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The Ride of Her Life
The Continuing Saga of Spurwood Girls' School
Copyright 1998

by Frank Goldman



"Leila, bring me a pony, will you? I'm off to class."
"Yassuh, but she a fresh 'un. Not broke in yet." The brown stabler laid
aside her broom and came to the edge of the barn's yard-high platform,
carressing her broad rump with her pink palms. "Tendah, you know. She in
for surprises heah."
"Well, it'll be the worse for her then, won't it? Bring her on anyway. This
heat forbids walking. What gives her over to your good care so soon, Leila?
Our students don't usually visit the disciplinarian on their first day."
"Slapped a handler, sah, right off the train from town yestiddy. Sumpun
'bout imput 'nance." She big menial spat out the word in a chirpy falsetto
and narrowed her nostrils, affecting disdain.
"Oh, wonderful. Rebellious, eh? I really haven't time to do your work for
you, Leila, but if she's all you have, she'll have to do. I'll need a seat
belt, I suppose, and let's use the punishment reins on this little filly,
but don't produce them until she's comfy. She might pee all over your
immaculate porch at the sight of them. And I think a two-foot whalebone."
"Yassuh. What size saddle?"
"Has she been, ah, evacuated?"
"Yassuh. She clear as a bell. And," she added slyly, "she woman-sahzed for
her age."
"Then I'll leave it to your discretion, Leila, depending on how much
correction you think she needs. And spice it up. We'll give the brat a
vivid memory of her first day at Spurwood."
"An' how," smiled Leila. She disappeared in her bright print dress through
the black aperture of the rambling structure after her freshman charge,
barely creaking the dry boards of the old platform. For her not
inconsiderable size Leila moved deftly. As disciplinarian of last resort in
a girls' school housing only the worst of miscreants, clumsiness or
indecision would have ill become her.
Going to the tangled nest of bikes clustered at platform's end, I kicked
one free from the others, rolling it to the dock so our pony could mount
easily, though probably not modestly. A tricycle really, of lightweight
construction and ingeniously geared to allow a scared and strong young girl
to tow all but the heaviest of riders, the device was a common form of
transport on Spurwood's flat and secluded grounds. Definitely not a popular
conveyance among those students chosen -- rather arbitrarily, I might add
-- to serve in the pony pool.
I stepped round one of the large rear wheels and brushed dust from the
low-slung wicker seat astride the rear axle, settling comfortable into
position behind the elevated driver's seat tubing, unadorned for now and at
eye level. Releasing the sprocket and pedals -- metal shoes, really -- I
swung them out to the horizontal, where self-locking hinges held them rigid
until we -- or rather I -- was ready to depart. For midmorning it was
already hot; my girl had a rather steamy journey ahead of her, though not
as steamy as mine promised to be.
And reluctant she was to begin it. She emerged slowly from the stable's
deep recesses, her face straight ahead, large terror-suffused eyes blinking
madly against our Southern sun. Leila's standard hobbler was no great
impediment. I had seen veteran troublemakers run in it, though awkwardly.
The youngster now restrained -- perhaps 16, but as Leila had hinted, well
into womanhood -- appeared impeded less by the device than a natural fear
of the unknown, and by the prospect of splinters in what seemed to be, at a
distance of some yards, well-turned and graceful bare feet. She would soon
learn to ignore such minor forms of pain.
The ends of the heavy steel bar nestled behind the naked girl's bent knees
were tightly fastened above and below the joints with adjustable loops of
riveted leather, holding her legs open in a lewd squat. Further encouraging
her servile posture was a simple figure-eight cinch strap, knotted around
her distended and bulbous breasts at the chest wall and strung from between
them to the bar's middle. It looked tight enough to play a Bach cello suite
on. If I knew Leila, and I did, the cinch was thin and cutting, watered
daily by her reprobates' urine, and baked to acidic rawhide in the sun. A
sweating and struggling girl who cut herself on such a strap only struggled
the more, in vain. The Spurwood girl who learned nothing else in four years
learned composure.
