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Subject: ASSC: Cannibal 4H Chapter 18
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“Taking responsibility is the first step in getting responsibility.” W. E. B.
DuBois

“With freedom of the press goes the freedom to read or to close the book, and
it will linger so long as we retain the power to say no.” Curtis Bok

“A memorandum is written not to inform the reader but to protect the writer.”
Dean Acheson

So here we go again.  Welcome to Cannibal 4H the continuing saga of Joey and
Linda Sue with a supporting cast numbering in the dozens.  This is a tale of
sex and violence, intrigue and incest, death and cannibalism. Some readers
find this tale to be exciting and entrancing. Some see it as dark, disturbing
and depraved.  Some know it to be all these and more. Where you fall in this
range I do not know.

But I do know that this is a tale intended only for adults.  Let me repeat
that. This story is for adults only.  If you are a minor go away.  If reading
this story would in any way violate the local laws, rules, regulations,
morals or customs where you live go away.  There are many other more edifying
stories to be found elsewhere, stories that would be more appropriate to your
age and legal status.

This story is posted in instalments,  generally, but not always, one
instalment every Friday.  This instalment contains Chapter 18. To get
previous instalments of C4H you can either go to the Dejanews ASSC archive
(www.dejanews.com) and power search the alt.sex.snuff.cannibalism newsgroup
for "ASSC Cannibal 4H" starting at September 1, 1997 through the current date
or go to:

www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/10900.txt
www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/10901.txt
www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/14459.txt
www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/14694.txt
www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15003.txt
www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15004.txt

As always, my thanks to Neuralmancer for allowing me to be a sharecropper on
his farm.

Eurytion

P. S. My thanks to every one who participated in my “Who’s reading C4H” poll.
And can anyone tell me why so many C4H readers live in Texas?

E

Our story so far:

In Chapter One: A New Project by Neuralmancer --- we meet Joey who lives on a
human cattle ranch owned by his father. His girlfriend, Linda Sue, uses her
feminine charm to convince Joey's dad to allow Joey to raise and enter a human
cattle in the upcoming judging at the Cannibal 4H fair.

In Chapter Two: The Fair by Neuralmancer --- Joey and Linda Sue take their
human cow to the fair. Watching the activities in the butchering tent leads
them to an afternoon of carnal delight, followed by a repast of medium done
portions of human cattle thigh and rump well covered with barbecue sauce,
onions and mushrooms. Joey envisions Linda Sue rotating about a cooking
flame.

In Chapter Three: The Slaughtering by Eurytion --- we find Joey and Linda Sue
on their way to Japan, reminiscing about their first Cannibal 4H fair. We
meet Al Crenshaw, owner of Crenshaw Superior Meats who has bought Joey's blue
ribbon- winning cow. Joey and Linda Sue lend a hand in the slaughtering.

In Chapter Four: A Maverick's Conversion by Eurytion --- Linda Sue catches
Valerie, Joey's 13 year old neighbour who has a huge crush on Joey without her
identification badge. Under the fair's rules, that makes her a maverick to be
claimed by the first person who finds her. Linda Sue relinquishes her claim to
Joey who reluctantly decides to have the youngster converted by McCains into
livestock for his new human veal venture.

In Chapter Five: A Brother's Visit by Eurytion --- Cow 701's former brother
Billy and Joey patch up a friendship strained by Valerie's conversion. 
Billy, acting on the advice of his grief counsellor, participates in the
feeding of 701 and enjoys his former sister's oral ministrations. We learn
that, to achieve "closure" his entire family has "to be there when they
butcher her and then we have to help eat her."

In Chapter Six: Evaluations and Judgments by Eurytion --- Linda Sue is sized
up by a professional and given a passing grade. Cow 701 passes a father’s
muster as does her owner. And we learn of Joey’s final promise to Valerie.

In Chapter Seven:  At the Fair by Eurytion --- Cow 701 arrives at the fair.
Linda Sue models spits for a special barbecue. And Joey tips his hand.

