Chapter 2

We were left hanging there all night. We still hadn’t been fed but they at least held bowls of water to our upside-down faces and allowed us to slurp up a few mouthfuls of water. It was horrible but I did manage to sleep a bit. You wonder how? It’s easy. I was exhausted and in pain. My body was at the end of its tether, it needed sleep and it took it.

The place was quiet at night. The huge gymnasium empty now and so the three of us dozed fitfully. We didn’t speak. They had warned us. “We will be listening. We have the latest in long-range surveillance equipment and if we hear one peep out of one of you, all three will receive another two dozen strokes of the paddle”. As I said, we didn’t utter a peep.

They let us down the next morning but still we weren’t fed. Just a few drops of water and that was it. My stomach was gnawing at me by now but no, we had more ordeals to face and until we were over them, no food at all.

That day we were ringed.

I already had the ring through my clit but it was replaced by a much bigger one more solid and made of plain iron. It stretched the existing tiny hole through my organ and now looked obscene as it hung down against my thighs. Black Beauty’s scrotal ring was also replaced by a much heavier model and one that had a small lug underneath it.

But now the three of us were to be pierced for more of the rings. As the prince had intimated, our noses, tongues and nipples were also to be ringed and for this operation, we were taken to one of the small rooms with closed doors leading into them - this one was the vet’s clinic.

The vet was waiting for us, already dressed in his overalls and with his equipment laid out on the table beside him. There was a large punch (like a leather-worker’s model) and two smaller ones. We were backed up to rings set in one empty wall and were cuffed, again using their favourite thumb-cuffs, with our backs to them. They also hobbled us so we couldn’t kick during the painful operations to come.

Prince Azeem arrived and sat in a chair facing us while the vet, having armed himself with the biggest of the punches, moved up to Black Beauty, who was again to be the first to suffer. I stood there, staring in hate at the man who had had us kidnapped and transported as airfreight to his country and was now turning us into permanent human ponies.

Two of the assistant trainers how held Black Beauty’s head still while the vet positioned the punch - and then simply scrunched the handles together while the handsome black boy screamed in pain. The vet then moved to Muscles and did his nose after which he came along to me, pushed the bloody jaws of the punch up into my nostrils and again squeezed the handles, grinning triumphantly at me as he gave me more terrible pain that was now added to the still very tender soreness in my bruised and battered bottom.

I screamed of course, as had Muscles and Black Beauty before me, for the pain was really awful especially when added to the still throbbing bruising at my backside.

He went back to his table, placing the punch into the autoclave and picked up a plastic envelope containing the three rings for our noses. These were large, thick and were going to make breathing difficult until we all learned to breathe through our mouths as well as our noses.

My nose was smarting horribly of course and blood was oozing down over my upper lip as it was for the two boys as well but he didn’t worry about a small matter like that. The rings were hinged but once they were snapped shut, there was no means of opening them. As far as they were concerned, they were now permanent additions to our bodies.

I screamed again as he carelessly pushed the open end of the ring into the little hole he had made and then snapped shut and I know I twisted and turned as soon as the two men let my head go, continuing to scream. The prince leaned forward in his chair, drinking in the sight of our pain as each one in turn was pierced and ringed.

And it was the same with our nipples, which were next. Much smaller holes (since the little buds of flesh were so much smaller) but the rings were just as large. They had this smaller part that went through the holes in our teats but then the thicker part was proud against either side, giving the appearance that they went right though at that thickness.

To make us poke our tongues out to have them pierced, they forced a metal spreader into our mouths and screwed the handle that forced the two parts open. It was then simply a matter of grabbing at our tongues with the pliers and again punching the hole in the tip. The rings they inserted here were also large and made speech almost impossible - but just to make sure, they then clipped little chains from our nipples rings to the one in our tongues, keeping them poking out of our mouths. Speech now was definitely impossible!

I was now in a terrible state. My bottom was burning and throbbing from the paddling we had received yesterday and now my nose, nipples and tongue were also on fire. But the vet hadn’t finished with us yet.