Each of her small wrists were secured by loops to the bar, behind it and
palms in, some inches inside her spread knees. Leila was gentle with the
new girls; she hovered behind the pony inching its way across the platform,
whistling absently and encouraging the youngster's progress.
This she did with rhythmic arcs of a springy yard-long wooden paddle, whose
last foot was stitched with very grainy sandpaper. She uppercutted the
girl's generous and jiggling buttocks with powerful and solid-sounding
thwockkss, dragging the pebbly paddletip up and off the quivering nates
after each smarting spank.
The girl fisted her hands and squeezed tears from her eyes at each swat,
clumsily swinging her pale and obviously pampered body forward in the
humiliating crabwalk. The hobbler in itself wasn't a painful getup but
inconvenient, serving to remind the wearer, usually confined here for
willful impulse, that hasty impulse had brought her here.
I had time to inspect my trussed pony, who took perhaps two dozen swats --
more, probably, then she'd accepted in her life -- as she and Leila inched
towards me. Reclined in the carriage, my view was ankle-height; she would
have been arresting from any angle, but was the more so for the expansive
display of her charms afforded me. Tall, full-figured and a little plump
for her age, bullet-breasted and heavy-hipped, she would have been
statuesque drawn to full height, as she had no doubt carried herself in the
world.
Leila broght her to a halt at the platform's verge, the girl's toes
bunching at the air beneath them. Her leonine, ringleted brunette mane had
been roughly twirled and yanked into a topknot to expose a tender, freckled
nape and a broad jawline which had probbaly been pointed to the horizon
most of her life.
So it was now, but by mechanical, not attitudinal, means: her full lips
moved fishlike along the flared base of a large butt plug that forced her
mouth open in an astonished and silent oval, below equally incredulous
green eyes. Buckled by straps to the rear of a leather collar, the plug
drew her head back in an attentive stare. The girl squatted quivering,
breathing stertorously through her snubby nose, leaking tears and sweat
onto the platform.
"She tastin' the lass dinnah she et in de free worl'," said Leila. "From
the sahz o' de stool she slid out dis mawnin', it uz a good 'n, too. It
neah broke de saddle strap holdin' dat plug in all night."
Leila dropped a chunky burlap bag on the platform by the girl's feet and
knelt over it, rummaging through its clanking contents. The girl's
flattened ears twitched at the ominous atonal chorus at her feet, and her
head strained to swivel around and assess the awful surprises being readied
for her.
Leila saw this, raised her paddle high, and brought it down almost
vertically with a sssssSWAPP on the blubbery shelf of the pony's outthrust
buttocks. "Ahs front, peeg," she drawled. The girl jerked at the blow,
stomping and yanking her tightly bound wrists at the heavy transverse bar
between her legs.
Out came a broad leather belt, which Leila quickly spun around the
uncomprehending girl's soft waist and hauled closed from the back,
leveraging a coffee-colored knee into her spine as she forced wet gasps
from the pony's stoppered lips. From the belt's sides depended single
sturdy straps that swung free, their buckles tinkling against the weathered
wood.
Leila next reached between the girl's spread knees and thumbed open a catch
stringing the girl's teats to the bar. The cinch leapt skyward with a
THRUNNGG, snaking and hopping. Its victim showed what small measure of
relief she could, shaking her heavy tits from side to side. Still throttled
at their base by the excruciating figure-eight strap, they only joggled
tightly, white globes full to bursting with tender musculature and springy
fat, skin drawn back and stretched smooth and thin as a soap bubble. The
aureoles were large and smooth, pinkish for a brunette's, delicately
veined; the nipples smoothly sculpted and erect, vulcanized now by outrage
rather than eros. They looked a powdered, pampered pair that had been
secretly and solitarily admired, cupped by the best lace New Orleans sold.
A single crop-stroke across these beauties now, I thought, would welt this
girl to her very soul.
Leila's big hands blurred at the girl's wrists and tossed their fetters
aside. The slave's arms hung, still deadened, as her mistress braced and
gripped her armpits, hefting her. "Slahd yer toes inna pedals. monkey," she
commanded, "and hol' the hannelbars. You goin' fo' the ride of yo' life."