In Chapter Eight: A Fijian Feast by Eurytion  --- Cow 701 pleases the judges
while Linda Sue pleasures the cook.  Billy learns the true meaning of finger
licking good and a trip to the South Seas is contemplated.

In Chapter Nine: Patty’s Lesson by Eurytion --- Another young girl learns a
valuable lesson and Joey is given an idea for a new branch of the business

In Chapter Ten: Reaching Closure by Eurytion --- Although it’s hard, Joey
keeps his promise to Valerie. Linda Sue  dispatches one adversary only to
meet a more formidable foe.  Despite the recovery of a missing item, Valerie
loses her head. Taking a cue from the rest of the family, Billy advances
relations with his cousin Terri.

In Chapter Eleven: The Sunday Dinner by Eurytion --- The Howitts say goodbye
to Valerie while Linda Sue suggests a family replacement.

In Chapter Twelve: The Plot Advances by Eurytion --- Joey suggests Terri and
Linda Sue engage in a game of horse.  A sparkling new friendship is formed
while an almost cow plots revenge.

In Chapter Thirteen: The War Begins By Eurytion --- Anneliese strikes her
first blow against human cattle ranching while an old friend of her aunt’s
frets about the future.

In Chapter Fourteen: The Eyes Have It by Eurytion --- A brush with
incontinence leads Anneliese to stumble upon her inamorata.

In Chapter Fifteen: The Pinto Project by Eurytion --- Joey goes dotty over a
new undertaking.

In Chapter Sixteen: At The Stables by Eurytion --- We visit Kyner Stables to
find a home for Terri and Linda Sue

In Chapter Seventeen: Through the Microscope of Dreams by Eurytion --- We look
at the hidden occurrences in the souls of our main characters.

And now Cannibal 4H Chapter 18: In Training by Eurytion

TERRI ARISES TO THE CREAKING of the neighbouring stall door as it slides
open. Stretching tender muscles, she stands to gaze through the bars on her
window. Outside the rising sun is just cresting over the horizon, its morning
rays painting the landscape with a palate of champagne and apricot hues. 
Mist like insubstantial tendrils of cigarette smoke waft from the fronds of
reeds and grass surrounding the small pond near the main house.  Already the
air is alive with the snapping of leather, the jingling of metal, the soft
cries of the ponies and the harder, more insistent commands of their
trainers. Kyner Stables is waking up.

Despite being more tired than she could ever remember, she had not slept well
the night before. Her rest had come in fits and starts, interrupted by the
thought of what now awaited her. After a week of demanding exercise, Terri
would be fitted with her tack. Her instruction as a pony was about to truly
begin.

After their arrival, both she and Linda Sue had been weighed, measured and
put though a series of tests designed to establish a conditioning bench mark.
Linda Sue’s work at the Geryon farm had stood her in good stead; she had been
placed on a different, less stringent training regimen than Terri.

Terri, who always thought that hot, sweaty, vigourous sex and plenty of it was
the best form of exercise, quickly learned different. The first week at the
stables had been spent in what her trainer called “extreme conditioning,” and
she called torture.

Once at the stables, the new pony’s regimen started before the dawn and lasted
well into the night. Five times a day she was fed a special diet designed to
quickly build muscle and endurance while lowering her body fat.  Consuming
creatine, HGH and selected psychoactive compounds, coupled with a series of
injections including insulin and a range of anabolic steroids became a daily
feature of her existence.

After each “meal” she was put through a short but intense workout. Each
workout was designed to sculpt a different body group. One session would work
on muscles that pulled. The next one muscles that pushed. The third on the
upper body while the fourth was dedicated to the lower body. The fifth
session was given over to priority training for stubborn and lagging muscles
groups. Not a usable minute was squandered on unproductive activity. Kyner
Stables would have this pony ready for the Chiron Cup.

Her existence became a recurring series of squats, thigh curls and extensions,
chest and incline presses, lumbar extensions, walking, jogging, riding and
rowing. She measured time not by minutes or hours but by the number of
repetitions left.

Between workouts and meals, the weary equine was massaged more often than
Donald Trump’s latest wife. Ice, whirlpools and ultrasound were used to allow
the muscles to recover more quickly. Even a hyperbolic oxygen chamber was
called into play. The goal would be met.

