It was a fine evening for a walk along the beach.

On Rabbit Island every evening was a fine evening for a walk along the beach! The scenery, the tropical climate and the idyllic location made it so.

Kate and Jessica ambled bare-foot across the soft wet sand at the water’s edge, both captivated by the radiance of the pumpkin red sun sinking rapidly on the maritime horizon. They marvelled how much quicker the sun set in this equatorial region compare to their former homes in more northerly latitudes.

They walked side by side, the best of friends, the American and the English girl. The New Yorker, Jessica with her brown hair in a ponytail, tall and shapely alongside Kate, a sun-bleached blonde, smaller, slimmer and, some might say, cuter than her American friend.

The beach cabin, their current home, had disappeared from sight behind them, and likewise their fellow occupants. There wasn’t another soul in sight, or within earshot, which was exactly as Jessica planned.

“So....tonight’s the night?”

“Yep! Tonight’s the night, Katie. We've been on this island for long enough. It’s your choice whether you come with me. Either way, I’m going.” Jessica stared at her friend with steely determination in her eyes.

Kate had become adjusted to life on the island, but Jessica never could. She wanted to return to New York, to her family and friends. A place where she was useful to others; where she was needed and relied upon.

“What do we do next?” Kate asked, becoming edgy at the thought of leaving.

“When you arrive back to the cabin try to act normally. Let’s just spend a normal evening with them.Try not to seem anxious. At bedtime, go to bed and try to sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go.”

They sat down on the sand, and leaned back against two sides of a thick square wooden post. It was a whipping post. One where each of them had been chained up and punished many times. Despite its associations, it remained a pleasant spot where they could sit and talk and think, and sometimes make love.

“These handcuffs. How can we get rid of them?” Kate asked, tugging irritably on the links that secured her hands behind her.

Jessica gave her a self-satisfied smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan, but it’s best you don’t know the details in case you decide not to come along.”

Kate agreed that made sense. What if she was forced to reveal Jessica’s plan to somebody? That could spell big trouble for both of them.

“God, I’m nervous. Maybe I’ll take one last visit to the prods. That might relax me a bit.”

“Good idea Katie. Mind if I come and watch?”

She gave Jessica a broad smile. “Of course not! What about you?”

Jessica shook her head sadly. “No. I’m still sore from what those bastards did to me three days ago.”

The two naked women rose to their feet gracefully, considering that each had her hands cuffed behind her. Additionally a thick chain ran up their spines, linking the steel handcuffs to a sturdy leather collar. It’s purpose was to prevent the slipping the handcuffs under her buttocks to the front. Apart from the cuffs, the collar and the connecting chain, they were naked. They did, however, have an item of jewelry each: Large pearl stud earrings, quite pretty in their way, but these pearls were fake. They were tracking devices, permanently fixed.

That was how they lived - the Island’s so-called ‘bunnies’ free to roam within the confines of their beach until their owners inhabiting the Island’s palatial lodge required their bodies. Then they would be rounded up and transported to the Lodge to endure days and nights of sexual abuse, extreme bondage and punishments. Their time on the beach was tolerable by comparison, despite their ever-present handcuffs.

The prods were a short walk away. These were one type of many devices of training, punishment and correction that were positioned along the beach.

They arrived at Kate’s favourite prod - a piece of equipment she had been punished on many times. It was a metal structure like a door frame in size and shape. The bunny was required to kneel on her shins at the base, where shackles were waiting to fix her ankles firmly in position. She then had to lower her hips so the thick dildo-like prod rising up between her ankles disappeared up into her pussy. Once her handler was satisfied with the seating of the prod within her vagina, he had a method of keeping it that way: A chain fixed at the front base of the prod was wrapped around the bunny’s waist and padlocked. The bunny could forget about lifting herself clear of the prod without first being free of the chain about her waist. Unfortunately her movement towards a seated position was limited by the size of her vagina, which was vastly exceeded in length by the prod. Unless her uterus was made of steel the bunny was strongly advised against attempting to sit back on her heels!

The handler could either leave the bunny’s wrists in handcuffs behind her back, or more usually refix them so her hands were chained the top of the frame above her head. Thus positioned, the bunny’s bare back and buttocks made an attractive target for the whip. The bunny would have no alternative but to ride up and down on the prod in response to the whip. If she was lucky the tension of the chain holding up her arms would be tight enough to hold her upright thus preventing her sitting back. However, experienced handlers usually ensured that there was enough slack to leave the bunny’s sitting position to her own judgement.

Although it was an implement of frequent punishments it did not alter the fact that this equipment provided an excellent means of masturbation. Kate wiped the prod with a clean scrap of bed sheet that she had earlier moistened with a lubricant. It was thicker and longer than a normal man’s penis, sculpted with ridges too, to generate an effective friction. She knelt back gently and could feel the head of the prod against her labia. Closing her eyes and thinking her own thoughts about the man she would like to be fucking, she gyrated her hips until it felt like the prod was trying to enter her. Very gently she lowered herself onto the prod until it filled her, her face registered a broad contented grin.

Jessica stood quietly in the shadows a few yards away, preoccupied yet also slightly aroused by Kate’s wanton display. If her hands weren't cuffed behind her Jessica knew where they would be. The handcuffs were an aid to self control and yet a cause of constant frustration!

Kate’s gentle movements were like a dance, her gentle moaning like a song. Her delicate orgasm a thing of beauty. Jessica might once have found such an act distasteful but she knew that Kate couldn’t help herself. It was the drugs in their food, they seemed to feed their sexual appetites. Kate’s behaviour was shared to some degree by all eight bunnies in their camp.

Jessica recalled the more violent orgasms Kate had when she was properly secured to the prod. One of the handlers, Ray, knew exactly what to do with the girl. He would strike her with the bullwhip which was usually attached Indiana Jones-style to his belt. He seemed to play her body like a musical instrument and she responded as if in the hands of a virtuoso. Ray and Kate had won a recent competition for ‘best whip-induced orgasm’. Ray received the prize, a bottle of Glenlivet single malt whiskey plus the admiration of his peers. Kate was left hanging by her wrists within the frame, her only reward was her orgasm.

AN EARLY START

Much later in the evening, when Kate and Jessica returned to the cabin, everything was quiet; and dark except for the low wattage night-light that cast a faint glow over the entrance.

The welcoming party greeting the fishing boat at the dock wasn’t what Jessica wanted to see, though they seemed more amused than angry about their bunnies’ audacious escape attempt.

As soon as the boat had docked the handlers went aboard to retrieve the cages containing Jessica and Kate. Two men, one lifting each side of the cage, easily carried them from the boat, along the jetty, onto the shore, and straight onto the flat beds of the pony trailers. One cage was placed on each trailer.

“Gags!” One of the men said. “Better gag ‘em before they get in more trouble.”

He rummaged around in one of the accompanying boxes of supplies. “Here they are, brand new gags. Mmm..Mmm! Smell that fresh rubber and leather!” He lifted up the shiny red ball-gag by its neat black leather strap and tossed it to his colleague standing next to Kate’s cage.

The handler reached a hand into the front of Jessica’s cage, and resigned to her fate, she opened her mouth as wide as she could. He still had to push hard to get the ball behind her teeth. “There we are Jessica... all buckled up with a nice big ball. Boy, that gag looks good on you!”

She’d heard that compliment before. Apparently it was the way her lips were stretched back exposing her pearly-white teeth, biting into the red rubber.

Another man approached Jessica’s cage. He wore his usual crooked and gleeful smile. “Welcome back, bunny Jessica! Did you have nice day at the port?” It was Master Kurt, one of the senior handlers, renowned for his Teutonic sense of humor and devious tortures (although some argued these were the same thing!)

Jessica shook her head as much as her chained collar would allow, making an angry and incomprehensible sound behind her gag. In truth, she didn’t have a reply to such cruel sarcasm so the ball-gag spared her the task of delivering a worthy response. She glared back at him from behind the bars of her small cage... if looks could kill!

Master Kurt smiled wickedly. “Oh come on Jessica, cheer up! At least you had a little adventure... met some of the natives... participated in their quaint local customs... had so much fun you nearly missed the last boat back!... How are the new cages? Comfortable? Looks quite cosy in there.”

Chained and locked within a cage no bigger than her own crouched form? Yes, it was cosy. Even cosier by the time they packed the area around Jessica’s cage with cases of canned goods and janitorial supplies!

With a jolt and a lurching motion the small ponygirl trailer started to move. The pair of ponygirls ahead of each trailer, naked except for their sturdy working harnesses, strained hard to heave their cargo into motion. Their driver, sat on the small bench seat between the ponies and the cargo, tugged again on their reins, his whip ready to deliver the necessary incentive.

Leaning forward to get more power from their muscular thighs, the ponygirls soon made a strong synchronized walking stride, the most that could be expected of them when pulling a heavy load up the hill.

The track levelled and the ponygirls managed a slow trot with encouragement from the driver’s whip. Just a well-aimed sting of the whip on each of their buttocks was sufficient. It was more of a command than a punishment - one that they instinctively responded to. The sound of the trailers’ mountain-bike wheels rolling along the gravel path and the bells on the pony boots provided the soundtrack to Jessica’s inglorious journey to the Lodge.

THE CELLS

Jessica was delivered straight to the cell-block and into solitary. A place with no windows, and where natural light did not enter. The door to her cell slammed closed, the bolt thrown and the key turned in the heavy lock. High-security at any time, even more so when she was still locked within her small cage in the middle of the cell floor.

It had been twenty four hours since she last ate, and Jessica was close to fainting. Her back, with its ten wounding stripes, was still tingling with pain. She could do nothing about either, except wait and hope somebody would show her mercy before the inevitable punishments started.

Some time later the clattering of the key in the lock woke up her up from a light snooze. A man entered. It was Master Alex, General Manager of The Lodge and principal tormentor of Jessica’s soul.

Master Alex was twice her age, hair graying and receded, with steely gray eyes and a lean, chiseled frame. Handsome in his way, but more than that he exuded an intellectual and emotional self-confidence. People respected and admired him. Yes, even Jessica, despite herself.

Jessica held her head downwards, not wishing to face him. It would have been so easy for Master Alex to make a few cheap jibes at her expense in the same way that Kurt had done earlier. Too easy, Alex thought, hence no sport at all.

“Jessica,” he called her name softly, expecting to see her handsome face and her usual fiery defiant scowl.

She raised her head slowly and peered out of her cage at him, revealing her splendid ball-gagged mouth, a tired furrowed brow and dark eyes pleaded with him. For this day at least she knew she had lost.

“Have you eaten today?” He asked.

She shook her head meekly.

“Okay, I’ll take care of it.” He said. How the tormentor of her soul could surprise her! Sometimes cruel, yet often sensitive to her needs. He walked out of the cell and moments later came back with Erik, the sub-Master for the Lodge and an expert in ‘slave care’.

“Should we leave her in the cage?” Master Alex asked him; as willing as ever to defer to the judgement of others when appropriate.

Erik studied Jessica’s face; sensing her fatigue and hunger. He also noticed the deep welts on her back. She’d really taken a beating at the port. “No, let’s get her out of there. We’d best get the wounds treated before we do anything else. Where are the keys?”

Master Alex shrugged. “New cages and new high security locks. There should be a set of keys with the other goods.”

They left Jessica alone and went in search of keys. Food too, she hoped and prayed.

Erik returned first, carrying a plate of something steaming. “No keys,” he informed her, clearly disappointed. “Seems that Miguel left them in the police station when you were put in the cage. You’re gonna have to spend the night in there. We’re not going to hack away at a brand new cage.”

The cruel irony was lost on Jessica, that Miguel’s forgetfulness with keys, having enabled them to stow away on his fishing boat, was now the cause of her spending the night in the cramped cage!