Leila didn't even grunt as she swung the girl over my head and eased her
slowly down, levitating her in front of my perch. The girl's protruding ass
-- big, firm, violently pinkened by Leila's preparatory paddle-swats --
rolled and dimpled no more than 18 inches from my nose as she seesawed her
still-pinioned knees, searching for purchase with her feet and
slowly-awakening hands.
She found both, sliding her hands into the curiously-gloved sculpted
handlegrips and arching her pretty toes downward into the shoelike bike
pedals. When Leila saw the girl was about to take her own weight on her
feet and hands, she nodded at me and let go.
We had done this before, of course, and were ready. The girl couldn't have
known. Her whole body tautened and strained upward, and I heard a flatulent
spluttering whine thorugh her butt-plug gag. I kicked closed the hinged
heel-restraints on the bike pedals and heard them ratchet home over the
naked coolie's insteps, while Leila yanked tight her wrist-restraints,
fettering the girl's hands in the closed grips. Our little miscreant wanted
to jump into the next county, but she had nowhere to go.
The miniscule needles carpeting  the grips and pedals would have been minor
irritations to a washerwoman or country girl, but they were shocking
insults to leisured young city girls given to hand cream and pedicures.
While too short to cause deep punctures or severe bleeding, they were sharp
enough to stab and harry at tender skin, like a burr chestnut rolled
between the palms. They were barely tolerable if the sufferer constantly
shifted her weight between all four stinging fulcrums, as our pony was now
doing, but several minutes of this defensive squirming was normally the
limit before an escape was necessary.
But escape to where? I knew from many previous trips on Spurwood's devilish
rickshaws that sooner or later, depending on the driver's pain threshhold,
she simply had to distribute her weight elsewhere. This girl was already
circling and squatting her magnificently rotund heart-shaped ass,
frantically searching for a seat that should be, must be, somewhere under
her. Still collared to her shitty muzzle, she couldn't see below or behind
her, and she strained down against the bar still pinioning her knees,
creaking the leather straps.
What a difference, I thought appreciatively, 24 hours and a little legal
leverage can make. Only yesterday at this time the little bitch before me
would have disdained my admiring so much as her earrings, and she was now
begging me to inspect every velvety millimeter of her exposed underside.
Leila had shaved bare her soft pink pussy-cleft and convex baby-fat mons,
both of which were raised up and forced rearwards, doggiestyle, by her
desperate attempts to arch off her needly perches. Her labia were fat and
close-set, pillows of dewy denuded flesh that audibly snicked open and
closed now as she struggled. The redder vaginal cusp flared reluctantly
between the lips' moist aperture, narrow and velveteen, topped by a puffy
hooded clitoris.
Her anal valey stretched wide with every backward thrust, brazenly
displaying a pink and primly-puckered rectum, its entire corona dime-sized
at the most. Had she ever had anything larger than a childhood suppository
up there? I doubted it. In all it looked an innocent little crotch, one
that had selfishly spurned penile attention. . .though I imagine the girl
had coquettishly courted the same, sending many an esquire's son home to
relieve himself with but a memory of her perfume.
Would that her young admirers could be here to witness a bit of Spurwood
justice, I thought. It didn't take quite minutes for Leila to draw the
girl's bicycle seat from the bag, though its exaggerated size made it seem
so. Spurwood's freshman-sized plug worn all night and now sucked on by our
pleb was a comic miniature of this phallus, normally reserved for senior
girls with some arse-exercise. . .well, behind them. Occasionally, as now,
it was used to punish especially refractory students. Despite its
frightening size, I had seen needle-harangued drivers eventually settle on
it as gratefully as on a toilet seat after a four-quart enema.
It looked large even in Leila's expansive hands as she experly masturbated
it, wearing a rubber glove, with a colorless slick sap produced by trees
native to our grounds that even the ants seemed to avoid. What use Nature
had for the caustic lotion, discovered accidentally by a science techer
here, we had never determined; but Nature can be, as we all know,
unspeakably unkind.