And the goal was being met.

While it would never be thin, her rounded body was becoming more solid as
layers of adipose tissue melted away leaving firm muscle in its place.
Softness was being replaced by definition, strength supplanting frailty. 
Even her breasts had firmed, rising higher on her chest and, for the first
time in years, leaving room between their underside and her rib cage.

Nor was her body the only area where changes were occurring.  Her mind was
becoming adjusted to her new status as a pony; her already formidable will to
triumph growing stronger every day but now focused on a new objective,
winning the Chiron Cup. Terri the fledgling pony was developing the “look of
the eagle” seen in the eyes of winning horses.

As she has been trained, the young filly stands next to her door awaiting its
opening. She wears a simple outfit composed of loose fitting smock and shorts
in a drab shade of poppy, as unattractive as it is practical. This is the
standard livery for Kyner stables. Horses wear the livery for workouts, tack
for training and racing. Horses that aren’t working out, training or racing
wear nothing at all.

Terri has grown used to that fact that there is no conversation to contribute
to, no choices to be considered. Her stay has already taught her there are
only commands to be obeyed. Still human and intending to stay that way, she
is, none the less,  well into the initial stage of the conversion process.

Although she was waiting expectantly, the sound of her stall door sliding open
causes her to start. Presenting a docile demeanour to her handler, she is led
out across the main area of the stable and toward the tack room.

Once in the tack room, Terri is stripped of her livery.  Nude, she is made to
sit on a small stool to one side of the room. The two grooms attend her, one
on each side, their role to help fit her and, if necessary, restrain her. At
this point in their training it is not unusual for the new ponies to panic.

A stable girl  brings out a rolling cart. Short and somewhat husky, she is not
beautiful or even conventionally attractive. But her squat  body exudes
sensuality like an expensive Parisian perfume.

Her nondescript brown hair is cut short but still feminine. A pair of
cloisonne earrings decorated with purple iris dangle against her squarish
jaw.  The first three buttons of her chambray shirt are undone revealing
fleeting glimpses of a pair of rosy conical tits unimpeded by a bra. Her blue
denim pants are scuffed and faded pressing tightly against a compact,
muscular ass which rotates to and fro as she strides across the floor.

The stable girl glances at the nude young pony and gives a quick smile like a
patient with a fever.  Her hand silkily brushes the crotch of the nearest
groom who grins back and says “Later, Lexie.”

On the plastic trolley are a number of appurtenances made of apple green
leather studded with metallic hardware in shades of silver, pewter and blue.

The pony’s outfitting begins with her brindle. A thick leather strap is
placed under her chin while the remainder of the device is set on top her
head.  The chin strap goes up several inches and then splits into two
separate bands. One, goes over her ears, then buckles into another band which
encircles her brow. This ear band has two rings attached to it, each facing
toward the front of her head.

The other belt reaches back toward the nape of her neck where it undergoes a
second bifurcation, one portion meeting a buckle at the point where her skull
attaches to her neck, the second climbing upward to meet with the brow band.
This arrangement is repeated on the other side of her cranium.

About two inches behind her ear, the brow band splits into twin straps,
separated by about a half inch of space. A thicker thong, with a buckle in the
middle, runs across the crown of her head.

Terri feels uncomfortable and a little apprehensive as the grooms tighten and
adjust the four buckles. Until now she has been able to think of herself as a
human at a very unique health spa. The reality of her situation, that, no
matter how temporarily, she is now just livestock, begins to sink in.

One of the grooms pulls Terri’s head up while the other attaches a high and
rigid cervical collar to her neck.  The combination of brindle and collar
restricts her ability to turn her head. Any movements she makes will be slow
and awkward, demanding a great deal of effort.

Satisfied with their work thus far, the pair of grooms grab the young pony
under the armpits and force her to stand. Terri feels her legs being kicked
apart and then the cold contact of metal on her flesh as a spreader bar
attaches to her legs.

