next place he put his hands was her stomach, making her start and try to arch her back up and away from him. “Shh-shh-shh, honey-girl. I’m not gonna hurt you. Quite the opposite, in fact. Just relax and let it feel good, baby.”
Aaron continued to talk to her as he massaged her flat belly for a little while, then moved to the fronts of her thighs, which were trim and slim as if she was a runner, then eventually to her calves and bare feet. “Now where you go once he’s gotten your stall all fixed up for you will depend – some days you’ll just rest either in the paddock with the other fillies or in your stall, although there won’t be a lot of those during your training. Most days you’ll have something to do, even if it’s just being lunged on a line by your groom – you’ll get some sort of exercise, morning and afternoon, for maybe an hour or so each session.” He carefully skipped over what she would probably be doing for some other hours during the day, but there was no sense in getting her all upset right now. She was already distressed enough as it was.
“If you’re in the paddock around noon, all of our girls are fed together at the troughs. Cold spring water bubbles up into the paddock as well as all of the stalls, so water is always available. After you eat, you’ll be put down for some rest – ponygirls can get bloat if they’re exercised or running around playing in the paddock on a full stomach. During the afternoon, you might have some training or you might just have your exercise or something else and then some time in the paddock or your stall. Dinner is at six – and then usually quiet time in your stall until your groom grooms you again then puts you to bed for the night at nine.”
By now she had stopped shivering, partly in response to what he was doing and partly because she was concentrating on what he was doing. Aaron felt that she was loosened up enough for him to do what he’d wanted to do the whole time. He put a warm, lotioned palm over each of her breasts and began to actively massage them. She reacted exactly as he’d expected, trying to jump away from his gentle but firm motions, but she couldn’t even move enough to bring her breasts out of his hands. “Shh-shhh-shh, babygirl. I only want you to feel good. This is something your groom is going to do to you every morning and every evening until we bring in your milk. And I will probably do it every time I see you because your breasts just call to me; they beg to be squeezed and milked and your tight little nipples definitely need to be pulled and pinched to make them hurt just right – just as you like them to be.”
Oh, God, he had to stop doing this! He had to – it was feeling too damned good for her to resist! If he continued, there was no way she was going to be able to prevent herself from coming. But she couldn’t get away from him, and he wasn’t about to stop. She couldn’t even scream or rail at him; Amanda could only stand there on her hands and knees and be touched and fondled as if she was this man’s property rather than a high-powered bank executive.
She was shivering again, but he knew that it was not with cold, it was with annoyance and desire. Her nipples were firmer than they had been when he started, and he could hear the changes in her breathing that betrayed her body’s interest in his manipulations, so he kept them up quite deliberately and even increased the pressure of his touch, trying to make her moan and succeeding after only a few more minutes. “That’s it, Mandy-girl,” he praised when an almost agonized moan rumbled up from deep in her belly. “I know it feels good – it’s supposed to. Just let me pleasure you, honey. I’m gonna do it anyway. Don’t fight it. Don’t fight me.”
His words only made her fight harder, which he’d known there was a high probability was going to happen, but she wore down faster this time to another moan when one of his hands ran down her taut belly to part those pretty red lips in a no-nonsense fashion, as if it was something he did every day. If she could have squealed, she would have, but he knew exactly what he was doing, so her outrage at his audacity in touching her so intimately was largely diffused into a moan of ecstasy at the touch of his knowing fingers, which made the whole of her body suffuse a beautiful glowing pink.
“Ahhh, sweetie pie girl, don’t you fret about being handled like this,” he continued his gentle, inexorable manipulations as that slick territory swelled and strained beneath his fingers, both voluntarily and involuntarily. “I’m just the first of many – there’s no room for shame or embarrassment here. Whatever you were before you came here is well and truly gone now, and you are now and forever an owned filly – owned by me.” There was a wealth of satisfaction in that statement. “You’re a cosseted, well-cared for ponygirl who nonetheless will feel the sting of the cane or a paddle or strap across her backside if she doesn’t obey the men around her who train and handle and take good care of her. Ted is going to do this to you every time he grooms you – it’s a requirement I have of all of my grooms – that they satisfy each mare in their care every morning and every evening, and they can choose to do the deed with either their hands or their mouths.”