She can also be inhumanly ingenious: the mysterious unguent caused no
damage to human tissue, though it burned like lye -- but only after,
conveniently enough, giving a preliminary and misleading sensation of
comforting warmth. Spurwood girls caught in lesbian acts were made to
publicly ply each other with dildoes greased with this venal liquid. It was
entertaining indeed when their initial sighs of arousal suddenly became
anguished groans, prolonged at the pleasure of whip-bearing monitors.
"No man o' mahn," whispered Leila forlornly, "wuz evah hung lahk dis."
Still out of the girl's sight, she polished the hand-carved dildo to a wet
sheen with a snicketasnicketa  up and down its imposing length, her curled
thumb and forefinger bumping over its sharply-beveled, circumcised
foreskin. The monster's mushroom-like head looked two inches wide, rearing
from a nine-inch shaft that gradually widened to a two-and-a-half-inch wide
knobby base. Oaken and stained jet-black, a sinuous network of engorged
veins criscrossed its length. This particular godmiche seemed to have a
dark history; absent was the slight hook that would have conformed it to a
vagina, and faint whitish speckles on its tip suggested bacterial contact
from previous wearers.
Leila dropped the phallus, fixed to a sturdy pipe, into its seat tubing
with her gloved hand. I tightened it down, bringing my nose within inches
of our driver's still-gyrating bottom. Fully fleshed as her buttocks were,
they appeared smaller once the huge dildo was affixed, stern and
implacable, under them. It stood waiting, inexhaustible, its knob perhaps a
foot from my jaw as I sat forward, the girl's abundant globes eddying and
kissing at eyebrow level.
Leila undid the bar at the pony's right knee while I unbuckled the left,
and the black overseer slid the girl's fetter away, allowing her to squat
even more lewdly. This she immediately did, scissoring her cramped thighs
wide and splaying her asscheeks and delectable cunt down, toward the
unknown.
Off-center a bit, she poked the giant cock into her right buttock at first,
and I watched it sink into the unresisting globe before she jerked back up,
startled by the unexpected object. She experimented again, this time more
slowly, and this time the cockhead bumped the perineum and slid slickly
forward, nosing apart the shaven cuntlips. Again she shot up and hovered,
trembling, thinking, fearing the worst. She knew suddenly what it was under
her.
"Phobos and Deimos," I said to Leila languidly, drinking in the impudent
fatness of the 16-year-old's hesitant buttocks. "The two moons of Mars.
Fear and panic. The Greeks were anything but clinical in their heavenly
nomenclature."
"De Greeks," Leila chortled, "'bout to learn sumpin from dis gel."
The girl heard, and though inexperienced sexually she must have known some
sexual allusions at least. For she began to heave and snort, furiously
pulling at her bonds in a tantrumic last-ditch bid to escape her assigned
task. The bicycle shivered and squealed, and its front tire skipped and
hopped in the dusty courtyard as the buck-naked girl wrestled it, trying to
pedal away, to jump off, to run back into Leila's dark stable and be hanged
upside down again from her knees, anything, anything but this.
"Duck, perfesser," Leila said casually, hefting her paddle in both hands
and measuring the girl's ass. I wriggled backwards in the seat and did as
she said. A brown blur painted itself with a cccrrrrrAAKK  into the girl's
bouncing sulcus-flesh, where buttocks cupped thighs. The impact
reverberated through the bike's skeleton, and I saw the girl's ass flatten
under the paddle and rebound. Leila quickly gave her another double-armed
backhanded srrraaaaackkkk , higher up where she couldn't fully clench her
jutting, deeply-set buttock crowns. The rear wheels, with my weight on
them, nearly jumped off the ground. Ripples from the stroke ran round the
girl's full hips, bloated as they were by the tight waist-belt, and
violently jiggled her thighs. Wide bands of red pebbles leaped up and
glowed where the paddle had struck.
I saw the instrument fly into Leila's right hand and point at the sky just
as the girl preened forward away from the bottom-punishment, her chest
outthrust, her face ratcheted up in a burbling butt-blugged whine of pain.
God, Leila had timing. Lips set, the black menial swatted the pony's
breasts with a WHECCKKK that spattered an echo like a damp firecracker's
across the open courtyard. From behind her, I saw for an inexpressible
second tit-flesh balloon under her armpits, then disappear as they bounced
back.