Next the stable girl hands the head groom the pony’s waist belt. It looks
like a misshapen girdle, its top line rising smoothly up the pony’s abdomen
to just astride the navel while its lower portion gradually curves down to a
point just inches above Terri’s crotch.

Seven rings are attached to the waist belt. Three formed an inverted
equilateral triangle on the front with two rings at the top and one centred
just above the pony’s exposed pubis.  One ring adorns each side of the belt
just above the waist while two rings are located on either side of the pony’s
spine about half way up the belt. The back of the belt has yet another strap
and buckle arrangement which descends like a tail over the crack of the
pony’s buttocks.

The grooms fit the belt snugly around her middle.  The pony gasps for air. At
the sound of her strained breathing, one of the grooms makes adjustments to
the back.

“Can’t have her passing out before she hits the yard, can we now,” he asked
his compatriot.

The second groom knells down in front of the pony. Although her pussy lips
are glistening with the leaking of her cunt, the equerry pays them no
attention. His job is to ready this pony for race training, not to prepare
her for breeding. Besides, Lexie will pleasure them as soon as they are
finished. It’s part of what she is hired for.

The squatting groom buckles two pairs of leather straps into place on each of
the pony’s legs.  The initial set are secured to the pony’s thighs about four
inches above her knees. A bright metal chain about eight inches in length
links the first set of straps together.  The second set, with a 12 inch chain
are attached just above the pony’s ankles.

The inside of all the straps are lined to reduce unnecessary friction while
the outside are as smooth as the rest of the ensemble. These are the pony’s
hobbles, designed to restrict her movement and to help her trainer establish
the proper gait.

Terri feels her pussy lips being pressed flat against the side of her groin
as her crotch strap is set into place, a sense of desire flooding through her
body. Since she has arrived at the stables, the only pleasure she has
received has been that she has given herself, a poor substitute for the touch
of others.

The vee of the leather bikini is topped with two smaller straps, a ring
attached to each. A third ring, positioned in the centre of the bikini, is
swiftly snapped into the waist belt while the thinner straps encircling the
bottom of her buttocks are fastened into place.

The grooms now turn their attentions to the pony’s upper torso.  The pony’s
chest is encircled  by a tight leather jacket, her ample  breasts exposed by
large incisions in the material. More belts and buckles go under her armpits
and over her shoulders.  Again the garment is constricted until her breathing
is hampered.

Terri’s arms are pulled behind her. She feels the cuffs being placed around
her wrists, hears first a “snick” then a metallic clanking, then another
“snick” as her arms are handcuffed behind her, the attaching chain passing
through one of the restraining rings on her waist belt.

Now the head groom brings forth the final piece of tack for this pony, her bit
and bit mount. Even as she opens her mouth for the bit, Terri closes her eyes,
unable to watch as this final symbol of her submission to ponydom violates her
mouth.

She feels the rounded plastic-covered bit roll over her lips, like a dick
sliding sideways through her mouth. Her teeth scrape on the soft bit which
settles to rest just behind her incisors.  Her mouth begins to fill
involuntarily with saliva. A brief moment of panic sets in and the newest pony
begins to gag.

One of the grooms tilts her head back and the choking stops as the moisture
rolls down her throat. She swallows convulsively.

 “Take it easy girl,” he says trying to calm the frightened animal. “There’s
nothing new here. Relax. Relax. That’s a good girl.  I know you’ve swallowed a
lot of spit before when your mouth was full of cock. This isn’t any different.
Just loosen up. You’re going to be ok.”

The head groom uses snaps to connect the bit mount to the front of the
brindle and to the neck collar.  Behind her the other groom fastens a series
of belts, buckles and snaps, turning the disparate pieces of the tack into a
unified whole. Thin leather reins are attached to the lower arms of the bit
mounts and then thrown back over her shoulders. As a final step, along leash
is attached to the centre ring of the pony’s waist belt. The leash is allowed
to drop to the floor. Her eyes follow the leash.

“OK, we’re about ready,” says the head groom to the stable girl. “Why don’t
you go get Bevan and Cort?”  Lexie gives a mocking “ whinny” as she leaves
the room.

