Aaron took a handkerchief from his back pocket that he had deliberately scented with the brand of aftershave he always used and carefully wiped her face. He knew that scent associations were very important in training his girls, and he wanted his scent to represent comfort to Mandy. “Now, then, that’s much better, honey-girl, isn’t it? Yes, it is. Now. Let me explain to you how to walk properly with your trainer or groom: your groom will always be on your left side holding your reins or the lead to your halter. You will always be as you are whenever you are taken somewhere – although you’ll usually be wearing more decorations than you are now, you’ll always be nude, even when you’re dressed up – or ‘dressage’ nude, the only things you’ll be wearing will be little tassels or bells hanging from those pretty pink nipples of yours, or dripping out of your bare cunt, which will never again have hair on it.” He deliberately stroked each area as he spoke of it, and when she tried to struggle away he gave her her first training lessons in ponygirl behavior – never fidget away from the man who is handling you – especially at a stand, but generally not anywhere else, either, unless you were being punished, in which case it was considered natural to flinch from the implement or hand.
Each time she moved even the slightest bit away from his hand, she got a sharp smack to her already tenderized derriere with something that felt like stiffened leather. It smarted something fierce and quickly had her reconsidering whether or not she should be flinching away from him, even if that was what her mind wanted her to do each and every time. Her bottom was definitely screaming that she did not want to have to feel that horrid thing stripe her already tortured flesh again.
“Stand proud,” Aaron repeated the command in a low growl for the umpteenth time after delivering yet another sharp smack to the stubborn pony’s backside. “Stand still, Mandy, or I promise you we will be here all night until you learn to do so. I have nothing else to do but to teach you proper ponygirl behavior. And a ponygirl does not try to get away from her handler’s touch.” He deliberately pressed a thick finger between her nether lips, watching her reaction closely. Her teeth were clenched hard, which he knew had to hurt from her recent dental surgery, and tears of frustration and pain tracked down her face and onto her heaving bosom.
But she stayed still.
There would never be any question that in a war of wills with a stubborn pony as to who would win the fight. Aaron had been doing this since he could hold the reins in his hands. He had grown up dominating women in general and ponygirls in particular. He’d seen every trick in the book and he’d dealt with all of the various personalities the fillies had when they’d first arrived. Mandy was his favorite type – a castrating, balls-to-the-wall business woman. The idea was to turn her consciousness more inwards and bring her sexuality to the forefront; he already knew her preferences ran to submission. All he really would be doing would be indulging those submissive tendencies to a somewhat radical extent. She would be getting just what she secretly wanted – and more. Much more. Her ability to submit would be enhanced and tested to its limits.
The tentative question was how would she react – how would she decide to be. As much as the men at the Stables would control her behavior – and they would control essentially every single aspect of it. But only she could decide whether she would be happy in this life, being coddled and cosseted and floating on a cloud of intense sexual satisfaction, well-fed, wellclothed – such as it was – with pretty – if ponygirl – accoutrements in an always clean, fresh stall, being bred frequently and by a multitude of different men, eventually.
“Good girl. That’s my good girl,” Aaron praised lavishly, petting her gently on the back, beneath the curtain of her mane. His hands roamed freely about her body, testing her responses and making sure that she behaved no matter where he touched her, and, even when his fingers sought out her most intimate secrets, she remained quiet under his hand. “That’s very, very good, baby girl. You see – as long as you behave, everything’s all right. You’ll always feel gentle hands and tender touches. Every man around you will do his level best to make sure that you are the most comfortable we can possibly make you. You don’t want to misbehave, honeygirl, I know you don’t, because then every man around you will do his level best to make sure you’re as uncomfortable as we can possibly make you – whether that’s putting you into an uncomfortable and vulnerable position and/or taking a paddle to your behind… there will always be a painful consequence to any naughtiness you might get up to, Mandy. Always.”