Erik reached into the cage and unbuckled Jessica’s gag, and prised the large rubber ball from behind her teeth.

“Eat!” Erik said, poking a spoonful of vegetable casserole through the bars of the cage. Jessica hardly needed encouragement, she gratefully accepted it and the other spoonfuls that followed.

When the food was finished Erik slapped a general purpose healing salve to Jessica’s back, reaching through the bars of the cage as best he could. He warned it might sting, and it did. Jessica winced in pain as Erik’s fingers expertly worked the lotion into her skin. With her hands chained behind her and linked to the top of the cage Jessica was not in a position to resist.

Erik didn’t need much time to complete the job and there was little incentive for him to spend time in the company of a woman chained inside a small cage. For someone in Erik’s position there were far more appealing sights in store.

To Jessica’s dismay he was intent on replacing her ball-gag.

“Erik! Do you have to?” she pleaded, as he pressed the red ball to her lips.

“You’re forgetting your place Jessica... now open up.” Jessica knew not to bite the hand that feeds her, nor to refuse his gag afterwards.

Once gagged, Jessica became stoically resigned to her long, miserable, lonely, jaw-aching night ahead. But she’d suffered worse in the past and knew she would do so again in the coming few days.

Erik left, locking the solid cell door behind him. Moments later Jessica was plunged into pitch-black darkness. The floor of her cage was well padded, so Jessica’s knees and shins were well cushioned. That was the defining feature of the cage - not the pain but simply the torment caused by her immobility. A long-term cage. Jessica shuffled around with the inches she had available looking for any small improvement in her comfort.

THE PENDULUM

Jessica’s first torment of the next morning was The Pendulum . Her torture-master for the day: Master Kurt and his cruel smile.

She was naked, and had been suspended belly down by chains coming from a single point on the ceiling. Her weight was taken by sturdy leather cuffs on her wrist and ankles. A thick belt around her waist was connected by a chain to the ceiling so that her torso stayed parallel to the floor, dangling just a few inches above it. Layers of wide white surgical tape were plastered across the lower half of her face. Attached to the front and back of the belt was a tight crotch rope, nestled between her labia and the crack of her buttocks.

Like all Rabbit Island bunnies, Jessica had been in suspension bondage before; this didn’t seem so bad, particularly with the belt around her waist taking the weight. However, Master Kurt had a new format to try and Jessica was its first test subject.

Master Kurt turned his attention to a tray full of tea-warmer candles... dozens of them. Jessica looked on in fascination as he carefully lit each candle in turn with a taper. It looked quite pretty, that tray full of flickering flames, almost like a rectangular birthday cake.

He slid the tray along the floor and under Jessica’s belly. Although several inches above the flames, Jessica panicked as she felt the warmth turning into a burning heat from her breasts to top of her thighs. She jogged and jolted herself desperately trying avoid the heat and pleaded with Kurt behind her taped-up mouth.

Kurt stood back and waited a few moments more and enjoyed Jessica’s panic, knowing that her nervous system was sending her brain messages of intense burning pain, even though she was unlikely to be burnt for another thirty seconds or so.

He knelt down, cupped her face in his hands and stroked her hair, as if to comfort her; savouring Jessica’s final agonizing moments before firmly pushing her head away from him, and away from the heat of the candles. She started to swing like a pendulum. The relief was instant, and as Jessica swung back and forth over the tray of candles she realized how she would be spending the next hour.

Kurt stood up, crossed his arms and inspected Jessica’s swing. It wasn’t easy, but if she timed a tug of her shoulders on the back-swing she would maintain her momentum and avoid dangling motionless over the heat of the candles.

“So you see Jessica, that’s all you have to do - keep swinging.” To her horror, he grabbed the ropes above her and stilled her back over the candles. “Now let’s see if you can get started without my help.”

He watched, greatly amused by Jessica’s frantic squealing as she tried to jog herself into motion. Eventually she succeeded and worked diligently to maintain a swinging arc of several feet. Kurt left her gently swinging in the cell and strolled off to his next appointment.

Once Jessica perfected her technique it became easy to act as a human pendulum. But it was having a side effect - that crotch rope was digging and rubbing into her moist crease with every swing.

KATE’S DEPILATION

Meanwhile, Kate was in the next cell receiving special treatment of her own. She was suspended under a wide spreader bar, left wrist and ankle to one end, right wrist and ankle to the other.

Her labia was open, hanging down like a luscious fruit, five feet from the ground. A perfect position for receiving all manner of attentions for Kurt. His first job was to remove her pubic hair, a particularly enjoyable task in his opinion. A safety razor might be useful for dealing with stubble, but for that initial removal of the bush, wax was his preferred method. Hanging doubled-up and wide open as she was, Kate had a good view of Kurt’s handiwork.

“Ever been waxed before, kate?” Kurt asked as he firmly pressed a series of wax strips onto her mound.

“Not like this,” she said with a slow shake of her head.

“Good. I shall enjoy it even more! It's like losing your virginity, except much more painful... but the result is worth it. I’m going to let the wax dry a little to make sure it’s ready.”

Master Kurt left Kate to contemplate her impending hair removal - he had to go see how his human pendulum was performing. By coincidence Master Alex had also just arrived in Jessica’s cell and was admiring the scene. Jessica was swinging with an accomplished economy of effort, aquick learner. The candles gently warming her as she passed back and forth over them.

Master Alex had a delighted grin on his face. “Bravo Kurt! Superb idea.” He said, giving his German colleague a congratulatory pat on the shoulder.

“And how is it for you, Jessica?”

“Kurt. Could we set this thing up in the lobby for the tomorrow’s cocktail party?” Alex asked, always looking for new ways to enhance the evening entertainments.

“No problem! I have some extra modifications in mind to make Jessica more useful. If we rigged up our pendulum correctly I think she could provide the power for several ceiling fans.” Kurt led Master Alex from the cell, and to Jessica’s surprise he left the door open; not that she could contemplate an escape from her current position.

Master Kurt switched his attention to Kate in the next cell. She hung helplessly in her bonds, becoming increasingly anxious as the wax dried tightly onto her pubic hair. He prodded her waxy mound with his fingertips, checking its softness, and whether it was ready for the big moment.

Her cell door was also left open. Clearly Kate’s moment of pain was not intended to be a private one.

Kurt prised a fingernail under the first wax strip until he was able to grip it firmly between finger and thumb. Without warning he pulled hard. The sound of ripping hair was followed a moment later by Kate’s terrifying scream. The sound of her anguish reverberated throughout the cell block and beyond, and into the Lodge itself.

Jessica, was still swinging calmly over the candles when Kate’s scream seemed to rip through her. She’d never heard such a horrific noise from her friend. In her own distress and remorse for feeling responsible for Kate’s punishment, Jessica lost her swinging rhythm and found herself suspended motionless over the candles. As long as Kate’s cries rung out Jessica couldn’t concentrate on getting herself swinging. She started to feel the intense burning of the candles.

Kate’s loud sobbing was punctuated by further cries that lessened in intensity as if she had simply run out of breath, as can happen to a small child. Master Kurt was very happy with Kate’s denuded sex. Kate was regaining her composure as Master Kurt poured some after-shave lotion into his hand. “My own blend,” he explained proudly.

Poor Jessica had only just got back into her swing as Kurt rubbed his special solution deep into Kate’s exposed follicles. Her screaming resumed.

It had been a good morning - Kurt thought to himself as he tidied up his tools. He lowered each of his tormented bunnies to the concrete floor but left them in their bonds as he closed and locked the two cell doors. It was time for lunch!

Kate sat on the concrete floor of her cell, legs and arms outstretched by the long spreader bar. And now she wore a ball-gag, her ‘lunch’ Kurt jokingly called it. She studied her still-smarting, denuded mound. It was so close, barely 12 inches from her face, yet she couldn’t touch it despite the overwhelming urge to do so. She laughed to herself at the absurdity, her torture had merely been a waxing, albeit not the most gentle one. She had no idea of the distress her cries had caused Jessica in the neighbouring cell.

In the afternoon Kate found herself suspended by her spreader bar again. Her clean pussy dangling fully exposed, soft and fleshy like ripening fruit, and Kurt was keen to have his dessert! Kurt’s fingers grabbed her thighs, fingers digging deeply into her straining muscles, and she felt it, a powerful and painful jolt. Kate mmppphhhed, looking wide-eyed at Master Kurt, asking what the hell he just did.

Master Kurt smiled cruelly. “That’s your hamstring, stretched nice and tight, tuned to D sharp I would guess.” He pushed his thumbs viciously into both her thighs, enjoying Kate’s convulsing pain that accompanied each press.

Kate was panting, trying to recover from the pain as Kurt’s finger trailed admiringly over her labia, moving onto her clitoris. He liked her in this position, her pussy and face so close together. He liked to see her facial expression change as he worked on her sex. “Would you like me to lick it for you?” he asked.

She shook her head and grunted ‘go to hell’ from behind her ball-gag. Defiant but ultimately helpless. Kurt continued his invasive actions, his tongue teasing and arousing her as he enjoyed his dessert. He noticed a glazed distant expression in her eyes. Enough for now, he thought, Jessica awaited him in the adjacent cell. She too would be the recipient of Kurt’s widely acknowledged expertise in matters of erotic torture.

THE STANDING CAGE

The next day Jessica had an appointment with the ‘standing cage’. She had encountered this device before and didn’t like it - not one bit!

It was like one of those medieval torture cages, but this was more devious than cruel. There seemed to be a million adjustments that could be made - little round-tipped probes that could be pushed against her flesh at known pressure points. Gradually as the hours passed, Jessica became immobile, standing within that human-shaped cage.

“Those ancient Chinese were clever people you know, with their acupressure points,” Kurt explained to the pretty blonde girl assisting him. “We are still learning from charts that are more than a thousand years old.”

Kurt continued fixing dozens more probes in position, the ones at Jessica's temples and a special one for her nose leaving her head held rigid so she could only blink in response as Kurt tightened the probes digging into her ribs and thighs. The blonde girl continued to assist him, appearing to have great fun poking Jessica’s body. She was what they called a ‘pussy girl’ at the Lodge, a submissive who had over a period of time become a willing participant in the deviant activities of the lodge.

Eventually, every possible part of Jessica’s body with a nerve ending was being pushed with a probe. All that remained was for Kurt to plug in the random electro-shock unit and leave her alone for the next couple of hours.

TWO INTO ONE DOES GO!

Kate was hanging around in the neighboring cell, the strain showing on her face after hanging doubled-up from the spreader bar for the second day in a row. A couple of men arrived at the cell at 2pm, as arranged. They were Filipinos, two of many employed to look after the grounds and generally facilities.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Kurt welcomed them heartily, trying to distract their staring eyes from Kate’s body for just a few seconds. “Did they explain what was required of you?”

“Yes, we think so.” One of Filipinos responded. “We fuck the girl two at a time while you film us. $500 each, $1000 if she cums.”

“Exactly! The cameras are already set up. Kate’s ready, as you can see. Here are your masks to preserve your identity. Don’t forget the lubricant and condoms. And if you want to see the film, just come and see me later this evening.”

Master Kurt then approached the wide-eyed, panicking Kate, lowering her suspension chain to the correct height of his evenly matched visitors. He left to go to the Lodge’s control room - a small room full of recording equipment and monitors, part security control center, part video mixing suite. Today he had a simple bespoke request to fulfill. One of Rabbit Island's senior members had paid for a video of a particular scene.

“Such a pretty girl, this one.” One Filipino said to the other.

“Yeah. I always like this blonde slut. Now I get paid for going up her ass. You know, José, this is a very good job we have!”

Kate trembled slightly as the man behind her started to caress her breasts. His hands were warm, and massaged her breasts with consideration, literally getting the feel of her. Although he was still clothed, his crotch pressed against her buttocks, as if checking for the correct height. She was perfectly positioned, and the feel of her taut spread open buttocks had instantly put him in the right mood. Both men stripped naked and donned their carnivale-style masks.