The pony senses soft tugs as straps are adjusted. Although her collar makes
it difficult, her head is tilted down as far as possible, her eyes focused on
the floor. She knows that good ponies only look where they are told to look
and she knows first hand what happens to disobedient ponies.

She has no desire to again be placed over a bale of straw, switched with a
riding crop and left to spend the night naked, her hands strapped behind her,
a gag in her mouth, shackled to the wall by a short length of chain with just
enough slack to allow her to  lie down in a pile of loose straw, unable to
relieve the constant poking and itching or her bedding material.

Her one experience with this form of discipline, which was mild compared to
some she had seen other ponies receive, was enough.  After her second night
at the stables she had changed her mind about wanting to be a pony.  The
reality was far less appealing than the fantasy that had precipitated it. 
But, by this point, her desires mattered not at all. Her rebellious attempt
to run away earned her first serious chastisement.

When she was unchained the next morning her body was lightly welted and
covered with hundreds of tiny cuts and gouges that stung and burned like the
furies when the antiseptic was poured over them.  The lesson that
disobedience of any sort, no matter how mild, would not be tolerated at Kyner
Stables was well learned by the young pony and would not have to be given
again.

The pressure of a  crop moving upward under her chin causes her head to
ascend. Two men are standing before her. One, rawboned yet whipcord thin, is
wearing black jean pants and a blue denim shirt. The shirt sleeves are rolled
up above his elbows exposing a small tattoo of a mermaid on a bulging bicep.
He wears rimless wire glasses with gunmetal frames upon an angular face full
of crags and crannies.	A black baseball cap without any markings sits on the
top of his head, medium black hair poking out from under the edges.  This is
the man holding the crop.

The second man is smaller in statue and lighter in weight than the first but
no less muscular for being diminutive. His well tanned arms look like they
were carved from golden brown marble, every vein and muscle outlined in
sinewy bas relief, the result of his work with the reins.  He is wearing a
simple pair of off-white tennis shoes, tan shorts and a t-shirt bearing the
legend “The only time some people work like a horse is when the boss rides
them.”	His face is rounded with a gentle cast, his eyes hidden by mirrored
sun glasses. His light brown hair is cut in a “fade.”  Empty hands hang at
his side as he contemplates the fit of the tack on the new pony. Finally,
satisfied at what he sees, he gives a short nod and turns to leave the room.
“Good enough, Bevan, let’s put her through her paces and see what we’ve got.”

He turns to the two male grooms. “Nice job here guys. Do me a favour and take
off the spreader bar will you?” The grooms rush to comply.

After the bar is removed, Beven picks up the leash and, with a short, sharp
tug, begins to guide the pony from the fitting room to the exercise yard, the
crop hanging from his right wrist.  The pony’s movements are slow and
deliberate, the hobbles restricting the range of motion of her legs.

On their way out they are passed by a returning Lexie who is cradling a soft
blanket in one arm.  Both men eye the stable girl with knowing smiles.	If
the blanket and the way her rock-solid nipples were pressing in arousal
against the pale lemon fabric of her blouse weren’t enough to signal the tack
room’s next use, the rustle and thump of clothing hitting the floor behind
them tells the rest of the tale.

The shorter man reaches out an arm, blocking Lexie’s passage.  She stops
expectantly.  His hand reaches lazily through the unbuttoned top to cup her
right breast, strong square fingers rolling across a nubby nipple adding even
more distension to its out thrust dimension.  “Lexie, when you’re done playing
doctor with the boys why don’t you go wash up and then meet me at the sulky
shed.”

“I’d love to Cort,” she says her eyes aglow with passion as his hand abandons
its mammarial caress, brushing slowly against her tight little ass on its way
back to his side. “Just one other thing,” he continues as a bemused Beven
listens in.  “Be sure to bring that new toy I bought you.”

Lexie blushes as she nods in eager agreement, her cheek’s carnation colouring
coming from a combination of excitement and embarrassment. “A new toy,”
quizzes Beven as the trio moves toward the gate. Cort just laughs. “The only
reason you prefer Lexie is that you don’t have to get up on a stool to fuck
her like you do Gin or Barb.”  Cort just laughs harder, throwing a mock punch
at Beven as they walk along.