With our tongues now poking obscenely out of our mouths we couldn’t close them but he hadn’t removed the spreaders yet either and now he moved up to Black Beauty with another instrument in his hand. I stared at it in horror for I knew what it was. I had recently had a wisdom tooth removed and the thing in the vet’s hand was identical to the one my dentist had used on me.

Again the men held Black Beauty’s head while the vet (without anaesthetic of course) pulled his four back teeth, two on either side, upper and lower. Then Muscles and me were similarly treated. More agony, but the reason became clear a few minutes later.

They didn’t leave us to rest, though. Oh no. We were released from the wall rings but not to go and sleep off the pain. They removed the hobble so we could walk back to the gym to watch as they trained our new compatriots in misery.

We were locked to three of a number of metal poles set in the middle of the floor of the gym so we could watch all of the activity going on there. We had been there before - when we were paddled, but that had been in a distant corner and we hadn’t really seen the other slaves at close quarters.

What hit me first was the way most of them were accoutred. They were naked, yes, but they also had bridles on their heads and now I understood why they had pulled our teeth for the bits on those bridles were steel and they were pulled right to the backs of their mouths making them leer horribly and also to dribble all the time. The removal of our teeth allowed our jaws to close over the bits once they were pulled right to the backs of our mouths.

They also wore tails. Yes, really, the same as the girl who had been brought before us. Out of all of their bottoms poked long flowing tails on the end of a sort-of stalk. It looked like the tail on a donkey with a solid section and then a horse-like tail of long hairs.

They were universally bald - except for a ponytail that flowed out of a fitting at the top of their bridles and this matched the hairs on their tails. I shuddered as I realised we would soon shortly be shorn of our own head hair and wearing those horrible tails out of our rectums.

But even that wasn’t the end of it. They were also wearing hooves on their feet. Yes, real hooves. They weren’t shoes. Their feet had been pushed down into the receptacles so that their feet were pointing straight down, like a ballet dancer pirouetting on the points of her toe. This accentuated their calf muscles of course but I wondered how they had learned to walk (or prance as they now were) for it was not a natural state for the human foot at all. And yet they seemed to have learned it and it certainly made them look more graceful.

The hooves themselves looked like real pony hooves and were even shod with metal horseshoes that made a loud noise as they pranced up and down.

A few of them, additionally to the bridles and bits in their mouths, had their tongues poking out of their bitted mouths and stretched down to the rings in their nipples and on the girls, this kept their breasts up high, probably preventing them from flopping up and down too much as they raced.

I was appalled. I had delighted in the sort of pony racing we had indulged in back in England but this! This was dreadful. This was a total degradation of a human being - intentionally, of course. Prince Azeem and his friends gloried in their ponies and in the way they had absolute mastery over them. This was human slavery at its absolute worst for I thought even galley slaves weren’t got up as these boys and girls were.

I should say here they were all in their late teens or early twenties. There were no very young girls or boys that I saw but I was to discover they did breed from us. What happened to the slave babies as they grew up I never did find out - presumably they were raised in slave nurseries of some kind...

For the rest of that day we stood there in a kind of daze, staring around us as the trainers pushed the fifty-odd slaves there to the limit. This was no fetish enjoyed by both ‘owner’ and ‘pony’ as back in England. This was pure and simple slavery with every single one of the ponies here forced into the most inhuman bondage I could have dreamed up in my worst nightmares. I knew I was going to derive not a milligram of fun out of what had now befallen the three of us and I wondered what Sebastian, his father, and Lord de Veere would now be thinking ...

I had no idea of course but I thought they were probably three very worried men. I guessed they might have an inkling where we had gone and who had taken us for it could hardly be a coincidence that the prince had left England at the same time of our disappearance and the stories told by the viscount’s head trainer and his companions would bear out that our abductors were probably Arab would enforce this view. The trouble was, even if they knew the Azeem’s country, it was closed and they wouldn’t be granted entry.

No, it seemed we were there for the duration, or at least for many months and perhaps years while our former ‘owners’ figured out a way to get us out.

As I say, they left us there all day but then we were taken to our stalls and now found that even now we were not going to be permitted to sleep - at least not normally.