The rear guy went to work, lubing Kate’s anus with his hand, a gentle push and two fingers were moving easily in and out of her sphincter. His penis replaced his fingers, and pressed smoothly up to its hilt into her rectum.

Kate liked anal sex. When that devious bastard Arab boyfriend sold her, he told the buyers everything about her sordid sex life. She’d been taken by two men once before, and loved it! But that was as a free woman, just playing around on a wild evening; not as a prisoner, suspended in cuffs and chains!

As she felt herself impaled by the rigid penis in her anus, the strain of hanging by her wrist and ankles had eased as if lifted by the man’s member. After some simple but effective foreplay from the front man, Kate was doubly impaled and the weight taken by her wrists and ankles vanished.

Kate had become the filling in a human sandwich, female flesh squeezed tightly between warm male flesh. She mewled complaisantly behind her ball-gag. The men acted cautiously, far gentler than she expected, obviously determined to try for the full $1000 dollars. Kate increasingly felt she would have trouble denying them that bonus as they started to thrust slowly within her, sometimes with alternate strokes, at other times with one combined thrust that made it seem like there was just one giant penis within her. As their pace increased Kate found herself bouncing up and down like a contorted, powerless rag-doll.

She couldn’t hold out any longer and released herself to their insistent thrusting. It wasn’t as if she had to pay the bonuses! - she thought, as her body pulsated and trembled. Those guttural gurgling sounds she made from behind that larger rubber ball-gag would surely provide the evidence the Filipinos needed for their bonuses!

BEDTIME

The beds in the cells were made up - fresh clean sheets, a plump pillow and a neatly tucked-in fluffy blanket. Alongside the oh-so-soft and pristine bed stood Kate, naked and leaning forward against the wall, hands chained up high above her head. Jessica was fixed likewise in an adjacent cell. This was another of Kurt’s innovations: Fix up the bunny so she spends the whole night standing in chains next to the softest, most inviting bed she could ever imagine.

THE COMMITTEE DECIDES

Several days later the sentencing committee met in the Lodge’s boardroom. There was only one thing on the agenda...Jessica!

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we must face the facts, bunny jessica has shown little sign of her purported submissive tendencies.” The man was making reference to Rabbit Island’s policy of only acquiring those with proven submissive traits. “Somebody got it wrong. It’s unfortunate, but it happens sometimes.”

He looked down at his typed-up notes. “A few months ago she kicked a man so hard that the poor gentleman needed surgery on his testicles. She has also attempted to bribe her way off the island. Finally she attempted, and very nearly succeeded, to escape from this island using our own transport. I vote we grant her wish to leave the Island and put her up for auction immediately.” The man’s comments met with mumbles of agreement from others around the table.

“Very well,” the chairman conceded. “But why don’t we give Jessica the choice? Become a ponygirl, or get shipped out. She can decide for herself.”

The meeting concluded. Master Alex walked to the cellblock to present Jessica with her limited options.

“Never!” she yelled at him.

“Jessica. Do you know what could be your fate if you went up for auction? I do, and believe me, you are better off on Rabbit Island.” Master Alex was growing tired of trying to convince her.

“You are asking me to willingly agree to be turned into a pony! How can I make the choice to subjugate myself like that. I’d rather spend my life chained up in a cell!” Jessica stared at him defiantly. She was stood against the wall, arms chained wide and high as they had been for several hours. A silken sheen of perspiration reflected from her straining muscles of her finely toned arms. Master Alex admired that very much.

He was concerned that he was about to lose this battle. Lose what? The argument or Jessica? He decided to say something he never had before. “What if I promised that if you stayed on the Island you would be free in two years?”

“Two years? But that’s a lifetime!”

He shook his head then made sure Jessica’s eyes met his. “No jessica, two years is two years, a lifetime is a lifetime, and I don’t know how long that lifetime would be if you were sent elsewhere. That is your other option. You have...” he glanced at his watch “...forty two hours to decide.”

BOUND MEDITATION

The Lodge had a special place for those who needed time to think. Jessica, cuffed and blindfolded, was led through various hallways of the Lodge to a room. She didn’t know where, nor indeed would it matter where it was, there was nothing for her to see.

Jessica was glad to be back in Erik’s hands. He was a firm handler but not cruel, and although she would never admit it, she responded to him. Perhaps because he was fair.

“Sit!” Erik instructed her. Jessica sat down onto a two foot high platform. It had a cool and smooth wooden surface, according to the feel of her hands and naked buttocks.

Erik manhandled Jessica’s legs so she sat with her ankles crossed over and her knees spread wide. The crossed ankles were slotted into a rigid metal restraint fixed to front of the platform. Her hands were uncuffed, but only to be fitted into this same device, palms down, fingers forward, wrists on top of her ankles.

Jessica thought it seemed a comfortable position almost like meditating although her wrists and ankles were held utterly immobile by the device. Her wriggling, exploring fingers were soon dealt with by a roll of surgical tape that Erik wrapped around each hand to hold it in a fist.

Next came the ball-gag with a full head harness. Jessica could feel Erik’s hands tightly buckling up the straps trailing up and over her head and under her chin. He had a strong but sensitive touch.

“Jessica. Listen to me carefully.” She was surprised to hear the distinctive measured tones of Master Alex. How cruel that his cultured New York accent tormented her with a reminder of home! She always noticed it more when she was blindfolded. “Erik will plug your ears in a few moments time. Then you will be hooded...

The hood was next - a black loose-fitting leather hood. She could feel Erik smoothing it down over her head then drawing it together around her neck. She felt a large padlock beneath her chin locking the hood around her neck, and could feel the cold heavy metal laying against her skin. That was all she could feel.

Erik said at his desk, with Jessica secured and silent on the platform behind him just a few feet away. It was a wonderful idea of his to put the platform in the office! Sometimes there would be three or four women sat in a row, each deprived of all senses, not even aware of the presence of others beside her.

Over the next few hours he watched Jessica from just a couple of feet away, while she sat in her enforced meditation, oblivious to his presence. He never touched her, although the pair of full and shapely breasts, crowned by those wonderful large nipples seemed to be calling out to him, slowly rising and falling as she breathed.

The first few hours weren’t so bad for Jessica; actually it was quite peaceful. For the first time in several days she wasn’t being whipped or burned or clamped or pierced! The aching of her buttocks on the polished wooden platform was soon replaced by a dull numbness that she couldn’t alleviate.

Why did they think this treatment would make her want to be a ponygirl? She would still rather take her chance of being sold to another bunny camp. Bunny camps? How little did she know what kind of place she would be sent to! Do these other places even call them bunnies?

Jessica found that the first eight hours was up when she felt the padlock at her neck moving. The leather hood was lifted off. How wonderful it felt when she could feel somebody’s fingers unbuckling the straps of her head harness! Those fingers were soon between her lips pulling out that rubber ball. Her blindfold remained in place.

“Thank you!” she said to the hands that had released her. How strange her voice sounded with her ears bunged up, as if she were at the bottom of the ocean. There was no response, not that she would hear it anyway. She felt something wooden at her lips. It was a wooden spoon carrying food; warm and tasty. She ate like a hungry nestling, her mouth wide open waiting eagerly for the next mouthful.

“Thank you!” she said again to her captor, this time for feeding her. A few minutes later it was not the spoon but the rubber ball-gag being pressed against her lips. Jessica readily opened her mouth to receive it, as if to say ‘I’m not defeated’. She felt those hands again; definitely Erik’s, she thought; buckling her into that tight head harness. She was hooded, and the heavy padlock fastened again at the front of her neck.

Jessica felt she’d coped well with the first eight hours, but that was another trick - it had only been six hours. If she felt that the next two sessions of her sensory deprivation felt longer, she would be right, each was an hour longer.

Erik played Freecell on his computer, listening contentedly and with some amusement to Jessica’s random moans and occasional struggles as she sought but failed to change her position, not even by a fraction.

At the third feeding break Jessica hungrily ate everything that wonderful wooden spoon offered her, but afterwards was not so keen to accept her gag. “Five more minutes,” she pleaded to her anonymous warder, but the rubber ball was insistent, it wanted to get back in her mouth. Those fingers (“definitely not Erik’s”, she though), why couldn’t they touch her properly? Stroke her hair? Touch her ears? Treat her like a human being? She leaned her blindfolded head towards the fingers, desperate for some kind on human contact. Even to be slapped would be something - to feel pain, to sense an emotion; but she was denied even that.

Somebody decided that Kate would have a session on the platform before being released back to the bunny camp. Kurt delivered her, blindfolded of course, to Erik’s office. He fixed her up in the same way as Jessica - ankles crossed, wrists on top of them. The gag, the earplugs and the hood followed.

Jessica’s ability to distinguish between her imagination and reality had long since diminished, yet in her silent darkness she felt something strangely comforting - a presence. She found herself thinking of Kate.

KATE RELEASED

Eight hours of silence and darkness later Kate was removed from the platform. It was late afternoon when she was to be sent back to the bunny camp. Erik took her to the appropriately-named ‘Releasing room’. This was the place where bunnies would be prepared, then released from.

She was fitted back into her old handcuffs, chain and collar set. After the trials of the last few days in the cells the familiar roundness of the steel bracelets was actually comforting. She became excited about getting back to the cabin and telling her adventurous tale to the other bunnies.

They had something else for Kate. Something to dissuade her from straying in future: Leg-irons for her ankles, with a 12” chain between them. Erik carefully secured the rounded steel manacles on her slim ankles making sure they were tight enough not to rub the skin as she walked.

Immediately before kicking the bunny out the door the Lodge had one more tradition - ten strokes of the paddle on her behind. Kate was bent over an wooden A-frame, all chained up and ready to receive her parting gift. She swallowed hard and waited.

Kate turned around to face the Lodge. “You fucking bastards!” she yelled at the building in the distance.

Erik and Kurt, looking out the small window, laughed heartily when they witnessed her fall. “Very good, better get back to work,” Erik said to his colleague.

DECISION TIME

Jessica’s worst spell was to come after Kate was taken away. She had been sleeping lightly when suddenly she became wide awake. She felt her limbs being pulled hard in four different direction, fingernails like talons digging into her flesh of her wrist and ankles and drawing blood. Pulling so viciously as they tied her to a wooden table that her shoulders and hips were almost dislocating. A masked man was holding a large axe. He ran his finger over the blade and smiled as it drew his own blood. He swung the axe at her in a wide arc, Jessica watched it swing through the air and knew it was about to take her arm off.

She awoke with a jolt the moment the axe made contact. It had been a horrible nightmare, and left her shaking. Gradually she regained control of herself. She felt her mind rewinding like a video recorder until she remembered that she was sitting crouched on a wooden platform hands and ankles locked together. She could feel the undersides of her arms touching her soft and warm breasts, and she felt safe again. What stuck in Jessica’s mind was that wherever this nightmare was taking place it wasn’t Rabbit Island. She began to think it might be a premonition, and a thought occurred to her: ‘This would never happen on Rabbit Island’.

The next few hours passed quietly for Jessica, no nightmares, she even had moments of lucidity in her thoughts. After more than 24 hours sat hunched on the platform life had been reduced to a big rubber ball in her mouth, a heavy padlock at her neck, occasionally replaced by a spoonfuls of food she couldn’t taste, and unseen hands that removed and then replaced the straps around her head.

The fourth feeding break arrived. Jessica ate the spoonfuls of food listlessly. She was depressed and demoralised and could scarcely remember why she was there. Something about ponygirls, she vaguely recollected. Minutes later she felt the rubber ball pushing at her lips. This time her mouth stayed closed. The ball pressed again, more insistently this time. She clamped her teeth together, refusing to let the ball in. Then she spoke, although she hardly recognized her own voice.