The disposition of the two men changes as they open the gate to enter the
exercise ring, their insouciant manner being replaced by a “no-nonsense,
let’s get our work done and done right” attitude. The pony responds to
Beven’s use of her leash and moves to the centre of the ring.  Cort leans
against the railing, his eyes missing nothing as he observes how the pony is
walking. “Run her through the usual sequence will you Bevan,” he asks. “I’ll
stop you if I see any problems or if I want anything repeated.”

The young female equine stands stock still in the ring, her attention focused
on her trainer standing at her side. She not only knows she must obey his
every command, quickly and completely, she desires to do so. Her obedience
will please her as much as it does him.  He kneels down in front of her to
unclip and remove the chains from her hobbles then rises and backs away.

A slight tap from her trainer’s crop starts her in motion. She is walking in
a tight circle about five foot in diameter with her trainer at its centre.
After three revolutions she hears her first instruction. “Lift your legs
higher. Keep those calves and thighs straighter.” A quick switch of the crop,
one with just a little bite in it, helps her to comply.

The pony lifts her legs as high as they will go, her tendons straining at the
effort.  “That’s better.” she hears her trainer say. “ Now let’s pick up the
pace.” As she moves faster her trainer is playing out more leash, expanding
the diameter of the circle, making her walk farther to complete a circuit. “A
little faster now.” The pony moves quicker, almost but not quite breaking
into a trot.

As she circles the ring she is distracted by the activities around her. Two
rings over she thinks she sees Linda Sue in harness pulling a heavy cart
behind her. A sharp pain like a wasp’s sting refocuses the pony’s attention.
“Concentrate on what you’re doing, not on what’s going on around you,” her
trainer orders, shortening her leash.  “I won’t have you distracted when you
race. All you need to worry about is pulling the sulky as fast as you can.
Your driver will worry about the rest. Now get going. Put some speed into
this.” In response the young pony breaks into a full-fledged trot hoping to
gain a small measure of redemption for her misconduct.

After an hour of strenuous exertion the pony’s skin starts to resemble well-
weathered cedar, coated grey from the dust of the yard and deeply grained
where the rivulets of sweat are trickling down her body. Despite the previous
week’s intensive conditioning every muscle burns as though an unseen flame is
continuously pulsing against them. Tendons stretched to near rupture scream
for a chance to recover. Beet red spots mark where her trainer’s crop has
kissed her skin, gently at first but more resolutely as the session wore on.
Still the pony slogs on, obeying each command as best she can but it is clear
to both her trainer and her driver that they have taken her as far as they
should today.

The pony is grateful when Beven calls the proceedings to a halt.  Her body,
drained of its physical strength, shakes in a series of random shivers as
muscles contract and expanded in unpatterned spasms. She longs to sit down,
to slide to the ground and lay there,  her lungs panting as they draw oxygen
for her blood. But despite its corporeal debility, her body retains its
mental toughness. She can’t control the quivering of her skin, that is beyond
her ability. To give in any further to her weakness would shame her trainer.
She won’t let this happen. And so she stands there straight as a newly
planted tree, her eyes again cast downwards awaiting further directives from
her trainer.

Waving his hand in the air, Beven summons an equerry to the ring.  “Please
walk this pony ‘til she cools down and then take her back to the stables.
Have her tack removed and cleaned. Store it in her stall.  Take her to the
spa and ask Gin to give her the full pamper treatment. Tell her to use the
alpha wave feedback box to see that she sleeps for a least an hour during the
massage.”

The groom took the leash from the trainer. “Yes sir, Mr. Vass.  Is there
anything else you’d like done?”

“Yeh, there is. I’m sorry I don’t know your name?”

“It’s Kim, Mr. Vass. Kim Dun.”

