//Archive-name: pony //Title: Variation on "Life as a pony" (sleeping beauty) //Author: Frank Albertson Uploaded to EYE CONTACT BBS, San Francisco, (415) 255-5972 VARIATION ON THE "LIFE AS A PONY" CHAPTER FROM THE SLEEPING BEAUTY BOOKS OF A. N. ROQUELAIRE. Part I. by Frank Albertson As a consequence of my bold but foolish attempt at escape, I now found myself tethered naked in a straw stall, condemned to two years of service as a village draft pony. I had been brought in the night before and washed down by the grooms. A strange yoke was secured tightly around my scrotum, trapping my balls beneath it. Bars led out and back from this yoke through my legs handlebar style, to which were attached manacles, and my wrists were bolted into these, firmly holding them at my sides behind my legs. My arms were now useless, and any struggle only yanked at my defenseless balls. In this condition, I was led to the stall. Here I was bent over two waist high boards, my legs spread and ankles chained, and my neck chained to the board supporting my shoulders, which mercifully had a little platform attached to it by poles to support my forehead. I realized I was intended to sleep this way (and would for the next 2 years). This past night, however, I got precious little sleep. I was intensely discomfitted by my new situation, and full of fright for the day and days to come. As always when I was feeling fearful or anxious, these emotions went directly to my unprotected balls and cock, which wagged up and down in the air helplessly, exposed to and teased by the gentle breezes of the summer night air... I was startled as the groom awakened me -- I had finally dozed off into a brief and fitful sleep around 5 am. He held a bowl with an oat mixture of some sort under my face, and when I failed to recognize it as a fit breakfast for a pony like me, he gave a smart snap to the back of my legs with his riding crop and pushed my face into the gruel. This was my first feeding, and to my surprise, the stuff actually wasn't that bad... When I finished guzzling the oats and water that was brought, I started to say something to the groom, only to be met by a fierce stinging blow to the cheek with the riding crop. Thus I learend the first rule: I was to spend the next two years as a mute, dumb animal, good for nothing but to serve as a beast of burden. To underline this point, the groom held my nose and when I opened my mouth for air, grabbed my tongue with pincers and attached a painful clamp to it. I didn't know for how long I would be forced to wear this abomination, which certainly made further speech out of the question. What I had wanted to tell the groom was that I was urgently feeling the calls of nature. There seemed to be no provision for this; certainly none that I had been shown since my arrival late the previous afternoon. I knew there had to be a latrine quite nearby from the pervasive odor of the place. The pressing need was beyond endurance, and I was sure I would lose control, when it hit me... I was to imitate a pony in this regard as well! I resolved to try to hold it until I was on the road somewhere, away from the stable, but just then the effects of my morning meal took this decision out of my hands, and I let loose with my wastes in spite of myself. There was no way of preventing the foul mess from streaming right over my trapped hands. I was completely mortified, but the grooms seemed to pay no attention. The time was now coming to prepare the teams of ponies for our day's labors. Harnesses with bits and plumes were put over our heads, and we were led by these to the staging area. It felt good to stetch upright from the nighttime position, but I was acutely aware of my nakedness, and my cock only made matters worse by straining and throbbing in a full erection! While we were waiting to be harnessed to a cart or carriage for the day, the grooms concentrated on the decorative aspects of our preparation. One by one our cocks were annointed with a shiny oil. I reared as this was done to me, and noticed a maddening tingling sensation as the oil penetrated my skin. Next a leather band was put around the head of my cock, with little chimes hanging from it that swung and tinkled with every movement of my cock. Next, a leather pouch was fastened tightly over my balls. This pouch had a tether attached to the bottom of it. I jumped when the groom pulled on this tether to test it -- the effect was not only to yank my balls, but to squash them at the same time! There was also a mysterious valve-hole at the top of the pouch, to which a fine tube was attached. I was to learn the purpose of this device later. Next, clamps were attached to each of my tits, linked by a fine chain with a weight attached to it. The titclamps bit into my tender skin, and I dreaded how they would feel when the suspended weight yanked on them with every step... The groom now added another decorative touch: a huge dong with a sheath of horsehair at the end was shoved up my ass! I was thoroughly humiliated by all these preparations, and blushed a bright scarlet. But no