The girl spasmed. A nervous mist of urine suddenly sprayed wildly from
between her legs, twirling hot droplets of pee across my pantlegs and
raining down her own thighs. A helpless SPRADDAPAP of a fart broke from her
rectum and slowly keened away to a hiss with the giddy shower of pee,
bathing my face with sour fruit and buttermilk odors, not entirely
unpleasant. I could but imagine the effect the stroke had had on the girl's
heavy and tenderized tits, ballooned and haltered as they still were by the
tourniquet-like straps.
"Duhty little monkey," Leila scolded, clattering the paddle onto the barn's
stoop. "If you wuzn't already fixed, you'd lick Mastuh off." She slid her
brown hand between the girl's piss-glistened legs, mopping the acrid dew
from the insides of her thighs and scooping more from her wettened sex
lips. I saw her gleaming hand go gently to the girl's face, where she
slowly massaged the warm urine into it, finally wiping the damp detritus on
the girl's heaving and no doubt bruised breasts. We waited, saying nothing,
listening to the girl's desperate nasal panting and watching her tire. She
was a plucky one, I thought: no Spurwood pony in recent memory had resisted
the needles quite so long. To draw her down onto the waiting phallus would
have been a simple enough exercise, but coercion would make it less
humiliating for the girl. Much naughtier, and I needn't add more
entertaining, was to let the little bitch initiate her own anal punishment.
This she did, but only after a diverting attempt, common among first-time
drivers, to silently plead for softer duty. Bucking her hips back and
slowly descending on the organ, she first eased the cockhead between her
cuntlips and swirled the fleshy rose around its stolid eye, opening and
lubricating her fat labia. Getting no immediate reprisal for this
unpermitted act, she quickened her eager humps, snickering the tight glove
of her young quim over slick cock's knob.
Leila laid into my outstretched right palm the familiar handle of the
prescribed riding crop. A favorite of mine, it was a licky and wobbly
length of cylindrical whalebone that tapered to infinity, shrunken over
with drum-taut calfskin and tipped with an indestructible tassel of knotted
sinew that snapped and bit like a rabid animal. I had used it often with
wonderful corrective effect.
I remembered a biggish new girl belted over one of our older blocks had
once broken her knee restraint at this vicious crop's welcoming kisses,
frantically kicking out at me with her near leg and squealing for respite,
spooling out a yard-long hose of pale yellow behind her. The remaining cuts
and more had searched the intimate folds her strapped legs had hidden,
bucking her through the ordeal like a hornet-stung mare.
I had explained to the brash young juvenile, between metronomic licks of
the crop's knotted tongue, that we had reasons for restraint here at
Spurwood, that our laws, like those of physics, made sense and were broken
only at the rebel's misery. This lesson had been driven home by her wearing
of the foreshortened knee strap as a continence belt the rest of term, the
half-inch rawhide hiking her cervix to her stomach but for chaperoned
latrine visits, carving her broad, flabby belly into mock buttocks for the
amusement of all onlookers. Leila had also pierced the girl's big nipples
and wired her thumbs to them, hands reverently crossed, to frustrate
fidgeting and encourage contemplation of her dire plight. She had broken no
more school equipment the remainder of her stay.
The squatting young miss now in front of me was also testing our laws, and
would soon find them as iron as gravity's.
I let her force the cockhead, not without difficulty, into her slickened
and reddening pussy-purse. She bounced gently up and down on the broad
mast, carefully purchasing millimeters of the head, over which her bare
twatlips were gradually closing. This was the largest prong that had ever
been up her -- and probably ever would be -- but it wasn't to last as long
as she thought.
She spraddled wider and eased another several inches of the engine up her,
engulfing the cockhead completely and beginning her distended slide down
the bulbous prick. The muted whimpering in her throat was, I suppose, a
mixture of pain, dread, and perhaps surprised relief that we were allowing
her this compromise.