“I’ll do it. I’ll be your ponygirl!”

The ball pressed again, and Jessica panicked fearing that she’d forgotten what she had to say to be released.

“Please stop. I said I want to be a ponygirl. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?” This time she was sobbing.

Erik picked up the phone and dialed Master Alex’s suite. “Sorry to wake you Sir, but I thought you’d like to hear it for yourself.” Erik removed Jessica’s earplugs. She felt like she was slowly emerging from a cocoon, as a different creature. ‘No! I’m still the same Jessica,’ she reassured herself.

A minute later Master Alex was standing in front of the blindfolded Jessica. Erik showed him his new trick - he pushed the ball against Jessica’s lovely lips.

“I said I’ll be a ponygirl...please!” she said, as if begging them, weren’t they the magic words they’d been waiting for?

“It’s late Erik, why don’t you leave Jessica here and get off to bed?” Master Alex suggested.

“Better not. She won’t be ready to work tomorrow if we leave her like this. She can come to bed with me. That way she can start pony training in the morning. Ray will be very pleased to know there is a new ponygirl coming!”

“Two years!” Jessica said, reminding Master Alex of his words to her.

“Two years,” he replied.

Jessica felt a gentle kiss on her forehead, and knew that her ordeal was over. Tomorrow would be a new beginning.

THE CELL

Released from her days of sensory deprivation, Jessica spent a peaceful night, loosely chained to the ends of Erik’s large bed. She lay still, gradually waking in the first light of dawn, enjoying the clean sheets and soft mattress, studying the back of Erik’s blonde head and listening to his deep slumbering breath. Whether he had raped her last night, she simply couldn’t remember, but it didn’t feel like it. Apparently she was in Erik’s bed purely for convenience. She learned later that for health and fitness reasons ponygirls were required to sleep in proper beds, and Erik’s was most convenient.

Jessica thought about the previous night and the agreement she had made. It was an absurd pact with Master Alex, a man whom she shouldn’t trust but did, a man she shouldn’t respect but did, a man she shouldn’t like...and yet...

It had been her own decision: She had chosen to spend two years on Rabbit Island as a ponygirl. Master Alex guaranteed she would then be released back to her normal life. In the bright light of a new day it seemed an absurd promise to make. She liked certainty in her life and Master Alex’s promise of a two year maximum was something she would cling to. ‘Better the devil you know...’ she thought.

Jessica studied the books on the shelf - Black Beauty, My Friend Flicka, Green Grass of Wyoming, The Horse Whisperer. Hmm... she was detecting a theme in this little library. Required reading for ponygirls perhaps?

Picking up Black Beauty, she rifled through its pages with her fingers. This copy was well-thumbed, giving the impression she would soon have time to read it and the other books. It was a book she knew and loved from childhood and looked forward to enjoying again. It had been nearly a year since she had read a book. Jessica settled down on the bed and started reading.

HARNESSED

Two men appeared outside Jessica’s bar-fronted cell before she had finished the third chapter of Black Beauty.

“Jessica, you know Ray I think?” Kurt asked, gesturing to the swarthy blonde-haired man alongside him.

“Of course...Hi Ray!”

“Morning, Jessica.” Ray responded, smiling awkwardly.

There was a palpable tension between them, even though they had met and spoken many times before; or perhaps because of it! They’d even had various sexual encounters, which Jessica remembered were not altogether unpleasant. But this was a new beginning... Ray was a pony driver, and she was to be one of his ponies, assuming she could make the grade.

“Lean against the cell bars with your hands behind you.” Ray instructed. She did so and sensed the familiar feeling of cool steel handcuffs encircling her wrists.

With Jessica securely cuffed the men felt they could safely enter the cell. Jessica entertained the notion that they were frightened of her, of what she could do to them if her hands were free. She had been restrained for so many months that those fantasies were well developed in her thoughts. Somehow it made her feel better and stronger to think in that way.

She sat back down on the bed while Ray knelt and put boots on her feet. “These are your pony-boots Jessica. If you put them on properly you’ll find them quite comfortable and supportive.” He laced up the cross-cross laces tightly to just below her knees.

“Stand up!” Ray commanded.

She stood, surprised to find the soles of the boots had elevated her so much that she was more than eye to eye with Ray. She wobbled as she found her balance, glad that Ray had a tight grip on her arm. The boots were like high heels but without the heel, and visually the shape was uncannily like a pony’s hoof. The sturdy hiking-style sole provided a solid contact with the ground once the ponygirl had learned to balance herself on the balls of her feet.

The bridle was next, tight leather straps around her head, and a rubber-covered metal bit between her teeth. Jessica’s acquiescence to her pony transformation might have surprised her handlers, but she had struck a deal and she planned to honour it as long as she could.

As if the tight straps weren’t enough to restrain her, small padlocks were clipped onto many of the buckles to ensure there would be no unauthorized release from the harness.

Then Ray held up an item for Jessica’s inspection. “When your handler has this in his hands you must turn your back on him, spread your legs, and bend forward.” Jessica nodded to indicate she understood.

Ray and Kurt both laughed. “I’m your handler and this is in my hand. Can you remember what to do?”

Jessica glared at him, being trussed up in leather straps was bad enough, but she did not like to be mocked. She bent over to prepare for the inevitable.

“That’s it...spread your legs a bit wider...bend forward a little more. Perfect! This ass is crying out for a butt-plug don’t you think, Kurt?"

Kurt smiled and nodded in agreement.

Ray slowly inserted the lubricated butt-plug in Jessica’s anus, causing no more than an involuntary ‘mmmm’ from her.

“There you are. Didn’t hurt did it?

The butt-plug was connected to a 12” tail made from genuine black pony tail hair. Hidden in the base of the tail was a tiny bulb-pump that he squeezed between his finger and thumb several times. A balloon expanded in the body side of her anus, effectively locking the plug into her. He tugged on the tail to satisfy himself that it would stay in position.

Jessica stood up and felt the tail swish against the back of her thighs. The anal plug didn’t hurt. She was more concerned about the way it was affecting her. It felt more ‘interesting’ than she wanted How on earth could she run all day with it?

Ray attached a leash to the front of the harness and led an unsteady Jessica out into the courtyard; bells jingled on the boots as she walked. He took her onto the training track and started jogging alongside her.

“Come on, Jessica, keep up. Let's see if you’ve got what it takes.” Ray called out as they jogged. Jessica could run pretty well and even in the pony gear was not taxed by his pace. After a few laps of the track they stopped alongside a little pony carriage. It was designed for one person sat low behind the ponygirl. It was called a sulky, a form of carriage used mainly for training new ponygirls.

Jessica’s bridle had blinkers to block out her peripheral vision and a chain to hold her chin close to her chest. This made it impossible for her to see what Ray was doing behind her, but it was easy to guess! The shafts of the sulky were connected to Jessica’s harness.

“OK Jessica, you know your way round the track. Today you will run 12 kilometres. That’s 60 laps. You can take as long as you want, at any speed you want, stop when you need to, but no walking! We need to get you fit.” She felt a tap of Ray’s horse whip on her thigh. “Off you go!”

TRACKS OF HER TEARS

Trudging around the gravel track for dozens of mind-numbing laps, towing around the unmanned but ballasted sulky, taking several breaks for rest and water, Jessica wished she had kept a proper count. She was worried that they might not tell her when she had finished. Tired and bored, and straining against her tight harnessing Jessica considered making a dash for freedom while she was at the far side of the track, amusing herself at the surreal image of a fully harnessed ponygirl on the loose dragging a laden sulky behind her. No... a better plan was to keep on doing the laps until she was taken back to her cell. The trainee ponygirl continued for lap after lap until she was too tired to think of anything at all.

Hours later Jessica turned the corner into the home straight and saw Ray standing with feet apart, muscular arms crossed, as if determined to prevent Jessica from taking another lap without permission! With a few simple words of encouragement, he grabbed her halter rein and led her back to the Lodge.

They stopped off in the courtyard where Ray clipped Jessica’s harness to a fence post. She soon found out what the chalk marks on her thigh were for. She’d acquired themduring the course of the day. Ray put a few marks on her when she started talking during a water break, a couple more were added when she walked instead of ran. Now the seven chalks marks were converted into seven hits with the paddle on her bare ass.

Still harnessed and bridled, Jessica could do nothing to prevent Ray’s meticulous application of the paddle. It was all so calm and matter-of-fact. Ray wasn’t angry with her, he even whistled as he whipped! The hollow wop sound that accompanied the hard sting in her buttocks seemed to reverberate around the courtyard.

After Jessica’s statutory spanking Ray begun talking with a man who had been watching from a distance. Perhaps, like a bee to honey he’d been attracted by the sound of her spanking?

“Hey there Doctor Schmidt, time for the first jab?” Ray asked the man.

“Ya, ve give a jab every two days.” the German Doctor said. “Is good. You vill soon see a big improvement from her.” He prepared a syringe from a small wooden case with ‘GDR’ stencilled in black. Doctors of the Former East German Olympic Team are never out of work.

Jessica felt the needle plunge into her reddened and stinging buttock as its mysterious load was deposited within her.

Soon after the injection, Ray took Jessica back to her cell and began stripping her of the ponygirl accoutrements. Ray found the release valve on the butt-plug and pulled it out carefully, holding the soiled plug before her eyes. “See! No blood, just a little brown stuff as expected.” He tossed it onto the floor of the shower area.

After being stripped of her tight constricting harness Jessica carefully examined the deep indentations in her flesh. “Dammit Ray, those straps were tight,” she complained.

“It’s better that way, it’s the chafing from loose straps you should worry about. How are your feet?”

LUCY, THE PUSSY-GIRL

After two hours of polishing Jessica felt proud of her shining leather straps and boots. Lucy, one of the blonde pussy-girls brought her supper on a tray and an hour later returned to secure her for the night. They chatted amiably, although bunnies like Jessica were disdainful of pussy-girls: Brainless, spineless and a disgrace to the female sex. There were always new pussy-girl jokes doing the rounds in Jessica’s old bunny camp.

“Hey Lucy. Did you hear about the pussy-girl who broke her nose?” Jessica asked the unsuspecting pussy-girl.

“Noooo. What happened?” Lucy enquired, eager to hear the latest Island gossip.

“Yeah. She spotted a dildo under a glass table!”

“Ha ha, very funny!” Lucy replied, not in the least offended. She held out a pair of handcuffs. “Now lay back on the bed and place your hands on the cell bars.”

Jessica obeyed, moving her arms either side of her head. The pussy-girl clicked handcuffs around her wrists trapping one of the vertical bars between them. They were normal handcuffs except for the longer chain connecting them. Jessica tugged at the cuffs in mild frustration, but this was light bondage compared to what she usually endured.

“I don’t understand. Why do you have to cuff me when I’m already locked in my cell?”

“Island rules!” Lucy explained. “All women on the island are restrained at night, including me and the other pussy-girls, the females visitors; even the Filipina housemaids have agreed to be chained to their beds at night. They don’t like it at first but they soon accept it, and their husbands seem quite happy with this arrangement. You’re lucky Jessica. The ponygirls have a good life here. Isn’t this better than being on the beach?”

Jessica was left pondering that question as Lucy departed, turning off the main light as she went.

THE RINGED PONY

The second training day was much like the first. Lap upon lap of the track in order to build up Jessica’s stamina. Despite her best efforts she still acquired a small collection of chalk marks on her thighs. She was disappointed to be told that her previous night’s tack polishing had not been up to standard, so she earned two chalk marks before she had even left her cell.

Jessica knew that at some point she would receive the piercings of a ponygirl but had no idea it would be as soon as her second day. She was taken to the Prep Room within the Lodge. This room was something between a beauty parlour and a surgery. It contained every conceivable device for piercing, branding, tattooing and other beautifications.