We were first bridled - yes, with the bits right onto our newly bared and still throbbing gums and the straps pulled really tight around our heads - but not before they clipped and then shaved our heads as bald as all the rest of the ponies there (except for the ‘ponytail’, of course). My hair was quite long and my ponytail was already a few inches long. On the two boys, it would take months before it grew to a decent length.

The straps went over our newly shaved skulls, around our necks and of course the bits I have already described. They left our tongues poking out of our mouths and attached to our still throbbing nipple rings but they spoon-fed us with a mush of oats and other, no doubt nutritious items and while it was horrible trying to swallow with my tongue poking out of my mouth, at least my belly was no longer gnawing at me.

They also fitted us for our hooves. These were really horrible things. As I said, they forced our feet into becoming an extension of our lower legs and made my calves feel really stretched but I assumed they would adjust, in time. I was to find out they would have to for from that time on, except when at certain exercises in the gym, they were permanently so shod.

Now ringed, shaved, bridled and shod, we were now pushed into our stalls and backed up to rings set up high on the back wall - again with the dreadful little thumb-cuffs. Our feet were locked (by means of padlocks and chains to lugs on our hooves) to more rings set into the paved floor and more chains dangling from the roof high above our heads, were clipped to our nipple rings.

And that is how we were expected to sleep. Prince Azeem had accompanied us to our stalls and he grinned maliciously at us. “Ponies sleep standing up. You are going to have to learn to do so for you are now ponies in everything.” He paused a moment and his grin deepened. “Tomorrow you will be tailed ...”

We were. But first we learned that the evacuation of our wastes was an even more humiliating procedure than that supervised by Arthur Scott, the viscount’s head trainer. There we had had to line up in front of a drain, bend over and grab a rail in front of us and at the command, drop first our liquid and then our solid wastes. It had been humiliating but I had thrilled to that shame. Now it was worse, as I say.

I suspect the viscount had taken a leaf out of the prince’s book for the method was very similar - at least as far as the drain behind us and the rail we had to bend down to and grasp. The difference was that we were not given an opportunity to defecate by ourselves. The trainers came along behind us and after forcibly removing the tails of each pony, pushed a large nozzle on the end of a hose into his or her anus and pressed the handle on it for three seconds. The liquid wasn’t just plain water either. It contained chemicals that mixed with our faeces and created a horrible gaseous bloating while at the same time reducing our faecal matter to a horribly stinking liquid that of course went all over our legs.

The stench was horrible but the trainers seemed to delight in making us perform in this way. Back in England, it had all been very ordered. We grasped the rail, spread our legs and at the order, urinated, emitting a healthy stream of liquid and then later, did the same with the solid wastes. Here, it all came out together, the urine mixing with the spurting, semi-liquid faeces and everything going everywhere. I hated that morning session and I could see everyone else - except our trainers - did, too, but there was no alternative.

They had the whips and canes and more of those dreadful prodders and if we weren’t instantly responsive to their orders, we suffered horribly.

There was room for twenty of us over the drain and they continued to douche our rectums until they were clean as a whistle, after which our putrid bodies were hosed down. Then the others had their tails restored - and it seemed they would wear them until the same time next morning...

We were fed more of the oat mush and I watched as the others nuzzled down into the feed box. They weren’t allowed to use their hands. For much of the day they were locked behind their backs, in some cases by the upper arms being pulled together just above the elbows (which had the effect of thrusting out their breasts or chests) and then the forearms being doubled, were connected to their upper arms, up near their shoulders. The straps used to effect this were made of clear plastic and were almost invisible ... But even if their arms were not thus bound, if they tried to aid their feeding with their hands, they were severely beaten.

They all then went off to their various training disciplines while we were taken back to the vet’s room to be tailed. Now I saw those tails at close quarters for the first time. They were utterly horrible things.

There was first of all the dildo part. It was in the form of a cone made of smooth plastic and with the point rounded over and I saw there were various sizes of this, the smallest being a couple of inches wide at its thickest; the largest easily double that amount. I gulped as I tried to imagine my anus stretched to that extent. Beneath the widest part of the cone, the thing narrowed down to about an inch and then it turned into the solid part of the ‘tail’. As I say, this looked a bit like the tail on a donkey. The solid part was perhaps four inches long and at the end of that, it turned into a proper horse’s tail. I know a real donkey has only a tuft at the end of a much longer tail but that was the way they made our tails.