“Well, Kim Dun, let Gin know that I’m going to be visiting this pony in her
stall tonight some time after 8:30. Make sure she understands I want her
fully prepared and ready to go.  That means a full seat of leathers,
including the ears, mane and tail. The red and blue set will do, the one with
the thin reins. No stirrups though. Also let her know I’ll want this pony to
get a mini- treatment after I’m gone. I want her ready to resume training
tomorrow morning.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Vass. I’ll see to this at once.”

Confident that his orders would be followed to the T, the trainer pats the
young hand on the back and walks over to Cort Szeman.  “So what do you think?
Can we pull it off?”

Squinting into the sun, Szeman sighs heavily and beings to walk toward the
bunk house. “When Dirks told us about this assignment, I thought we were
being given some kind of punishment, that we’d screwed up somehow and the old
man was going to make us pay for it. Then I saw the preliminary fitness
evaluations on this pony and I knew we were on his shit list. Now, well, now
I’m not so sure.

“I mean she’s not top grade yet but she’s come a lot farther in the week
we’ve had her than I ever thought she would.  I’d have set the morning line
on her at 100 to 1 against. Now, maybe I’d set it at 25 to 1 against. Still
long odds but they’re getting better all the time.”

They stop at a watering trough as the driver takes a long drink of water from
a tin ladle.  “Yeah, I’m amazed myself,” says the trainer. “But seeing is
believing. I want her to keep this rate of progress up.That’s why she’s
getting a little reward tonight.” Cort hands the ladle to the trainer.

“Well, if she’s getting it from you there’s no doubt whatsoever that it’s
going to be a ‘little’ reward,” jests Cort.  “Why don’t you get one of the
breeding studs for her. That way she’s have a chance to feel something.”
Bevan responds by tossing the ladle of water at Cort.

“I don’t know Bevan. I hate to go out on a limb but I think we’ve got a
chance. Not much of a chance but a chance none the less. One thing she showed
me today is that she’s got the will to succeed and that’s half the battle.
The only question is if we’ll have enough time before the race to get her
into good enough shape to win. I just wish we had another fortnight to work
with her.”

“Yeah and if wishes were fishes we’d never starve. What do you think about
Geryon’s other pony? How’s she look to you?”

“Who Linda Sue? She is sort of the forgotten one in all of this right now
isn’t she,” said Cort scratching his arm absentmindedly. Hell she’ll be just
fine. She was in better shape than Terri in the first place and you sure
didn’t have any trouble breaking her in. She took to the bit like she was
born to it.  The conversion may be temporary right now but I’d bet dollars to
doughnuts that before too many more years pass by she’ll be a permanent
conversion.  You can just tell. I mean hell, how many human women do you know
without any hair on their body below their head? I’m looking forward to
seeing her soon in a supermarket near home.”

Although she was waiting expectantly, the sound of her stall door sliding
open causes the pony to start. Her heart, already beating wildly with
anticipation, increases the tempo of its pounding.  Dressed in a set of
breeding leathers she is on her hands and knees facing away from the door
awaiting the arrival of her trainer.

She is wearing a different brindle than her training tack. This one is more
of a hat with ear flaps then a true brindle. The cap completely covers the
top of her head, no hair shows and her real ears are underneath the leather.
In their place, two mock horse ears rise straight up and a mane of pure white
hair descends down from the crown of her skull along the line of her neck.

With the exception of her breasts, crotch and buttocks, her entire torso
including her arms and legs is encased in dark blue leather with red
stitching. Her arms have cuffs located at the wrist. These cuffs are attached
to bolts in the floor.	Her legs also are attached to the floor, this time by
the means of straps that connect to floor-mounted rings. The straps originate
at the back of each calf just below the knee.

A tail of pure white hair is located just at her coccyx. The tail hangs over
her buttocks,tickling her as she moves form side to side in a vain attempt to
get more comfortable. A braided leather bit rests in her mouth, thin blue
reins flowing back from the bit mount to end just above her tail.

Bevan Vass strides into the stall and moves to stand in front of the pony’s
face.  He squats down and tenderly takes the pony’s face in his hands.	“My
little pony, that’s what you are. You did well today my little pony, very
well. I’m quite pleased with you. Your owner said that you should be rewarded
for good performance so I’m here tonight to give you something you’ve earned.
If you keep progressing there will be more rewards for you. If you don’t ...
Well we don’t have to talk about that because I know you are going to excel.”