Still strapped within her harness but with her hands temporarily free Jessica was fixed into the Star Frame. This was a upright steel device the size of a double door opening. Padded leather cuffs on Jessica’s wrists and ankles were attached to each corner. An electric motor whirred and the slack disappeared from the four connecting wires. Jessica found herself stretched out then suspended in mid-air as her wide open legs lost contact with the floor.

The electric motor whirred a couple more times, tugging on Jessica’s limbs, stretching her to such a degree that she feared the next hit of the motor would simultaneously dislocate her four limbs. Thankfully the motor stayed silent and the suspended X-shaped Jessica nervously awaited the arrival of the doctor.

A man and a woman came into Jessica’s sight. Carole, the Island’s beautician and Jurgen Schmidt, the ‘jab’ doctor.

“Time for your piercing!” Carole announced with a warm smile as if presenting Jessica with a birthday present. Her fingers tweaked and squeezed Jessica’s substantial nipples, as the doctor approached with a sterile wipe and the piercing gun.

Jessica struggled instinctively, wresting the nipple from Carole’s grasp, but stretched and suspended she knew she was merely delaying the inevitable.

Carole stood back and waggled a finger disapprovingly. “Jessica honey, I know it’s a cliche, but ‘resistance IS futile’. You don’t want to run around with lopsided nipple rings do you?”

Resigned to her fate Jessica hung limply in her bonds and hoped her piercing torture would be over quickly.

Half and hour later, with permanent rings in her nipples and eight thick rings in her labia, an exhausted and hurting Jessica was finally released from the suspension device. Carole carefully explained how to care for her piercings and gave her the necessary supplies, then Jessica was delivered back to her cell.

Her evening was taken up with polishing her leather tack and caring for her piercings. After reading a couple more chapters of Black Beauty a pussy-girl arrived to chain her to the bed. Jessica was tired and gladly submitted to the pussy-girl. It meant another day was over.

Jessica laughed as she lay back on the bed in the darkness toying with the handcuff’s chain between her fingers. ‘Don’t play with the piercings’ Carole had instructed. Well, at least that order was easy to follow!

BACK TO THE BEACH

Several days (and several of the Doctor’s special jabs) later Jessica was thrilled to know that she was going on a trip that morning. After being harnessed in the usual fashion she was led out to be attached by a three meter bungee cord to the rear of a pony trap.

At first it was easy, trotting behind the pony pair at a gentle pace, yet it was somehow embarrassing too. It was a lowly and undignified position running behind a pony trap, but what could she do? If she didn’t run she would fall. If she protested she would be beaten.

Jessica’s belief in her ability as a runner were severely tested once the ponygirl pair ahead of her hit full stride. She could barely keep up even though the ponygirls were having to pull the cart and the driver. It was a total humiliation as she fell to the ground in an exhausted heap when they reached the first stop of the day.

She recognized their location once she recovered her breath. They were back at the beach cabin where she had spent the previous six months as a beach bunny. Jessica prayed none of her friends from the cabin would see her in such a wretched state.

After the pony driver had delivered the breakfast to the beach bunnies they were back on the trail again. Jessica fought back the tears as she trotted away from the cabin realising how much she missed her friends - especially her best buddy Kate!

IN TROUBLE

Perhaps it was the lack of human interaction during her training, but Jessica had become increasingly irritable during her weeks in pony training. This had culminated in her kicking a man as he ‘inspected’ her. It happened when she was left tied up in the courtyard awaiting the day’s punishments and yet another jab. An unknown man came up behind her, out of her line of sight, and began to aggressively grope her pussy, cruelly tugging on the still-new labia rings and pulling on her pony tail. She reacted instinctively by kicking out behind her. The single kick connected more firmly than she expected. It must have been the added weight of the pony-boots!

Ray, to his credit, came to her defence when the injured man reported her. “Ponies kick! What do you expect if you touch them without first announcing your presence? Remember they are just dumb animals. You have to build up their trust,” he explained to the man nursing his aching kneecap.

“Dumb animal my ass! That bitch is dangerous!” the man muttered to himself as he limped away.

Regardless of Ray’s reassuring support for his trainee pony, Jessica knew she was in trouble again.

PUNISHMENT

Jessica was on her bed, sat back to the wall, legs outstretched and reading The Horse Whisperer, waiting for Lucy to chain her up for the night. She heard footsteps coming into the cell block; not the rapid clip-clip of a pussy-girl’s regulation high heels but a man’s soft casual stride as if he were inspecting the surroundings with each step he took. Master Alex appeared outside the bars of her cell. He wasn’t smiling. Jessica tossed the book down and stood up obediently and with a degree of trepidation. The arrival of Master Alex was too much of a coincidence, coming on the same day as her kicking out at the visitor.

“Have you finished cleaning your tack?” He enquired.

“Yes, Master Alex,” Jessica replied, eyes cast downwards.

“Very good, then come up to the cell bars.”

She did so and stood face to face with her nemesis. Her dark eyes looked directly into his steely-grey yet warm communicative eyes. She wondered what might happen if those thick steel bars weren’t between them. She stayed silent.

“Now turn around and put your hands behind you and through the bars,” he commanded softly.

When she did as he instructed she felt the familiar steel of handcuffs being clicked around her wrists. With her hands fixed either side of a vertical bar Jessica could do nothing except stay leaning back against the cool bars of her cell. Master Alex blindfolded her with a strip of black silk, his hands trailing over her face like a lover; softly, except for the final harsh tug on the knot which made her tremble. Jessica was not unhappy with the imposed darkness, it made a change from staring at the cell walls.

Master Alex’s hands reached through the bars around her body and caressed her breasts. She could feel his breath tickling her neck. His hands repeatedly squeezed and released her breasts, eliciting, despite herself, an increasingly vocal response from her. Damn! She hated herself for how easily she becoming aroused, and the proximity of his body against hers, even with the bars between them, was more pleasurable than she would dare to admit.

His hands soon deserted her breasts and she sensed his body move away from the bars. Jessica listened carefully for a hint of what was next. She heard a light buzzing sound - a vibrator. Master Alex resumed his position behind her and his left hand returned to its respective breast, toying lovingly with its still sensitive piercing. Jessica spread her legs a little in anticipation of what was coming. After a little tentative probing, the dildo slowly entered her vagina. Once again she could feel Alex’s breath upon her neck. After several weeks of enforced sexual abstinence Jessica was only too pleased to be brought to orgasm even in such a crude backstreet fashion as this. She knew that another couple of minutes of the vibrator would push her over the edge.

...but it wasn’t to be. The vibrator was suddenly withdrawn and Master Alex stepped away from Jessica’s warm and yielding body.

“Please don’t kick our guests again, Jessica... sleep well.” was all Master Alex said as he left the cell block, leaving Jessica chained to the cell bars.

“Hey! I’m a ponygirl... You can’t leave me like this... Ponies are supposed to sleep lying down!...Isn’t that one of your rules?” Jessica shouted out, but hearing the door slam halfway through her protestation she knew she had just been given her punishment.

It took some minutes before the tearful Jessica figured out that she didn’t have to remain standing. She could slip down the vertical bar and sit on the concrete floor. It was depressing knowing she wouldn’t be sleeping on her comfortable bed, but rather on the concrete floor beside it. Realizing she could partly alleviate her plight, she reached up with her foot and gripped the blankets from the bed between her toes. Although her hands were cuffed behind her to the cell bar she managed to make a nest of the blankets between her body and the floor and settled down to a frustrating and miserable night.

PAIRED UP

Several more weeks of solo training took place before Jessica was considered strong enough for real pony duties. During that time, the intensive training, combined with Dr. Schmidt’s Olympian drugs routine, had given Jessica a musculature in her legs that she could scarcely have dreamed of.

Jessica’s piercings had ‘matured’ well, thanks to the Doctor’s specialist treatment. That meant the all-important reins could be attached to them. That first day, when Ray tested each of her rings and then attached the leather reins to them, was something Jessica would never forget. Ray and Jessica both shared a nervous excitement at the process, Jessica knew she had become aroused by Ray’s manipulations. Tiny padlocks fixed a pair of reins to each of her nipple rings, the upper reins threading through her bridle either side her cheeks. The lower reins again originated at her breasts but led downward to meet though a single ring near her navel before being threaded through her labia rings (as in a Y shape) and from there back between her legs into the hands of her pony driver.

If that wasn’t excitement enough for Jessica she then saw something in the courtyard that made her swallow hard. It was the standard Rabbit Island pony trap. This was a single axle carriage with a narrow two-person seat atop and a storage box underneath the seat. Standing proud, like a living statue six feet ahead of the driver’s seat was a ponygirl, already connected to the front of the T shaped shaft by straps on her harness. Alongside the ponygirl at the top of the T was a vacant place for Jessica; where short connecting straps dangling invitingly, as if ready the ensnare the new ponygirl.

Ray backed her up into position and started securing her, and Jessica became aware that even standing shoulder to shoulder she couldn’t see her new partner. With the hated martingale chain (the one that limited the lifting and turning of the head), and the side blinkers on her bridle, and now with the straps that fixed her to the shaft all she could do was stare at the track straight ahead of her.

INNOVATIONS

Having a new pony pair in training seemed the ideal time to introduce the latest innovation in pony trap design. Previously, to encourage or chastize the ponies, the driver would have to plant accurate whip strokes on each pair of buttocks in close succession. It was quite literally a hit and miss affair, and the whip unfairly ‘favored’ the ponygirl on the whip hand side of the driver. Now, thanks to an ingenuous device from England that problem was solved.

Bolted on the shaft, nine inches back from the ponygirl’s naked buttocks, the new equipment was a small battery powered rotary device. It spun rapidly, launching two leather cords with a speed and accuracy that ensured that all four pony buttocks received equal and properly weighted attention. A wire trailed from the device, down the shaft and ended in a small three-button remote control for the driver.

Ray mounted the padded bench seat on the trap and took some moments to organize the various reins that connected him so intimately with his ponies. As he drew in the slack from the lower reins, the ponygirls’ ringed nipples were pulled downwards to their full extent, signalling that the ponygirls should remain stationery. Ray pushed the first button on the whipper control. The whipping action was so quick that he didn’t even see it, but a shocked squeak was emitted from both ponygirls. Perfectly synchronised!

After pressing the second button Ray was in no doubt about the effectiveness of the device as the ponygirls’ squeaks turned into loud squeals! He watched with delight as his ponygirls squirmed helplessly in their harnesses for a moment before regaining their composure. They’d definitely felt that one, and a red mark appeared on each of four buttocks to confirm its effectiveness. His finger hovered over the third button, but he decided to resist temptation for a little longer.

With an eagerly anticipated tug of the upper reins he was under way with his new team. It was a messy and frustrating morning, coaxing and cajoling his ponies into working as a unit. It was also hard on the ears. The bells on the pony boots were supposed to ring out a harmonious rhythm, the left bells ringing out B and the right D#. When they were in step with each other it was a pleasing sound, otherwise it was an infuriating noise, liable to give the driver a headache.

The third button on the whipping control impressed Ray greatly, though the ponygirls considerably less so! It delivered a stinging lash to the back of the thighs. This instant punishment soon taught his ponygirls to behave, even if it did leave them whimpering in self-pity for a few moments afterwards. Jessica felt particularly bad when she realized her misbehavior resulted in the same lashes being delivered to Debbie as well as herself.

Considering it was Jessica’s first day, it hadn’t been so bad. Having had her chalk marks converted into paddle strokes as usual, Jessica and her red buttocks were safely back in the cell. Tired but satisfied, Ray headed straight to the bar for a cool beer, ready to recount his day’s experiences to whoever wanted to listen.