At that moment, I didn’t care what it looked like - I was worried about the dildo going into my rectum.

Muscles and I were locked to the wall rings while Black Beauty was prepared for his first tail. They bound his arms behind his back in the manner I have described then used his nipple rings to pull his upper body down and fastened to a short rail set on two three foot high standards that were about three feet apart. They then kicked his feet outwards and locked his hooves to the bases of these. His anus was now very well exposed for the vet’s attentions.

Once more Prince Azeem was present. He seemed to enjoy watching us initiated - every part of it and my hatred for him grew apace.

The vet now took up a large syringe which he gleefully informed us was filled with paraffin oil. On the end of this was another nozzle - a very large and very long one. He positioned this at Black Beauty’s anus and then pushed it in - all the way. As he slowly withdrew, he squeezed the plunger, thus squirting a liberal dose of the thick paraffin into the handsome black boy’s rectum. When he had withdrawn the syringe completely, he examined the boy’s anus and rectum, pushing one finger, then two and finally four into the pulsing hole, apparently to gauge its resilience. Black Beauty moaned in pain as his anus was so cruelly stretched but the vet only grinned and slapped his still horribly bruised buttocks.

Then, while Prince Azeem watched, that same cruel smile on his face, the vet took up a jar of petroleum jelly and pushed a large dollop of that into and around the anus. Black Beauty was ready at last for his tail.

The vet had examined his anus carefully and now chose the tail according to his summation. “I think he’s ready for a Number Two,” he said (in English) to his employer and the prince nodded

“So be it,” he said, pulling his chair up closer to watch as the vet forced the huge cone in through Black Beauty’s now resisting anus. The vet just kept pushing however and the ring of muscle slowly opened, while he screamed in pain at the outrage to his anus and struggled as much as his bonds allowed, causing his beautiful muscles to ripple and cord most erotically - and then, as the monster finally disappeared, closed over the smaller diameter behind the base of the cone. Now Black Beauty sported a very realistic looking tail poking out between his muscular buttocks and when he stood up after they had let go his nipples from the little chains, it looked to be a real part of his body, poking down behind his muscular thighs.

The prince sat back in satisfaction, the usual sadistic grin on his face. “And you will wear that all day and night, right up until it is time to clean you out tomorrow morning - and the morning after that, and so on ...”

We stared at him in horror. Black Beauty was clearly in pain for he was fidgeting constantly now, twitching his buttocks from side to side in an effort to accommodate, or perhaps dislodge the huge invader. The effect of this, of course, was to swing the tail from side to side also, a fact Prince Azeem noticed and his grin broadened. “It won’t come out, boy. Not without assistance. The cone’s base is much too big for you to expel it without your groom helping, it will just have to stay there - and since your hands will always be locked away out of harm’s way, either as they are now, or up behind your neck, you won’t be able to do anything about it, will you...?”

Muscles was next and then it was my turn. It seemed my anus was not at all resilient and so I started out with a Number One dildo but that was bad enough. It was yet another form of agony as the vet forced it into my rectum (after treating me to the same lubrication of my rectum and anus as the two boys had been) and I screamed just as they had.

When I stood up it felt really horrible and when I took a few tentative steps it felt really weird.

“Swish it from side to side some more,” the vet ordered. We did, but it hurt a lot. “They’ll need a lot of the whip or cane before they will do it naturally,’ he observed judiciously.

“And they’ll get it,” said the prince. “As you know, I like my ponies to learn hard and fast and these English Christian scum will have double the encouragement ...”

I pricked up my ears. So he didn’t like us English? I wondered why not ... (I later found out many Arabs didn’t for the English had overrun and controlled their part of the world for decades in the last century).

But now we were going to have our first training - on lunging rains around a part of the gym where new ponies were taught how to walk (and then trot and prance and later still gallop) on our new hooves and with our hands held up the same as Black Beauty’s were ...