We weren't. I let her stuff maybe half the greasy cock into her vagina,
enough to unwittingly coat it with the still-dormant lubricant, before I
hit her. I backhanded the loose-limbed crop into her left buttock, watching
it lap a valley into the unsuspecting flesh, bite with a crisp WHICCKKK and
spring back, shivering. It was little more than a reminder stroke given the
awkward positioning and lack of roomn, but I knew it was agony for the
untrained girl and that the searing pain would build and stab to a peak
after a slow four count.
I waited exactly that long and carved the spiny shaft harder diagonally and
down across the right buttock, which was forced out against the bluish weal
stitching itself over the left, now cringing doglike. The whalebone wheezed
into the bouncy right rump with a raspy whine, puckering the globe and
squeezing a last dry hiss of cmplaint from the frightened girl's bowel,
vised as it was by her clenched cheeks and prodded inside by the monstrous
cock.
The girl didn't wait for the third stroke. She struggled off the member
with an audible SSNOOOPP, squirting the black tube from her as if it were
on fire. She would soon think it was. I gave the crop a practice WHEESH in
the air next to her hip, signaling what further delay would bring.
She lunged her anus to the cockhead and buried it immediately, the big
white inverted heart of her ass spread wide open and pushing as it had
never pushed, a mournful groan rising from her plugged throat. The anus
widened, yielded, and clamped closed over the massive head, and Leila
ordered, "Hol', girl." She was screaming now into the gag.
She obeyed, while I drew the tongue of her leather garter belt through the
bike's clamps and buckled them taut. She was now impaled for the remainder
of the ride, try as she may, and would, to extrude the burning serpent from
her. Her only "choice," could it be called that, was how many inches of the
punishing seat-dildo she wanted plumbing her young belly as she pedaled.
She could drive the highly-geared bike either sitting or standing, as it
were, but could hold neither posture for long. She was to be a slave of
Spurwood's terrain, a frequent target for the whip, a victim of the acidic
venom soon to catch fire in her pussy and bowels -- in short, a very busy
young lady.
Spurwood's rickshaw was actually ideal training for servicing the male
member. I had seen it work many times. Shy and hesitant movement on the
seat-cock only slowed the driver's progress; they found within moments of
departure that only rhythmic and enthusiastic pistoning on the phallus,
with brief rests between, got them anywhere. We only taught our students
what life would later teach them.
The needles were driving her down. She had been too long on them, and must
sit. She shoved half the slippery cock up her at a single ardent stroke and
took the rest by fractions, bouncing and whimpering, the small of her back
canyoned and her entire weight pitched into the task. I could see her bowed
belly curving up beyond the oiled crotch and impossibly distended anus, and
it was slowly inflating, cock-pregnant, yielding its innermost depths to
the phallic burden.
Have I neglected to describe the resting-place awaiting our driver? Forgive
me. Imagine a broad panty-crotch extending forward from the anus and
cupping the mons like a glove, a countoured pussy-nest that would bear
weight long enough to relieve feet and hands. A panty-crotch whose tines
fanned up and out in a concave rictus of gleaming Sheffield steel, dotted
with waiting needles exactly like those the girl was escaping.
Such was the unholy base of the phallus onto which she finally settled,
penis-glutted, whinnying. She sat, stone-still, her knees and elbows veed
up off their tormentors, her spongy crotch helplessly gripping the needled
seat buried in her bare labia. I think she was truly beyond surprises by
now.
I stood behind her and reached down, cupping a bottom-cheek in each hand,
touching her for the first time. She jerked. They were hot, a little downy,
smooth but for the single welt scarring each. I yanked them apart and she
grunted, settling deeper still on the rude prong up her arse. They can
always take more.
I put my lips to her left ear. "Get used to that plug up you, Miss," I said
gently, receiving a mournful and glassy sideways stare. Her face gave off a
feral odor of piss and sweat, tear-diluted. Brownish drool ran over her
chin from the gag's base. "We have study desks similarly equipped," I
added, "for fidgeters and slackers. I think you'll qualify for one of
them." As I spoke Leila poured into my right hand a pool of light chain
with two heavy rings sewn along its length.