REWARDED

A few days later Master Alex visited Jessica’s cell again. It was the first time she had seen him since he teased and punished her several weeks ago.

Once again he cuffed her hands behind her back, thus securing her to the bars. And again he blindfolded her.

“Please Master Alex, what have I done?” Jessica asked, genuinely bewildered at receiving the same punishment again.

“You’ve done nothing that I know of. Except that Ray says that you are now properly broken in.”

“But that’s good... Isn’t it?”

“Sure it is! That’s why I thought I’d pay you another visit. I think we have some unfinished business.” Alex teased her, his hands already at work on her breasts. “Relax Jessica, just let yourself go.”

“Ok Jessica, time for bed.” Alex announced. She could hear the chain links of her ‘bed-cuffs’ in his hands. Jessica groped around until she found her small towel and quickly wiped the moisture from her body. She laid back on the bed, pulled a sheet over her and stretched out her arms so that her hands were outside of the bars. It was always the same routine except usually she had to submit to whichever pussy-girl was given the task.

Master Alex slowly clicked the cuffs on her wrists as if savoring the moment. Then, as he moved away she felt his finger run tenderly across her hand, and she knew it was really a kiss.

GRADUATION

Just two weeks of intensive training were needed before Jessica and Debbie were ready to take the trial. After a comprehensive physical examination and an extensive time-trial that lasted the whole morning Jessica was awarded her plume - a beautiful ostrich feather ensemble that attached to the brow band of her bridle. Debbie re-acquired hers too, for ponygirls always work and are rewarded as a pair. After a quick rub-down and reapplication of the sun lotion that accentuated their impressive musculature so well, the cameras emerged from various pockets. That evening Rabbit Island subscribers around the world would see the photos and download movies of the ponygirls in full stride.

The view of a strong healthy ponygirl in her tight harness, with those reins so intimately attached and threaded was something that the Rabbit Island subscribers never tired of. ‘The most practical work of erotic art ever devised’ was how one visitor described them.

Jessica, just like the other ponygirls, had started to derive a peculiar enjoyment from the intimacy of the harnessing routine that took place every morning. Ray’s hands, whilst strong and efficient, also knew how to touch a woman’s body. If he had cast her to the ground and fucked her in her harness and bridle, she really would not have minded. But pony drivers never had sex with their ponies - it was a strict rule. (Readers, don’t cry for Ray - he still had 30 other females on Rabbit Island to choose from). Jessica also enjoyed what followed the harnessing process: A long hard run! Far stronger and fitter that she had ever been, her body seemed to crave the exercise. She was convinced that the regular injections administered by the doctor were more than just vitamins!

Why did the ponygirls feel such an affinity with a man that had bound them so tightly, whipped them so hard and made them run to the point of exhaustion? It was something Jessica and Debbie didn’t understand. In the evenings Jessica sat in her cell, reading, thinking her own thoughts, plotting her escape and how to get revenge on those that had enslaved her; yet when she was in harness alongside Debbie, she belonged completely and utterly to Ray and thought of nothing else except running well, being obedient and winning his approval. On the day of the trial she knew she had also won the approval of many others.

The real prize for Jessica came in the evening when she was moved to the pony quarters. It was all she had dreamt of for the last month and now she had made it! The small swimming pool and jacuzzi were delightful, but most of all it was the companionship of the other ponygirls that she appreciated. For the first time, despite several weeks harnessed alongside Debbie she would finally have the chance to talk to her pony partner.

Relaxing in the jacuzzi, a plastic cup of wine in her hand, laughing and joking with Debbie, Jessica could scarcely remember being so happy.

But how long would it stay that way?

The story so far:
(Ch. 1) Jessica’s and Kate’s escape, punishment and return.
(Ch. 2) A week of devious torments. Jessica has to make a decision.
(Ch. 3) Jessica is trained, and graduates as a ponygirl.

AN UNWELCOME VISITOR

It felt great to be out in the fresh morning air and bright sunshine!

Jessica had always been a good runner. Sometimes it seemed like she was born to run; born to pound the gravel tracks extending over the hills and valleys of the island. Running alongside her, matching stride for stride was Debbie, her pony partner. Both women puffed hard as they pushed onwards, up a long gradual incline leading to the round summit of a hill.

Within the space of their last few strides up the hill, the spectacular view of a turquoise sea and deep blue cloudless sky came suddenly into their view. From that point, the path became almost level as it followed the summit ridge allowing Jessica and Debbie to partially recover their breath as they ran ever onwards. Thanks to the the intensive training over the last few months Jessica had developed into a stronger and faster runner, and Debbie was pleased to have finally met her match.

After that long downhill stretch the trail starts winding a little as it drops down towards a beach. Jessica and Debbie managed to check back their runaway stride in plenty of time to safely negotiate the twisting turns that lay ahead of them. Once they hit the first bend after the straight they both felt a repeated tugging on their lower-reins. Evidently their driver still thought they were going too fast! They reluctantly slowed down until they acquired a steady controlled trotting more befitting to well-trained ponygirls. The small bells on their pony-boots rung out softly and rhythmically - a useful cue for their synchronized strides and a satisfying sound to ponygirls and drivers alike.

They had descended to sea level and were following the trail to the beach. A single tug on their lower-reins and a commanding shout of “slow” came from the driver. The ponygirls shifted from trotting into a brisk walking stride until they reached their destination. They halted at the very end of the trail where it abruptly met the sandy beach. Ray, their driver, jumped down from his lightweight single-axle trap ponygirls Jessica and Debbie had been pulling then looped their leather reins onto the adjacent hitching post.

A few yards along the beach was a wooden cabin where Jessica had once lived.

Ray lifted out two insulated steel pots from under the trap’s bench seat. He carried them around the other side of the cabin where eight naked females were eagerly awaiting their breakfast. The so-called ‘bunnies’ lived permanently in handcuffs but otherwise free and unsupervised at their beach cabin.

Jessica and Debbie stood side by side quietly staring out to sea, patiently awaiting Ray’s return, harnessed and hitched, they could do little else. The bridle and bit assemblies that both wore prevented any meaningful conversation between them. Likewise, the blinkers fitted to the bridle straps and the short chain linked between chin and chest straps prevented the ponygirl pairing from even catching sight of each other. Yet it didn't bother them; they each knew instinctively how the other was feeling just from the way she ran. Though a ponygirl never spoke when in harness they would talk freely once they were released into their quarters that evening.

Each ponygirl had her arms strapped and padlocked firmly to the back of the harness in a ‘hammerlock’ style. Furthermore her hands were held closed in a fist by a suede bag that contained wayward unsightly fingers. So firmly were the arms strapped within the body harness, that if it wasn’t for the dull aching of the shoulders, ponygirl debbie wouldn’t even think about her restrained arms. Ponygirl Jessica, still only a few months into her pony life, had a tendency to pull and twist against the harness straps that tightly encircled her torso. In a few more months her arms would become accustomed to the embrace of the harness and her futile little struggles would become rare..

While Jessica fidgeted within her harness she heard the splashing of water beside her. Debbie was peeing as she often did at that point of the journey. Her water puddled around their boots for a few seconds before being absorbed by the gravel, leaving only a damp patch on the ground. There was no shame in a ponygirl urinating in this manner. In fact, it was considered befitting behaviour for such animals. Even Jessica did it - provided nobody was watching. Ponygirl debbie was something of an exhibitionist and took a perverse pride in urinating in public. She always remembered to drink lots of water the morning of a ‘show day’ and looked forward to shocking unsuspecting visitors by releasing a stream of urine at the most inappropriate moment. If she got lucky she might manage to splash onto a lady visitor’s expensive shoes!

While the ponygirls waited for Ray’s return, one of the bunnies appeared from behind the cabin. It was Kate, the blonde English girl, and Jessica’s best buddy during her time living in the cabin. Kate walked up to the ponygirls, awed by their imposing stature. A pair of ponygirls is an impressive site: With the thick running soles of the pony boots and the way the boot elevated her heels, Jessica stood well over six feet tall. Add the ornate ostrich plume fitted to her brow-strap and she topped out at an impressive seven foot.

Kate saw a very different Jessica than the one she knew in her days at the cabin. Besides being physically stronger and imposing there was a serenity, and obedience, and a purposefulness that Kate hardly recognized. Kate had made a bet with one of the other bunnies that the men at The Lodge would never be able to tame Jessica. She was obviously wrong and losing her bet meant she had licked a lot of pussies in the previous month.

Mindful of their blinkered vision Kate stood in the direct line of sight of the two ponygirls. “Hi Jessica, hi Debbie. How are you doing?”

The ponygirls made an 'ahhh' sound and nodded.

“Have you seen what they’ve done to us now?” Kate asked them, intent on showing off the latest indignity inflicted on the bunnies.

She spun once around, kicking up the sand, to display the chastity belt she wore. Neat webbing straps around her waist and buttocks held a large moulded plastic shell tightly over her mound. Ponygirl Jessica studied it with great interest, thinking it looked like a slim-line version of a jockstrap her sporty older brother used to wear.

“Ray says it only gets removed when we are taken up to The Lodge. It’s just not fair, how are we supposed to enjoy ourselves in the evening? I thought they wanted us to be happy!” Kate complained to her passive audience of ponygirls.

Jessica thought Kate looked pretty cute in her little jockstrap, pouting and stamping her feet in frustration. She couldn’t fail to notice that Kate’s slim frame had also been augmented by her recent conversion into a milkmaid. Her hitherto ‘little handfuls’ had been transformed into a shapely size double D thanks to a treatment of hormones. Like the other milkmaids, her nipples and areole sported little steel covers (like tiny hats) to prevent unauthorized access between her milkings. A thin wire passed through the sides of the nipple and holes in the base of the nipple hat, then it was twisted and clamped like the seal on an electricity meter.

Kate had an impressive ability to change her mood in a split-second. “Do you think my breasts are growing?” she asked Jessica, sticking out her chest proudly. “They milk me every day now. It feels quite nice, but when I first saw my milk going through the tubes, it was really kinda weird. I just wish I could touch them occasionally. It was a worthwhile trade-off though, I’m finally rid of those leg-irons after two months of hell. Look, you can still see the white bands where they stopped the skin from tanning!” She subconsciously tugged on the cuffs that kept her hands behind her back while looking down at her swollen teats white banded ankles.

The loquacious bunny Kate continued to relate her milking experiences to her captive audience of ponygirls until she was interrupted by Ray.

“Kate, I told you to kneel by the whipping post, not stand around talking to the ponies!” He shouted at her. She turned quickly on her heels and walked the few yards to the whipping post. Evidently not quick enough, as Ray’s riding crop connecting sharply on her buttocks as she breezed past.

Ray’s interest in Kate was well known and long standing. When a bunny was continually singled out for punishment by a pony driver it could only mean one thing! Kate’s supposed misdemeanour today was complaining while Ray was ladling breakfast into the bunnies’ eating trough.

While Kate sulked next to the whipping post, Ray stowed away the empty breakfast containers beneath the seat of the trap, also stowing three small clear plastic pouches of milk extracted from Kate and the other two milkmaids in the camp. The pouches were carefully placed in a chilled bag that would keep them fresh until his next destination.

Ray was Australian, lean and muscular, with short blonde hair and a heavy tan. Good-looking too in Kate’s opinion. He was the nearest thing Kate had to a regular lover, even if most of their sexual activities took place while she was tied to the whipping post.

Kate knelt with her side against the wooden post, gazing up at pony driver as he clipped a short chain from the post to her collar. Without prompting she opened her mouth wide as the leather covered ring-gag approached her face. Ray seated the ring firmly behind her front teeth, she looked down towards the sand to allow him to buckle the strap. He did so, not without a little tenderness. His soft stroking of her hair caused Kate to involuntarily lean her cheek into the palm of his hand, his thumb brushed her eyelashes, ostensibly to remove a grain of sand.