We three ponies had of course learned to trot and prance back in England. There however, the gaits were a little different although all (except the gallop) still required our knees high. When we walked, it was with a mincing step, raising our knees so that our thighs were horizontal. Trotting was the same but at a faster pace and took a huge amount of effort. Prancing was really horrible. It might be described as a canter but with the knees brought right up to the chest!

Can you imagine it? The trotting pace was hard enough, go on try it. Stand up and walk while you bring your knees up to the horizontal. Not too difficult, is it. Now break into a trot - a slow run, with your knees still coming up to waist level. Keep that up for a few minutes and you will soon tire. Now try the prance. You have to run as fast as you can but every step must bring your knees right up to your chest, or, in my case, to my breasts.

Only the gallop allowed us to run normally and they didn’t use this one very often for with us human ponies, it was all about showing off your pony rather than speed - and the trot and prancing gaits showed off our naked bodies to a tee.

That morning in the gym, we learned those two gaits. They had us on lunging reins. Do you know what they are? We were in a small ring - as in a three-ring circus. In the middle, the three trainers stood holding the lunging rein, a long piece of leather that was attached to our bridles, while beside us, our grooms walked or trotted, each holding a whippy sapling in one hand and a cane in the other, ready to use either on us - the sapling under our thighs if we failed to raise our legs high enough for the particular gait and the cane to our rears (yes, even though they were still horribly marked from our initiation) if we didn’t hold our bodies perfectly erect and our heads up and looking straight ahead.

Our arms were still pinioned behind our backs, the elbows being drawn together by the clear plastic bindings and then the wrists attached to our upper arms by more of the same material. This kept our hands up and out of the way but we learned now that this was only to teach us to keep our shoulders right back and our chests (and my breasts) thrust out provocatively. Later (we were told) we would be trained to keep them up behind our necks and they would be locked there by more of the near-invisible plastic strips for they liked our bodies to be shown off as totally naked and exposed as they could get them.

Harness of any kind hiding a part, even a small part, of our bodies from their view was not to their liking and when it was necessary, as, for example, when we were pulling a gig or carrying them on our backs, they made every effort to keep the covering to a minimum.

But I am running off, I see. That morning, our first at actual training, the three of us ran - trotted or pranced, that is - round and round the small ring in a corner of the huge gymnasium while others of the fifty performing the morning work there practised gymnastics on the various pieces of equipment, lifted weights, shinnied up and down the massive ropes, tumbled on the mats set out in another part or wrestled. As I watched them out of the corner of my eye, I realised why they were all so incredible athletic. They really were. They even matched Black Beauty in the lithe athleticism of their bodies and that, coupled with their natural beauty, made them magnificent creatures all.

They were a mix of all races and religions - except Islam, that is, for the Prophet had decreed that no son of Allah was ever to be enslaved - and make no mistake about it, we were all slaves.

There were more blacks, Orientals of various origins and whites but all were beautiful if female and very handsome if male and all obviously had the required framework on which to build the perfect body. All were naked of course and had been depilated (and their heads shaved) as we had so that there wasn’t a hair anywhere on their bodies except for the pony-tails that poked up out of the fitting at the top of their bridles and then flowed down the backs of their necks. We all looked weird - but uniformly so.

All of them also sported the golden brand on their bellies - precisely placed exactly half way between the tops of their vaginal slit and their navels (or, in the case of the males, between the point where their cocks emerged from their groins and their navels). We were still to be branded of course and every time my eyes latched on to one of those quite startling marks twisting and turning on a slave’s belly, my own stomach and heart lurched as I tried to anticipate the pain of the branding.

That it would be painful I was very aware for Prince Azeem had been at pains to describe the procedure to us in minute detail and he underlined several times that the iron would really be red-hot. “Oh yes,” he said, “it will be glowing a bright red and it will be lowered on to your bellies slowly - very slowly so you can anticipate the coming agony all the more. Then, as it touches your smooth flesh, you will scream beautifully. You won’t be able to move and so blur the cleanness of the mark though for you will be securely tied down and won’t be able to move a muscle. You will scream though - as I say, quite beautifully, and the scream will go on and on, long after my brand-master withdraws the still glowing iron from your bellies ...”