I reached around the girl's waist and palmed the metal objects, shaking out
their attaching reins. Called "tit bits" for want of a better description,
they were handcuff-like ovals of flat steel, hinged at their junctures and
springloaded beyond rattrap strength. Squeezed open and pushed over the
breasts until they could gather no more flesh, thin serrated jaws clamped
and held upon release. The unfortunate wearer felt her teats bitten and
weighed down by a pair of demonic infants starving her very chest of tender
skin, voracious imps dislodged by no amount of pleading or shaking.
The girl gargled on her gag and suddenly began humping the full length of
the penis up her. The slumbering poison sap had awoken, goading her to
desperately buck against its heat, escape it, appease it. No mercy could be
found in the dumb mixture, of course, and even less in me. Ass cheeks
flowered wide open, braced again on hands and feet, the squatting teen
avidly rode the buttcock as if trying to exhaust it, limpen it, expel it
from her burning entrails. Slucking up to its tip only to be jerked short
by her gartered belt, she shook the implacable knob with her sphincter,
then with a groan forced herself down its full length, bumping off the
spiky base and squirting back up. The searing lotion demanded movement, the
big penis punished the same; the maddened girl might as well have been tied
over a block and buttfucked by our biggest field-hands, for all the choice
she had in the matter -- and when she was given such duty, as she would be,
she would beg for more penises and grip them gratefully lest she be
returned to the pony pool. This is fact, dear reader, not conjecture.
"You move that big bottom nicely, young miss," I whispered in her ear,
cupping her swaying breasts with the bits, yawning now in my hands. I'm
fairly strong but I always had trouble holding the things open for long.
Her arse-cheeks helplessly stroked my stomach as I walked the open clamps
up her tits, letting her feel the cool metal and small, sharp teeth. Her
nipples were rubies poking into my palms, her aureoles hard rubber balls,
her lovely breasts big honey-laden silken sacs. I put my right cheek to her
left and watched her eyes, bulging and pleading, swivel down to her chest.
"You'll feel a pinching, not intolerable," I told her quietly, "and when I
release the pedals of this conveyance, you will take us to class. We will
encounter various forks in the path en route, and I shall direct you with a
tug to your right or left breast. You will stop, for as long as I desire,
when I pull on both. The scenery along the way, for myself at least, is
quite entrancing and deserves leisurely study. Try to ignore they
whipstrokes to your bare bottom. They mean nothing, other than that I enjoy
whipping you. A vial of ammonium spirits in my possession will ensure that
we reach our destination, should you think fainting will relieve you of
duty. Oh, and your first act in class," I concluded, "will be to relieve me
with your mouth, on your knees in front of your fellow students. And if you
miss so much as a drop while swallowing, you'll get today's duty for the
next week. Am I understood?"
She shook her head "Yes" violently, whimpering assent loudly though the
cock-gag, her eyes pleading into mine.
"Good," I answered, and released the bits. They jumped from my hands and
instantly the girl's two breasts were four, each cleft in half and bubbled
into two smaller globes, punctuated by the steel teeth. I heard the faint
metallic creak of springs as the jaws settled into their soft pillows, and
the girl's outer globes began to pout and slowly turn upward, distorted
pink fruit seeking the sun. I knew, if she didn't, that the outer halves
would be as purple as King Henry's robe by journey's end. She kinked her
elbows in as far as her fetters allowed and hunched her shoulders down,
trying to mitigate the bits' fresh steel bite compunding the dull ache of
her chest strap. Her lips were drawn back now in a concentrated trembling
frown, a hint of pearly teeth showing where they clenched the butt plug's
base.
I eased back into the rickshaw, looping the girl's reins loosely in my
hands, holding the crop in my right. I gave an investigatory tug on each
and felt a springy rebound, hearing her grunt gutturally. She was sitting
again, the spikes spearing her pussy, the wooden meatus up her ass to its
last millimteter. A steady river of sweat runnelled down her back and
bathed her bare buttocks, dribbling off her into the dust.
"It's been. . .interesting, Leila," I told the overseer, who was standing
and smiling at the girl, arms crossed and paddle held high like a standard.
"We'll see you this evening, after the young vixen here has been soundly
lectured in Spurwood comportment."
"Ah think she done already been," Leila laughed, picking up her bag and
turning for the stable.

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