Aaron again gathered the reins in his hands as he spoke. “When you’re being led at a walk, Mandy, you must never get ahead or behind your groom or trainer – or any many that might be walking you. You must always keep pace with them to stand and walk proudly beside them. You’ll be hearing the command ‘Walk Proud’ a lot in the next few weeks. This means to thrust your breasts out as far as you can, keep your head high, eyes straight – never head down or eyes down – with your knees brought up very high for each step.” He took a step forwards, and so did Mandy, but her first instinct was to look down at her feet because the hobbling required that she take small, dainty steps – whatever material they were using in the hobble would allow her knees to come up in the preferred manner, but she could not take large steps ahead at all – especially since she just noticed that her knees were covered and braced with an extra padding that must’ve cradled her there while she was on all fours.
She felt a mild tug on the reins as he reminded sharply, but not nastily, “Head up – walk proud.” It was only about fifty feet into the stall he lead her to, but Mandy was corrected a multitude of times between here and there – her knees weren’t lifted high enough for him towards the end of her journey, she jerked her head around when Ted reappeared to see how Aaron was progressing with the feisty one, and she’d even gotten several crisp swats to her bottom from that horrible leather thing that made her yelp because she’d gotten ahead of him and behind him a few times.
In truth, Amanda had considered the possibility of merely going limp and refusing to do the whole thing. But she figured several things would happen if she did that – firstly, she figured her bottom would end up feeling much worse than it did right now, which was pretty damned bad. Secondly, she figured that, once the behemoth next to her realized that she truly wasn’t going anywhere, he’d simply pick her up and carry her to where he wanted her, so she’d end up there anyway. So she went. The idea of lying down and getting some sleep sounded like a fantastic idea to her, and she fully intended to regroup for a fight the next morning.
Ted was lavish in his praise, and used a particular voice with it – higher pitched, a little louder and very enthusiastic. “That’s it, Mandy, you got it. Knees up, girl, thataway. Good girl!
You are one magnificent animal – look at that mane flow!”
Everything was fine until he touched her back and breasts and she shied away automatically. While Aaron held her head with the reins close under her chin, Ted took his own tawse out and give her seven very hard strokes, scolding her as he did so just as fiercely as he had been heaping compliments on her not seconds before. “A ponygirl never never never moves away from a man’s touch, naughty girl. I can see this is something we’re going to have to work on. That’s naughty naughty naughty behavior and it won’t be tolerated.”
Mandy yipped and yelped – or tried to – with each searing stroke, but was reduced to blowing heavy, hot lungsful of air out of her nostrils and mouth as the tears flowed again down cheeks that were already stiffened by the salt of her prior sobs. All of the things they were demanding that she remember and all of the pain and pleasure of the last few hours had caught up with her. Amanda was beside herself, with her loins still throbbing from Aaron’s fondling, and her bottom set on fire repeatedly by their hands and their leather straps and their vicious wooden paddles, her shoulders were aching from the way her arms were yanked and clamped behind her, which put her bobbing breasts on obscene display for any one who cared to look – and apparently she could do nothing but stand still and take it whenever any man who happened by decided to reach out and touch her there or anywhere! It was all too much for her, and as soon as her hobbles and arms were released, she fell to the floor and sobbed her heart out right where she landed. She didn’t care if they thought she was weak for it. It was just more than she could stand and her mind wouldn’t let her deal with it a minute longer.
The men did nothing for or to her for several long moments; they both knew that in a case like this it was just better to let a filly cry it out for a little while. She would feel better in the morning. Ted and Aaron puttered about her stall, not that it hadn’t been readied for her just after she was acquired, but both being type-A’s, especially about their girls, they tidied a few things up and talked over the lilac/lavender decision, deciding to rotate for a while until one or the other scent jumped out at them. They made sure her pile of hay for sleeping was soft and comfortable and covered with several sheets of pure purple silk embroidered with the Generation Stables crest, which was a U of horse tails with a filly in profile in the “display” position for breeding, and a groomsman/trainer behind her. It was obviously a groom because there was a patch with a bold “G” on his shoulder. He was giving her what she needed most, a broad grin on his face. All of this was elaborately detailed in gold thread in the corner of each horse blanket, each set of silk sheets – the crest was everywhere, including on the patch on the shoulder and above the left breast nametag on the light denim shirts every groom and trainer was required to wear. Hell, even Aaron wore a GS uniform shirt with his worn jeans every single day. Stable hands wore them too, but they were just plain cotton t-shirts with the emblem on the breast. Groomsmen and trainers – one was almost always the