It was exasperating for Kate that after nearly a year he still didn’t trust her with his cock. She concluded that he must prefer her with the ring-gag. It wasn’t exactly an honor but it felt good to know she was somebody’s favorite. Not every bunny could say that! She would have been devastated if Ray used another bunny for his morning blow job. With new bunnies arriving on the island all the time, it was Kate’s constant worry.

Ray enjoyed those quiet moments when Kate could not answer back, although the ring-gag rendered her incomprehensible rather than silent. She knew Ray’s large uncut cock intimately. As soon as he lowered his shorts, her mouth was onto it, like welcoming an old friend. Today she was even more attentive to his cock than usual. Perhaps her jockstrap chastity belt, in curtailing her regular nocturnal activities, was having the right effect! Nothing subtle or lingering was required of her, just a good honest passionate sucking.

Within five minutes Kate had dealt with his cock and Ray was attending to his restless ponies. The sight of Ray and Kate’s encounter had caused them some agitation, as if often did. He wiped the moisture from between their legs with a clean towel. Then he checked the reins that ran from their nipple rings through a D ring on the belt then through a series of rings in their labia. It was vital that these areas were well-oiled - friction from the reins could have a detrimental effect on a pony’s concentration and performance. With his ponies freshly lubricated and watered they were ready hit the trail once more.

Only at the last moment before he and his ponies were about to depart, did Ray bother to remove Kate’s ring-gag. Without a word, they were off and running to the next beach camp where more bunnies were awaiting their breakfast.

“Thanks Kate, for the excellent blow-job”, she called out sarcastically as the ponies and their driver disappeared up the track. “A little word of gratitude once in a while wouldn’t kill him,” she muttered to herself.

As was his habit Ray left Kate attached by the short chain to the whipping post. She could easily have called out for one of the bunnies to unclip the chain from her collar. Instead she stayed kneeling in the sand, licking her lips, enjoying the feel of the sand between her toes, and looking out at the sea gently lapping at the shore just a few yards away.

She noticed a stray splatter of Ray’s cum on her breast. A regular badge of honor. Like a good bunny she always swallowed but the ring-gag didn’t make that easy, and a little spillage was unavoidable. The small dab of semen made her reminisce about ponygirl Jessica. When she was also a bunny in the camp Jessica was the only one that ever accepted Kate’s dare to lick Ray’s cum from her breast. It sealed their friendship!

Kate was contentedly leaning against the whipping post. This spot felt like a second home, a place where she could quietly sit and think. But this ‘home’ was becoming too familiar. Since Jessica’s and her failed escape attempt several months previously (ch. 1) she hadn’t even thought of escape. She had accepted her fate as slaves often do.

It was, Kate conceded, an easy life being a bunny. You just lounged around on the beach all day until someone came to take you up to The Lodge for a few days. Providing you didn’t mind living in handcuffs and eating with your face in a trough it was really quite okay. But the chastity belt and the nipple hats represented the last straw. How could she live without a little sexy playtime with the other bunnies? With the chastity belt curtailing her fun and without Jessica to mess around with, life just wasn’t so tolerable any more. It was time to get away. Time to leave the beach cabin behind... but how?

Running away was not an option. She was on an island. Stowing away on a boat wouldn’t be so easy next time. Since their last attempt boat security had been tightened.

Kate weighed up her options. At five foot six inches, she was simply too small to join Jessica in the pony stables, and besides, it looked damned hard work running ten miles each day. ‘Perhaps The Lodge have a vacancy for a pussy-girl?’ she pondered. The pussy-girls at The Lodge often helped with the ponies’ grooming and other services, so that might be a way to spend time around Jessica. Beside being a good friend, Kate maintained her belief that Jessica represented her ticket off the island.

She mentally ran through the ‘qualifications’ of pussy-girls and evaluated how she measured up to them.

- Pretty? Yes, cute as a kitten. Everyone says so.
- Slim figure? Yes, except for her recently enhanced, milk-laden breasts.
- Blonde? Yes...well, kind of mousy blonde. But then some of the pussy-girls were only bottle-blondes, so that wouldn’t matter.
- Nice smile? Absolutely.
- Happy disposition? Annoyingly so, except for very occasional hissy fits.
- Obedient and trustworthy? Well.... that could be the problem. They were not the two words that most people would readily associate with her. Except maybe for the two years she worked as a nurse. That was what landed her into this situation in the first place - taking a job in a Kuwait hospital.

There was one thing that troubled Kate most about becoming a pussy-girl: She would be jumping over the fence, so to speak, and that was a treacherous act in the minds of the bunnies. It meant ‘sleeping with the enemy’ in every sense, acknowledging that you consented to the cruel activities of The Lodge.

Having weighed up the pros and cons, her mind was made up. It was time to be pragmatic. She would swallow her pride and attempt to become a pussy-girl. It might not be easy, but how else was she ever to get away from this place?

“You look deep in thought.” A voice said behind her.

Kate jolted in shock, not realising that Nancy, one of the other bunnies, had quietly walked over to the whipping post to unclip her collar.

It was several days before she thought about her plan again, little realizing that events were about to conspire to make it happen.

PONY NIGHTLIFE

If there was one thing that made the lives of ponygirls tolerable it was the regularity of their routine. They had a job to do, providing nearly all of the island’s transportation when coupled to a two-person trap and often a trailer too.

The ponygirls worked a week of late shifts alternating with a week of early shifts. Each shift had its advantage: The early shift enjoyed a relaxed and sociable evening in the pony quarters. The off-duty ponygirls could soak in the jacuzzi, enjoy a meal and chat endlessly, as ponygirls were inclined to do after a day in harness and bridle. The late shift provided the benefit of a morning lay-in. This was also appreciated by the staff of the Lodge. The late shift ponygirls were likely to find themselves being used and abused in somebody’s bedroom know that they weren’t required for morning duties.

Ponygirl Jessica seemed to have become a fixture in Master Alex’s night-time routine. Although their encounters were no more than once a week, she vainly sensed that he had an attraction to her, almost a fascination towards her. Both hailing from New York and being avid baseball fans surely couldn’t have been the whole story! Sometimes he was cruel to her, and sometimes he was kind. It couldn’t be called love, but it certainly wasn’t hate or indifference!

After their lovemaking, Jessica usually spent a relatively comfortable night tied to Alex’s bed. In the morning it was time for the soft white ropes. It was Alex’s regular habit to place her in an elaborately knotted hogtie. Jessica no longer worried as Alex spent half an hour binding up her limbs with infinite precision and care. They often talked and sometimes joked while he worked on her.

Once she had been transformed into the neat, naked hogtied bundle that Alex desired, he gagged her with a ring-gag. Then he propped himself up in bed with Jessica as a neat bundle of warm femal flesh helplessly trapped between his outstretched legs. He tied a leather cord around the base of his cock, inserted it fully into Jessica’s wide open mouth then tied the ends of the cord tightly to her ring-gag.

Jessica had been gagged in more ways than she could count since she arrived on Rabbit Island, but this was altogether the most interesting. Once they were intimately conjoined Master Alex read the newspapers to her as was his habit, occasionally petting Jessica’s hair as if she were his favorite labrador. The baseball season was over, so the ritual of his reciting the results of their shared sporting passion had ceased. Instead he read out random snippets of news that he thought might interest her. Jessica was reassured yet also saddened that the rest of the world continued to exist perfectly well without her.

One story caught Alex’s attention, and as he read it Jessica noticed a distinct swelling of the cock within her mouth... not unlike when he announced that the Yankees had won! He read it to her:

MYSTERY OF ARMLESS AMERICAN. An American woman was last week found walking naked on a remote beach near Koh Samui in Thailand. Both her arms had been amputated at the shoulder, although she is unable to explain when or how this happened. She appears to be suffering from severe amnesia. The unfortunate woman remains in the care of the American Consulate at Phuket while they try to ascertain her identity... AFP

Although the news appeared to have no connection to Rabbit Island the story played on Alex’s mind for the remainder of the day.

AN UNUSUAL SIGHTING

That same evening Jessica and Debbie were running their usual route, taking food to the bunny camps and collecting produce from the orchard. After delivering the evening meal to the bunny camp Ray returned to the where the ponygirls always waited. He was escorting two of the bunnies, and neither he nor the bunnies were happy. One of his hands gripped the upper arm of each naked female as he escorted his reluctant companions to the whipping post. The two bunnies looked pretty upset. One of them was Jessica’s old friend Nancy, a very slim woman with straight dark hair and fierce intelligent eyes. She struggled every inch of the way, never being one to accept her fate without a fight.

“Ray. It’s not fair. We were merely stating that these new jockstrap-things are uncomfortable,” she explained. “I’ve got a terrible itching. It’s a simple statement of fact!”

Ray was not convinced. “Sorry, bunny nancy. That sounds like a complaint to me, and you know the punishment for complaining,” he said impassively.

He secured Nancy in position to await her lashes. Like the other bunnies she already had her hands locked in cuffs behind her, Ray forced her to bend over, then lifted her arms, attaching them by a short chain to the post at head height. Alongside Nancy, with the post separating them, was Mandy. She was quiet as usual, and almost in tears before the punishment had even started. The bunnies were all-too-familiar with the strappado position - standing bent forward with arms behind them and held high. Within minutes their shoulder and arms ached terribly, although its main purpose was to present their asses for punishment.

Much to the watching ponygirls’ approval Ray took off his polo shirt before he commenced the bunnies’ paddling. He was naturally lean, though with nice muscle definition, and looked quite the athlete when he was wielding a paddle. The two bent-over bunnies twitched their buttocks nervously as they waited for the first blow, not knowing on which one of them it would land.

It was Nancy’s neat, almost boyish rump that felt the first stinging hit. She grunted in response the pain, stoical as ever, although she would have gladly accepted a gag to help stifle her cries. If she wasn’t so proud she would have howled.

Mandy, bent over next to Nancy, yelped at the first stroke on her behind and was soon in a blur of tears and sobbing as the rest of her strokes were diligently applied by the pony driver.

Ray then gave Nancy five extra strokes for resisting him. Having created two pairs of delightful red buttocks he felt his work was done in this particular camp.

He immediately released the chains and sent the chastened bunnies and their stinging red butts scurrying back to their cabin. He could distinctly hear Nancy muttering obscenities at him under her breath, he’d be disappointed if she weren’t. Ray diligently recorded the details of the punishment in his small notebook.

It may seem perverse, but ponygirls Jessica and Debbie enjoyed watching the bunnies get a paddling; and the harder the better. Perhaps it was because the bunnies had such an easy life, compared to the full working day of the ponygirls. Ray was a good-looking guy and watching him in action, wielding a whip or paddle on someone, was a pleasurable interlude in the working day of a ponygirl. Ray had long realized his ponygirls’ interest in the punishments. After all, he had to attend to their reins passing by their intimate areas. He always made sure his ponies were dried off and that ‘proper’ lubricant was reapplied to the relevant area.

They were making good speed back along the winding route when Ray tugged hard on their reins, and Jessica’s ringed nipples were pulled down to the full extent that her reins allowed. The ponygirls halted immediately, confused and curious.

Ray dismounted from the trap, and without a word to his ponygirls he started scrambling down the steep rocky ravine at the side of their gravel track. He had spotted something laying a few yards down in the distance, something unusual in the litter-free, unspoilt, unpolluted scenery of Rabbit Island. He edged his way down towards the bright object that had caught his eye.

Perhaps the excitement at his imminent discovery had distracted him. He lost his footing on loose bolder, tumbled head over heels. He broke a wrist in the attempt to arrest his fall, but not even that could prevent his head cracking against a protuding boulder.

