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eenslaved:

Photo Credit: Syn DeVil Caged by Rexbon

Strictly fantasy/fiction. Deviant and twisty all the way. Continued from this story, written for R. You mentioned once you liked the original and I thought I’d give a shot at continuing that one. Happy Birthday, friend.

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The new Mistress of the household woke leisurely in the mornings. She would stretch in bed, luxuriating and scissoring her legs in the silky sheets. If her husband was still abed, they might enjoy a quick, grappling romp before taking a refreshing shower. 

After breakfast, it was now her habit to traipse out to the stables for her morning exercise. She would take her stallion for an invigorating ride that put a healthy redness in her cheeks. Then, upon her return, she would visit the other stable, situated a short distance away. The estate’s staff called it the little stable or the barn. 

Since settling into her marriage, she had helped her husband expand the stock in the barn. They now ran a small operation of buying, training, and selling ponies and cows; at any given time, there were at least three women being broken in and introduced to their new lives and purpose. It was both profitable and immensely fulfilling work.

The Mistress passed by the training rings, penned-in areas where two of their original stock, Apple Dumpling and Noel, were being exercised. Each was driven by their own trainers and made to engage in an energetic and brisk high-step around and around a post. With their arms folded and tucked away behind their backs, their supple flesh squeezed out around harsh leather straps that harnessed their bodies, they cut very appealing figures indeed. Particularly as their heads were held high, their hair gathered into braided ponytails that were attached to the anal hook curved inside their round bottoms. At the same time, their hard nipples, screwed between metal clamps, ran on short chains to the ends of their bit gags, ensuring that their breasts were hoisted high by the tips.

She paused briefly between the fence posts, admiring their leggy forms as they pranced around and around, breathing hard through their noses. Apple Dumpling and Noel were quality ponies. The efforts of their trainers plainly showed as they promenaded around the ring, ass muscles clenching, tits swinging, teeth set into the leather bits. Apple Dumpling, with her slim waist and cantaloupe-sized breasts, was particularly fetching. Her breasts were so large and heavy, her nipples stretched quite long in order to hold them up off her chest. Each step jolted Apple Dumpling’s breasts and wrenched at her nipples, but the pony didn’t falter in her pace. 

One of the trainers noticed her and nodded. “We got new tail-plugs in,” he called. “The coloring is a perfect match for Noel here.”

“Wonderful,” she said, pleased. “Make sure to update her profile photos. That old tail didn’t do her beautiful hair any justice.”

She lingered a little longer, watched as the trainers introduced hurdles into the run. The sight of the hard-working ponies’ breasts flying, buttocks quivering, stirred the Mistress’ blood hotly.

Inside the little stable, Pearl was sharing Petal’s stall. The two ponies, hands encased in fingerless mittens and their crotches safely secured in chastity belts, were rubbing against one another. A hopeless endeavor, but she supposed they enjoyed the sensual feel of each other’s lovely bodies. Pearl, a relatively new addition, had been selected specifically because she bore an uncanny likeness to Petal. When they writhed against one another and their faces were twisted in identical expressions of abject desperation, they were alike enough to appear as identical twins. 

At present, Pearl straddled Petal’s chest and was feverishly sucking at the pinned pony’s breasts, nipping harder and harder until Petal’s skin was rosy from her stablemate’s attentions and she was making high-pitched whines.

The sound of feminine crying drew the Mistress farther into the cool barn, smelling so keenly of hay and leather. Two stalls down, a new acquisition, Chiffon, was whimpering. A high-spirited and spoiled woman, Chiffon had proven to be recalcitrant and willfully stubborn. Her misbehavior earned her a hard night’s punishment.

Orgasms – restricting, withholding, inducing – was a tightly-controlled aspect of their training. As long as the women behaved and performed well, they received orgasms for a reward. Edging them and keeping them primed for climax made them eager to perform to their best of their abilities. Orgasms also kept them happy and placid. Forced orgasms could turn even the most defiant woman into a slavering, docile creature.

Chiffon had spent the night on her back. Her limbs had been carefully strapped down, her body immobilized until she couldn’t even wriggle. Two dildos set on a relentlessly steady pace continuously pumped in and out of her two holes. The machine was programmed to change speeds and increase intensity, as well as self-lubricate. What it had not been programmed to do was permit Chiffon an orgasm.

Chiffon lay limply there, bleating insensibly from behind an inflatable gag. Her nipples were stiff little peaks. Her body twitched in her stern bondage, lurching uncontrollably and quite uselessly as the rods worked away at her sensitive tissues. 

Chiffon saw the Mistress standing there. She raised her glazed eyes to the Mistress’ face, pleading with stifled gasps and mewling.

“What a sorry face,” the Master of the estate laughed.

She turned, pleased to see her husband. “I expected you would be on that phone call until lunch!”

“I’ve been spending too much time away fro my lovely wife,” he replied. “I thought I’d spend some time with her today instead.”

She curled up against him, and they kissed warmly to the sounds of Chiffon’s begging.

“Whose idea was this? Yours, my love?”

“Yes,” she said. “And now Chiffon will do anything I want, won’t she?”

Chiffon made a muffled, keening noise. 

“I think I shall release her and make her prove it,” her husband said.

He unlocked the stall door and walked inside, palming the poor slut’s heaving flesh. Once Chiffon was released from her bondage and the dildos pulled from her holes with a sloppy, wet sucking noise, she crawled frantically to her Master, nuzzling his cock with her entire face. He made use of her mouth-hole readily, and he shared a knowing smile with his wife as the now-docile pony girl submitted to her face-fucking.

After they left Chiffon safely locked back in her stall, sleeping on her side, they strolled hand in hand to visit the other end of the barn.

Buttercup was her personal cow, a second wedding present from her husband. She had black hair and fair skin, which almost made her call the cow Snow White. The cow’s ample breasts were especially noticeable on her slender frame. 

Buttercup was crouched inside a wire cage, kneeling with her hands bound and tied off to the top of the age. Her rounded breasts hung down below her, the teats turgid and puckered. She was pulling at her wrists and rolling her shoulders; her breasts were quite heavy with milk and it was clear she was experiencing some discomfort from the fullness.

“She tastes delicious,” the Mistress confided. “She hasn’t quite gotten up to the volume we want her to be producing, but I’m confident she’ll get there. Buttercup wants to be a good milk producer for me, doesn’t she?”

The Mistress’ personal cow mooed in response, blushing. Her owned stretched a finger inside and stroked her fluffy hair.

“We’ll milk you now, poor thing,” the Mistress cooed in dulcet tones. She leaned back against her husband, feeling his stiffening cock press back against her. She continued dreamily, “I’m going to put three quarts of our special cleansing solution in you, Buttercup. You’re going to hold it while your Master takes his pleasure in your cunt. You will be so full of milk and enema and your Master’s cock; you’ll never have felt so filled up before in your life, I promise you. You’re going to hold all of your enema until you make me come with your darling mooing mouth, aren’t you? And after that we’ll milk you and it’ll feel so good for you, I promise. Doesn’t that sound nice? Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Buttercup’s face gave her answer. Her expression was a twist of despair and some fear but there was also excitement there, a dreadful sort of anticipation that both the Master and Mistress would make use of her body. She wet her lips with her tongue as the Mistress bent to unlatch the cage.