All this hit my brain every time my eyes landed on one of those brands as I trotted or pranced around the small circle but I couldn’t let it dwell on my mind. I had to concentrate on keeping up the so difficult gait, whether it be trotting or prancing; keep my eyes fixed directly ahead and my head high for failure in any of these met with the sapling coming up smartly under my thighs or even between them to bite into my naked vagina (he aimed these blows from the front for the tail got in the way a bit from behind). And while you might think that the little sapling would do no more than sting, you would be wrong.

The grooms were all boys in their late teens but they were sadistic little bastards and were strong as boys of that age are and when they flicked those saplings up under my thighs I squealed in pain. Worse of course were the canes aimed at my bottom cheeks. The canes were made of rattan cane and even if our bottoms had not been already horribly welted and bruised from the paddling, they would have hurt badly. As it was, even a touch from them was dreadful so you can imagine how hard we all tried to learn those slightly different gaits from the ones we had been trained at in England and to obey the commands of our respective trainer and groom.

We practised at this all morning and were then returned to our stalls to rest. Once more we were tethered standing up - they said we had to learn to sleep on our feet - or rather our hooves for, they said, they too were now an almost permanent part of our bodies.

I haven’t mentioned them when I talked about learning the gaits. Perhaps I should for the position of our feet in these weird things was quite different from the normal human method of locomotion. When barefoot or in shoes, we humans walk with our feet flat, using our toes to assist in staying erect. With the hooves, it was quite different. Our feet were now an extension of our lower legs, pointing straight down as a ballerina’s does when she is dancing on her toes. The inner part of the hoof was designed to force our feet and ankles into this position and the outer covering of them gave us the appearance of a real pony’s fetlocks, even to the tuft of hair. Naturally, our calf muscles were at full strain in this position and while the hooves were designed to fully support us - and were firm and secure, we still had to learn to walk, trot and prance all over again.

The result was that we now walked more like a horse than a human being. It also meant that over a period our thigh muscles would develop into even more shapely limbs than before. In short, we took on the appearance of part equine and part human - which is what they were aiming at.

That afternoon, when we moved out to the track and began to practise the gaits we had learned inside, I was even more horrified to find some of us had hooves on all four limbs and were bent over on all fours pulling one of the light gigs while others actually had saddles fixed to their backs. I will detail these two even more horrifying events later; for now, suffice to say, every new revelation we came across in those first few days there was absolutely dreadful.

We were harnessed to three of the light gigs by means of a belt made of the clear plastic and this was locked around our hips while the gig’s two poles were clipped to its sides. Then, while the trainer watched critically, we were whipped to all four positions: stop, walk, trot, prance and gallop - and any combination of them. We had to move smoothly from one to the other and any faltering meant we could expect a lash from the long coach-whip the groom wielded in his right hand while his left held the reins that were attached to the bits in our mouths.

These were also there permanently. We had to learn to eat with them in place and although they didn’t leave our tongues pulled out of our mouths by means of the little chains that ran down to our nipple rings after the first morning, it was a lesson we all learned very quickly. Ridha had intimated to us before handing us over to our trainers and grooms that any attempt to communicate with each other or to any of the other slaves could well mean loss of the tongue - pulled right out by its roots - and that the vet might well be instructed to cut our vocal cords so that we would be unable ever again to speak...

I believed him. I now knew that nothing was beyond these people - from Prince Azeem down.

And so we spent our first training day. It was dreadful. There was nothing of the joy I had felt at being a pony girl back in England, serving my ‘master’ Sebastian and living in the stables owned by his cousin, Viscount de Veere. That had really been wonderful. This was utterly horrible. And to make it worse, I could see no way out of it. I was there and I couldn’t imagine they would ever let us go back home - they couldn’t. The authorities wouldn’t dare try to stop us talking and we could even bring the government down at home while creating a world crisis abroad. No, we were there for good - in some position or another.

That night, after being hosed and rubbed down and fed more of the oatmeal mush, we were again tethered in our stalls to sleep standing up with the bridles in place, our thumbs locked to the wall behind us, our nipples drawn up to the roof and our hooves locked to the floor. We could lean against the wall but that was it.

I slept. I had to. I was exhausted after that dreadful day and tomorrow, so the prince had told us, we were all going to be branded ...