never questioned whether I had the choice to disagree with him.
One of the things Master had me do with some of my extra time was make some slave garments. I was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a seamstress. I could barely get the thread through the eye of the needle. But under the incentive of learning or being punished, I learned. The first thing that I did that really came out correctly was a kind of a poncho. It was an elongated diamond, cut from a thin white material, with a smaller diamond cut out of the center. The short points of the diamond went over my shoulders and long points hung down in front and back. The cutout where my head slipped through was only slightly smaller than the garment. This meant that it was open to below my navel in front. A red cord, wrapped twice around my waist and knotted, held it in place.
Another one that I made was simply a leather thong sewn into the top edge of a long piece of green, transparent silk. The thong went around my waist and knotted in back so that the silk, which was about two feet long and only five inches wide, hung down between my legs. He used the garments as a reward, letting me wear one of them for a few hours when I did something especially well.
You may not understand how much that meant to me. Understand that by now, the only time I got to wear clothes was on my way to work and on my way home. Very rarely, Master would take me out shopping with him, maybe once every month or two, but we never bought anything for me. Other than those times, I was nude. Clothes and girls are just made for each other. I think that it was a woman who came up with the idea that a woman could be sexier in a nightie than naked. Certainly none of the Masters I have had believed that. Therefore, the chance to put something on, no matter how skimpy, was always a cause for quiet celebration.
He made another change in me that year. Around December, he told me to stop shaving completely. Pussy, legs, underarms, nothing. After a week or so, I was starting to scratch all of the time as the short, bristly hair grew in. After another two weeks, I looked horrid. Then one day he had me get up on the table down in the dungeon and he strapped me in place. He took out something he had ordered through the mail. I think it was called Igia or something like that. It was a home electrolysis unit. Over the period of the next several weeks, I would spend an hour or two each day strapped to the table while he removed all of the hair from my body, permanently. At the time it was an ordeal, since the little electric shock was like a pinprick over and over. All that was left when he finished was the hair on my head and my eyebrows. But I haven’t had to shave once since then.
When he first removed my hair, I thought about never having pubic hair again for awhile. The act of shaving it every few days was reassuring because I knew that there was a chance I would be allowed to grow it back. It is one of the things that I had never really adjusted to, being bald down there. I figured out that there were really two parts to keeping me shaved. The first part, Master told me about, that I was not allowed even the little bit of privacy pubic hair afforded. But the second part was never spoken out loud. Being bald reminded me of when I was a little girl and dependent on parents for everything. I think it created a subconscious link to the time in my life when I was most dependent on others and brought those feelings up to the present. But it has been so long now, with no chance of ever getting it back, that I have almost forgotten about it.
Every few months, Master would have guests over. I never knew how he met them or who they were, but they were not at all surprised to be served by a slave. At first, I was the entertainment for these get together; later on the other men brought slaves.
The one I remember most was when a woman brought a male slave. Until that time, I had really not thought a lot about men being slaves to women. He was young, about twenty-five or twenty-six, and really well built. I heard Master comment on it and Mistress said that he spent about three hours a day in the gym under her supervision. Later that evening, we were both taken down to the dungeon and he was tied to the whipping post with his hands above his head. Then I was instructed to tease him by rubbing against him, touching and kissing him, whatever I wanted to do, as long as he did not ejaculate. I must have spent an hour playing with his body and he was erect the entire time. I could see from his face as I teased him that he was in pain. I wondered to myself if a male erection, unrelieved, became painful after awhile.
When I was told to stop, we exchanged places. Except that he was told to kneel down and eat me. I had never had a guy do that to me before, and, even though I was bound, it was terribly erotic to have a male slave serving me that way. Master and the woman watched and were whispering back and forth. When I asked for permission to climax, Master granted it and I had my orgasm instantly. It was long and deep and wonderful, as powerful as any I had experienced with Master. I briefly wondered what it would be like to be able to command a male slave to serve me whenever I wanted, but I quickly put that thought out of my head. It was not going to be my lot, I knew, to be served, but to serve.
There were other parties that left me exhilarated and others that left me feeling terrible. One time Master had five other guys over for poker. I served them food and drink most of the evening until the game broke up about midnight. Then we all went down to the dungeon. Master had spent the day installing a new device in one of the rafters and tonight it was going to be used for the first time.
It was a sling with restraints for my wrists and ankles. When I was in it, I was horizontal with my arms and legs stretched wide. The height was adjustable. Once I was in it, all a man had to do was walk up between my legs, adjust the sling to the correct height, and insert his cock in me. I was blindfolded at the time, so I could never be sure who was screwing me, but the six of them used me over and over again that night. It got to the point where I was dehydrated and could not become wet. As they pumped themselves in and out of me, I was being rubbed raw. Without the blindfold, they may have seen my tears, but if they had, would it have mattered to them? Probably not.
By the end of the school year, Master had recovered all of the down payment for the house and then some. It was right after finals that he showed me a web site that had slave auctions. People were putting themselves up for sale, and in some cases, the women were getting $40,000 or $50,000 for selling themselves into fulltime slavery. Others were offering themselves for periods from a weekend to a month, but it was the full time ones that Master was interested in.
“How would you feel if I sold you?” he asked me after showing me the site.
“Master, are you teasing me?” That got me a slap across the face because I had not asked for permission to ask a question.
“I thought you were better trained than that,” he said with a scowl on his face. “Answer the question.”
“I am sorry, Master. Master, I love being owned by you and I hope that I will always be able to satisfy you.” But then, without thinking, it came out. “Master, it is your decision, not mine.”
He looked at me tenderly for a moment, then stood up and took me down to the dungeon. I spent that night in my cage, not at my mattress.
And that was the beginning of the end. It was only a few weeks later that I was sold to new owners.