notice was paid, and the preparations of all of the ponies proceeded in the same manner. My cock continued to jump as each new debasement was added, which only caused the damnable little chimes to jangle and brush against the underside of my inflamed member. All was ready now, and the grooms began to attach us to the assorted carts, wagons and carriages that were to be our load for the day. It turned out I was part of a team of four to be harnessed to a work wagon. We were positioned side by side in front of the wagon, which had 4 poles attached to the front. One of these poles was passed between my legs, and screwed tightly into the yoke entrapping my balls! I immediately understood that my arms would be very busy doing all they could to pull the weight of the wagon and relieve the pressure on my tortured nuts. If they should cramp up, all would be lost! I watched as other teams were yoked to their loads in similar fashion, and noted that the reins, ball tethers and the strange tubes leading from the ball pouches were all placed in the hands of the team drivers. I could also see that there was a little bulb at the end of the tubes, which the driver held in his hand. Our groom gave us a last once-over, striking here and ther with his stinging little crop, and then called out to the driver, "Let 'er roll!", and my life as a pony began in earnest, with a jump and a scream. For the driver had squeezed the little bulb he held in his hand, and sent a squirt of hot red pepper juice to my trapped testicles! All of the ponies lurched forward, and we were off. I pulled as hard as I could, but could not prevent some of the weight of the heavy work-wagon from pulling on my poor nuts. When the driver wanted us to speed up, he would send another squirt of the burning liquid down the infernal tubes, or lash into our exposed backs with his whip. We spent most of the day at a brisk trot, and the bouncing weight soon had my tits feeling like they were on fire. When the driver wanted us to slow down or stop, he would yank on the tethers, squashing our balls in their tight pouches. As we tried to stop, the momentum of the wagan would wrench our balls in the other direction. I was in constant agony, but to my surprise, as the day wore on I began to gain some control by anticipating and trying to cushion my balls against the worst shocks using my arms to carry the load. I could tell that my fellow ponies were also in constant pain, but that they bore their task with spirit and held their heads high. I certainly understood now why their biceps and pecs looked so strong. We were driven quite long and hard, and each time we stopped, the sweat was pouring off of each of us. The driver seemed to enjoy our torment. He would circle about us at a stop and strike out with his cruel whips and crops. He seemed particularly amused by the condition of our exposed genitals, taking sport in lashing their undersides with sharp strokes of the crop. The combined effects of the ball and tit pain, the stimulating oil and the little chimes were certainly keeping my cock hard, and the same seemed to be true for the other ponies, as well. When we finally returned to the stables toward evening, I was one total mass of aches. We were released from the wagon, and the grooms soothed our aches with warm soap sponges and careful cleansing, with special attention to our most sensitive areas. Our "decorations" were removed, but our hands remained as ever firmly fastened to the ball-yokes. We were returned to our stalls and fed, and left for the night. I was faced with the same problem of before concerning the call of nature. The horse-tail dildo had effectively prevented me from acting on my plan to "do it in the road." I did notice that the straw had been cleared and refreshed during the day, and I resolved to hold it for morning if possible, so as not to have to endure the stench. Having no liberty, I had already been forced to pee wherever and whenever the need demanded during the course of the day, to the amusement and glee of passing villagers. Now, however, my biggest problem was the rampant ache between my legs. My cock ached and strained uselessly, driving me mad, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. The tension swept over me in waves, knotting my muscles from my thighs to my neck, and would subside only to grab me yet more mercilessly in its next assault. This was the worst torment of all, depriving me of my desperately needed rest and making sleep impossible. As the hours went by, I was brought to the edge of tears. The next two days went by in a similar pattern. My body slowly adjusted to the work, but the pain was constant and I found my mind unable to adjust to the humiliation. I constantly feared for my balls, and my feet were solid blisters. I was covered with sweat, and defenseless against flies and insects. And I was tormented constantly by the need to relieve myself with no way to hide from the eyes of passing strangers. But when we would stop in a village square it was worse. The locals would gather around and comment on us, what fine