Still in a squat, the trainer leans back and unzips his fly. Reaching into
his pants he brings out a short but thick cock covered with pulsing blue
veins and a large low hanging scrotum with ball the size of medium eggs lying
hard in their pouch.  He begins to rub the tip of his prick across the pony’s
face leaving a trail of precum on her forehead. He circles each eye and then
slides down the bridge of her nose.  His hand strokes his dick across her
upper lips, his emissions dripping down into her mouth.

The pony stretches her neck forward and tries to open her mouth wider to
engulf his manhood but, with the bit in the way, all she can manage to do is
force her tongue over the top of the bit to lick frantically at his prick,
like a dog drinking from a faucet.  The trainer strokes the side of her
cheek.

“Hungry my little pony, yes I imagine you are. This is probably the longest
you’ve gone without a cock in your mouth since you were 12. Well, I’m going
to take your bit out of your mouth but only for a little while and just so
you can show me how hungry you are.”

Freed of its impediment, her mouth vacuums in his prick, nursing on it like a
starving baby. The force of her suction makes the trainer groan with pleasure
which makes his little pony suck all the harder. Even swallowing a rapidly as
she can, the pony’s mouth begins to fill with saliva and precum, spilling out
at the corners.

A sudden popping noise marks his rapid and unexpected withdrawal from her oral
cavity. Within seconds she is sucking on the bit instead of his dick as the
trainer moves around behind her.

She shivers with pleasure as she feels the hair of her tail brush the lips of
her pussy while the trainer lifts it out of the way.  Three thin but talented
fingers begin to stroke against her already randy cunt paying special
attention to her throbbing clit.

“So, my little pony, I can see that I won’t need to use any lubricant on you
tonight. You’re already flowing like a waterfall back here.” Steadying
himself with one hand on the small of the pony’s back, the trainer slowly
inserts the head of his shaft into her pussy stopping when he feels her lips
slip behind the rim of his helmet-shaped glans. Satisfied with his
positioning, he grabs the reins with both hands and jerks them back. For the
next several minutes he concentrates on riding the living daylights out of
his little pony, her cunt convulsing around his thrusting cock.

For her part, the pony spears herself on his shaft, willingly and wantonly
rocking forward and back at faster and faster speeds, first a walking pace,
then a trot and finally a gallop.  She meets each returning insertion of his
member with a sheathing thrust of her own. Her cunt begins to tingle and the
feeling spreads throughout her body even as the trainer’s taunt washboard
stomach collides with her rolling buttocks.

The trainer holds tighter to the reins with one hand while the other moves
forward to crush and maul her hanging tits.  Even the pain caused by his
violent twisting of her nipples is transformed into heightened passion. The
intensity of their coupling causes her tail to drop back down across her
buttocks. Now the white hairs are getting caught between his prick and her
pussy, are being pulled inside with every push, their rough scratchiness only
adding to their mutual pleasure.

The pony begins to orgasm,  shaking uncontrollably as though she was just
finishing a second hour of exercise in the ring. Semen begins to seep from
the tip of the trainer’s dick like wax dripping from a melting candle. Still
they pound at each other. Giving a shout that awakes horses the few horses
still sleeping in the surrounding stalls, the trainer tugs hard on the reins,
his body rigid as the sperm flies from his dick into the depths of her cunt.
Slowly turns loose the reins and slumps limply across her back, forcing her
to bear his weight while he recovers from their lovemaking.

As he withdraws from her, the trainer gently strokes her cheeks. “You a good
pony. Yes you are. And you’re going to win the Cup aren’t you my little pony.
Yes you are. You’re going to run harder, and faster and stronger than any
other horse on the track.

“And after you win the Cup, well, we’ll just have to see what come
afterwards.”

Tune in Friday, October 9 for Cannibal 4H Chapter Nineteen: A Marriage Ends by
Eurytion



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