More reluctant but excited moans and groans, struggles that were rapidly waning as he brought her closer and closer to his goal against her will. Her muscles were tensing again from more than her awkward efforts to escape; she was nearing orgasm just as he’d planned. Aaron read her responses quite expertly as her breath began to heave out of her lungs and her back arched. He redoubled his efforts, slipping down her crease a little further to gather the moisture he was gratified to find at her virgin entrance, bringing it back up to baptize her little bump. Those fingers caressed her relentlessly until he saw her try to throw her head back and felt her convulse beneath his hand, keening in that awkward way the new ones had because of the way the spray affected their vocal chords. He didn’t let up, though, milking her dry of every possible spasm, although she began to fight him again immediately after the first few hard contractions, despite his murmurs of encouragement to give in to it and enjoy it.
Afterwards, she collapsed in on herself as much as was possible physically as he made preparations to take her to her own stall. Aaron attached reins to the rings at the cheeks of her bit-less bridle, lowered the platform with a hydraulic switch so that it was level with the floor again, and released her wrists, waist, and ankles. He coaxed her up onto her feet, helping her a lot with muscles that were not cooperating well after such a long time in one position, only then realizing when he looked at her face that she was crying – she’d being doing it in complete silence.
Before he moved to comfort her in any way, he saw to her safety and his, folding her arms back behind her one by one and locking her forearms together in gauntlets that kept them bound there. In an abstract moment he considered how much he loved what this did to a filly’s breasts, throwing them into amazing prominence with their wonderful tips pointing straight out. Eventually, he would decorate Mandy’s beautiful little nubs, but not right now. The last thing he did was hobble her ankles together with a short length of sturdy leather.
He stood next to her, towering over her, and by casually turning her head, Mandy was able to get her first quick look at the man who already knew her with an incredible amount of intimacy. On all fours, Amanda had not gotten any real sense of his size, but she was a smallish, delicate woman who barely stood over five feet. Normally, she wore four inch heels and big padded-shoulder business suits to compensate for her lack of stature – to say nothing of her carefully cultivated killer, kill joy personality. As she stood there in bare feet, he must’ve been at least a foot taller than she was – and probably outweighed her by more than an hundred and fifty pounds of what appeared to be solid muscle. He was huge, and for some reason that just made her cry all the harder.
Aaron was well aware that his charge was trying to get a gander at him, and that was fine as long as it didn’t interfere with what he was doing for her, but it worried him that, having looked at him, she was crying even more. He almost smiled, wondering if he hadn’t perhaps been quietly and firmly insulted by the little one, which he was sure she’d just love the idea of at this point. “Shah-shah-shah,” he shushed gently at her broken-hearted tears that were ripping into him. He hated to see any woman cry, but he thought that seeing a ponygirl cry was even worse, because it was harder for her to tell him what was wrong, and sometimes harder for him to fix it, unless the tears were inspired by a scolding or a punishment in which case he knew that they were well earned although they were still hard to hear. His body definitely drew pleasure from the punishment of a naughty pony, and he understood the reasons behind how necessary swift, regular – at first – punishments were – even the harsher sessions – but his heart and mind always felt inherently discomfited by it; Aaron always saw his role as a pony breeder/trainer as much more of a caretaker who guided and comforted and praised and pleasured his girls into obedience, even though he went to the whip if it was necessary – and frankly, the idea of having to do that with Mandy – which he was quite sure was going to be the situation for a while until she settled into her new existence – made him stiff as a poker. But he hated to think of that as his predominant method. He would always give a filly the chance to decide to behave herself.
Whether she complied with the rules or not was one of the few things she would still have control over in this life.
“What’s with the tears, little one? Am I that ugly that one look and you’re bawling your eyes out?” he let his voice smile at her.
She sniffled a little and seemed embarrassed that he’d commented on her weeping.