animals we were. I bridled and blushed at this, and in spite of myself my cock jerked and jumped and the damned little chimes jangled. Now and then one of the villagers would come up to one of us and run hands over muscles, feeling their bulk, and give a yank on a nipple chain, slap a cock around, or even give a few jerks to a throbbing, needy member. Any protest was quite impossible with the bits in our mouths. We were at their mercy. On the second day it rained, depriving our feet of traction. We slipped and slid in the mud trying to pull the heavy work cart. The driver whipped us all the harder to get us moving, and more than once I screamed in utter agony as I lost my footing and I thought the damned yoke would wrench my balls off. The nights continued to be a torment. I found that despite my best efforts I was unable to control my need to shit after having my butt plugged all day, and when this happened I had no way of escape from my own stench. And my COCK! Surely, some relief had to be provided, our I would go mad. It was on the third night, after we had been put in our stalls and fed, that I sensed an electric excitement in the air. The other ponies seemed to be pawing the ground, whining, and eyes were diverted toward the entry to the stable. I couldn't see the cause of this agitation, but soon I heard gasping and panting sounds coming from one of the ponies in a stall near the door. These sounds rose in pitch and intensity, then broke off, followed by gentle sobbing. Now the sounds were coming from a pony two stalls down, rising and rising toward a climax, only to break off.. The effects of these sounds on my own cock were quite unbearable. Now whinings of a slightly different tone were coming from the next pony. These were sounds not of a cock being worked toward orgasm, but of the extacy and desperation produced by a light and teasing touch on a horribly inflamed and needy organ. These new and more maddening noises went on for quite some time, to be ended suddenly in sobs more intense than those which came before. Being stalled toward the back of the stable, I was still unable to catch a glimpse of the author of these frightful effects. But noises now began to emit from a stall half way down the stable. Slowly and constantly they rose and rose. My own heart was beating as they came shorter and shorter and higher and higher, and suddenly I heard the shriek of a ripping, exploding climax after weeks of pent up frustration, and the sound of squirt after squirt of heavy jism hitting the sides of a bucket. So it was POSSIBLE! Possible that *I* might even be chosen for such blessed release. This astounding realization increased my agitation triplefold as the pattern continued to repeat itself, drawing closer and closer to my stall. Some stalls were skipped altogether, but from most I heard either the gasps and pants of a cock being worked, or the whines of a devilish touch-tease. From one or two there were screams that could only be wrenched from balls and cock being severely beaten. Now the sounds were coming from the stall next to mine, and I saw her. She was 15 or 16, a simple village milkmaid with a milking stool and a bucket. And she was milking away on the member of the pony next to me, who was gasping and panting in ever greater desperation. Every muscle in my own body was rigid and aching and my cock felt like it would burst its skin as the milkmaid worked the pony next to me on and on. Finally he let out an earth-shattering shriek, and came and came into the bucket. Every sound of his release went straight to my guts. And now she was at my stall. My cock was a vibrating shaft of iron with veins bulging and juice oozing as she drew near and sat on her stool. For the longest time, she just looked as my cock throbbed and throbbed and I made pleading whining noises. Then I felt her light hand on my balls, and a light finger tracing the underside of my shaft and around the head. PLEEAASE, PLEEAASSEE, I thought over and over again as the maddening touch-tease continued. Now and then she would grab my cock firmly, squeezing it or pulling the skin back and forth slowly, and then return to her touching game. I broke down in uncontrollable sobs, and the hand was gone. Now the milkmaid was working the cock of the pony on my other side. My own devastation was total, yet I was immediately caught up again in the rhythm of the sounds crashing in on my ears. She was working his cock in earnest, and within seconds he let loose.. When the "milking" was complete, I noticed that the ponies across the stable had been "milked" by a young villager who was probably the milkmaid's twin brother. These two compared notes and sloshed the "milk" in their buckets, and then began to lewdly stroke and caress each other as well as the grooms. A regular orgy ensued, with each groom having his turn both with the milkmaid and her brother. No thought of any kind was given to discretion in these proceedings, and the moaning and repeated sounds of climax and orgasm did nothing to quell the torment of my aching cock and balls. end of part 1