It went silent. Even the birds on the trees seemed to become silent. The ponygirls became aware that something was amiss. They had heard the sound of Ray’s fall and then... nothing. Unable to see beyond their blinkers or to communicate adequately through their bitted mouths, they stood quietly listening for a couple of minutes, hoping to hear a sound from down the slope. Jessica could wait no longer, she moved over to the edge of the track to look for Ray. Joined together in harness, Debbie came too.

The ponygirls stood peering over the edge and saw Ray laying motionless, and alongside him a scrap of white fabric shone luminously in the gloom of twilight.

“Hway?” Jessica called out to him, having discarded her role as a ponygirl but unable to divest herself of the harness and other trappings that rendered her helpless to assist her injured driver.

“Hway!” Debbie shouted, but there was still no movement from Ray’s body a few yards beneath them.

“Veegh!” Jessica said to Debbie - they had to get back to the beach.

The distressed and driverless ponies started running back to the beach cabin adjusting to how unbearably light the trap was behind them. Jessica would almost have welcomed the sting of the whipper and the familiar feel of Ray’s sensitive tugging on her reins.

The bunnies, having heard the sound of sleigh-bells that accompanied the ponygirls’ arrival, were already waiting for them as Jessica and Debbie pulled up at the end of the trail.

“What’s happened to Ray?” Kate asked the breathless ponies, immediately sensing the distress in their agitated behavior.

“Hway hurh!” Jessica announced as clearly as she could.

Kate understood. “Where? Where is he? What’s happened?”

Jessica’s garbled explanation, due to that rubber-covered steel bit in her mouth, was useless. All of a pony’s harnesses and bridles were locked on, so there was not a chance that the bunnies could release the ponygirls.

“Take me to him!” Kate said, deciding to take charge of the situation. She walked behind the ponygirls and stepped up onto the bench seat of the trap. Nancy did likewise, but her reason for going to Ray’s aid was very different to Kate’s.

Hauling two bunnies was much more difficult than an experienced pony driver. With their hands cuffed behind them, all Kate and Nancy could do was grip the backrest of the bench in a bid to stay on board as the ponygirls puffed and panted up the steep slope from the beach.

Kate saw some controls just in front of her: Three colored push buttons. Curious to find out what they were for she succeed in pressing one of them with her toe. She thought nothing happened, yet something must have happened because the ponygirls picked up their pace slightly. Her toe managed to press the second button. This time there was no mistaking the action of the whipper. The ponygirls yelped in pain and quickened their pace once again. Kate shouted out an apology, while Nancy shook her head in disbelief. Two naked handcuffed females were driving and whipping a pair of ponygirls!

In her eagerness to come to Ray’s aid Kate didn’t hesitate to press the whipper button several more times. It seemed to help them maintain a good speed. The ponygirls slowed as they neared the point where Ray fell, then stopped and slowly turned to look over the end of the ravine. Kate and Nancy jumped down from the trap and joined the ponygirls in peering over the edge.

“I can see him,” Kate said, and immediately stepped cautiously down into the ravine. It wasn't easy with her hands chained behind her, the jagged rocks hurt her bare feet much more than the sand she usually walked on. She reached Ray’s body and took a pulse from his wrist.

“He’s alive!” Kate shouted upwards.

Nancy had also scrambled down and positioned herself on Ray’s other side. “His keys. We need to get out of these cuffs if we’re to help him.” She located them in one of his pockets and after several minutes of desperate fumbling Kate and Nancy were free of their handcuffs, though they still hung down their backs, connected to the chain attached to their collars.

Kate retrieved the scrap of material that Ray had been investigating and used it to make a sling for his broken arm. Nancy returned to the ponygirls to raid the trap’s toolbox for some rope. It felt wonderful to have her hands free for the first time in weeks, even if it did take a while to regain her coordination. Nancy led the ponygirls into a position facing away from the ravine, then tied the end of the rope to the rear of the pony trap. She descended down the ravine again.

While Kate and Nancy roped up Ray’s unconscious body, the ponygirls stood and stared into the rapidly encrouching darkness. Jessica tensed her muscles against the tight bands of leather encircling her torso, furious at being so useless at a time like this.

Outside of Jessica’s blinkered vision someone stood in the shadows watching her; a woman in khaki shorts and shirt, with a rucksack on her back. As she approached the ponygirls her footsteps sounded softly on the gravel track alerting Jessica of her presence. She took a flash photograph of ponygirls from behind then moved to take another from the front.

She moved to comfort Jessica, stroking her hand over the harness straps, studying the complex arrangement of straps and reins that restrained the ponygirl. She sensed fear in Jessica’s eyes, together with a degree of shame at being discovered in a state more fitting to a beast of burden than a young woman.

“Hush. It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m Karen Galtz from the Global News Corp. I’ve been investigating Rabbit Island for a long time. I can’t help you to escape until my investigation is complete. They must not know that I’m here.” Jessica nodded to indicate she understood.

“Jesus, they sure know how to truss up a gal!” Karen exclaimed with evident admiration as her fingers ran over Jessica’s harness straps. “I simply have to take some more pictures!”

The reporter clicked and flashed her camera several more times, ensuring there were some good close-ups. “Excellent!” She said, apparently more pleased than disturbed by the discovery of the ponygirls.

“Okay ponies, pull now!” Kate shouted from the ravine below. Slowly, inch by inch, Ray’s still unconscious body was hauled back up to the track. Karen Galtz lent a hand. Kate and Nancy’s naked bodies emerged from the ravine with Ray held up between them. Exhausted from the strain on their weak arms they laid Ray on the ground.

Kate dusted down her body, then stared in disbelief at the woman. “Who the hell are you?”

“Karen Galtz, Investigative Journalist.” The stranger announced, holding out her accreditation card at arm’s length.

Kate gave a cursory glance toward the small laminated card. Despite Ms Galtz’s sympathetic expression Kate eyed her with suspicion. She already sensed that Ray’s injuries were somehow related to this woman’s arrival on the island.

“Are you going to rescue us?” Nancy asked, unable to contain her joy.

“I guess so,” said Karen Galtz, although the ambiguity of her response wasn’t lost on the others, “but first I have to investigate this place and file a report with my employer. It could take several weeks.”

Nancy waved her newly liberated hands around as if they were new toys. “Look, I’m already free, and I’ve got a set of keys to release the others. Kate would rather take her lover-boy back to the lodge, but I want off this island. Do you have a spare set of clothes I can have?”

“Sure Honey, they’re in my backpack!” Galtz gestured to the pack on the ground at the side of the trail. She exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Kate.

Nancy unclipped the backpack, rummaging within it for something to wear. Meanwhile the reporter was preparing to ensure her venture would not be derailed by a loose bunny. She raised her hand over Nancy’s unsuspecting head. In that hand she held a small rock. The thud of the well-aimed blow on the side of the head knocked Nancy to the ground, leaving her out cold on top of the backpack. Galtz quickly moved to replace Nancy’s convenient cuffs back on her wrists.

The reporter tossed the bunch of keys over to the stunned Kate. “You’d better take these with you to the lodge. I’ll see to it that Nancy gets back to her beach cabin. Let me help you lift that guy up on to the seat.”

Kate breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that Nancy was regaining consciousness. It took Nancy a minute before she realized what had happened and managed to stand up. She tugged angrily at her cuffs, unable to believe how brief had been her freedom from bondage.

The woman that Nancy had earlier thought was her savior stood watching the ponygirls depart. Nancy, wearing nothing but her chains and hi-tech chastity belt gazed at the woman with hatred, but Karen Galtz just smiled back at her as if everything was perfectly normal.

Karen Galtz’s apology to Nancy was perfunctory, and came with a promise that she would explain her presence on Rabbit Island as they walked back to the beach. Nancy had no choice but to grumpily escort her unwelcome companion back to the cabin.

In the other direction the subdued ponygirls were making cautious pace in the darkness. They’d tried to tell Kate to switch on the flashlights fitted to their brow bands, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Kate held Ray’s unconscious body tightly in her arms, comforting him as best she could. Soon they would be at The Lodge, and Ray would get the medical attention he needed. Kate hadn’t even thought about what would happen to her.

There’s an old saying: out of misfortune comes opportunity, as Kate would soon discover for herself.

End of Chapter 4

(The author welcomes reader comments and ideas)

The story so far:
(Ch. 1) Jessica’s and Kate’s escape, punishment and return.
(Ch. 2) A week of devious torments. Jessica has to make a decision.
(Ch. 3) Jessica is trained, and graduates as a ponygirl.
(Ch. 4) Ray is injured, Kate rescues him and takes him to the Lodge. Karen Galtz, an investigative journalist arrives on the island.

A DELICATE OPERATION

The lights of the Lodge’s cobbled courtyard were a welcome sight. Jessica and Debbie pulled up right in front of Riccardo, one of the other pony drivers. His own ponygirls were standing, still fully harnessed, attached to the punishment frame. Their buttocks twitchily awaiting more strokes of his rubber paddle in payment for their minor infractions during their day.

There were other people in the courtyard as well. The usual male handlers, overseeing the activities; and guests, men and women, in dinner jackets and evening dresses, enjoying a pleasant little diversion, their pre-dinner aperitifs in hand.

The handlers, looking up at the arriving pony trap, were surprised to see Ray bringing a bunny back to the Lodge, and assumed that she might be in need of medical attention. Jaws dropped when they saw that it was the naked bunny next to him that had been driving.

“Help. Ray’s hurt.” Kate called out to them.

The men lifted a barely conscious Ray down from the trap seat. “No, you need a stretcher!” The bunny’s urgent shout shocking not just the handlers but herself too.

Such was her consuming concern for Ray’s health that neither of the handlers turned stretcher bearers blocked her way as she followed the stretcher into the medical suite.

“He’s broken his arm, quite likely his ankle, and may have also fractured his skull too. He was unconscious for a while.” Kate informed them, expecting at any moment she would be locked in her cuffs and fitted with one of their infernal ball-gags.

They looked at her blankly. “Look bunny, we’re not doctors. Dr Schmidt won’t be back till tomorrow. We could sedate him with morphine and make him comfortable till then.”

“Kate! My name’s Kate! He needs treatment now. I’m a nurse, or at least I was until I got kidnapped and brought this damned island! Where’s Master Alex? I heard he used to be a doctor!”

One of the men picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Master Alex...yes, Master Kurt here. Can you come over to the medical suite as soon as possible?” He replaced the handset. “He’s coming over now.”

Kate was already checking out the equipment in the surgery. An operating table, EEG, ECG, oxygen, and X-ray equipment all close to hand. As a former theater nurse she began to feel at home as she acquainted herself with her surroundings. Master Alex walked in.

“Master...Sir...please...you’re a doctor aren’t you?” Kate asked desperately.

“...of philosophy, bunny kate. What’s wrong with him?”

By the time Kate had finished explaining what had happened, Kurt and the other handler had resumed their other duties leaving her and Master Alex alone in the medical suite. It was true, Master Alex wasn’t a medical doctor but he sheepishly admitted that he’d done a year of medicine at Harvard.

Over the next three hours the unlikely pairing worked together as a team, carrying out X-rays, setting broken bones, giving their patient the best care they could manage. Master Alex used the medical suite’s computer to log on to an internet-based medical advice center. It proved a great way to fill in the gaps in their knowledge.

Kate’s milk-laden but shapely breasts flopped around conspicuously as she went about her tasks. Master Alex couldn’t help but come into visual and occasional bodily contact with them. To preserve his own sanity he found a white apron for her to wear, tying the strings tenderly at her back, whilst observing Kate’s own minor injuries across her rear. The apron covered little except the front of her torso, and with the apron strings dangling tantalizingly down her ass crack it served to make her rear view even more appealing. For Kate the apron signalled a small but crucial change to her status: She was a nurse again!

Master Alex was a busy man, Kate discovered, constantly fielding phone calls and occasionally having to step out of the medical suite to attend meetings he had arranged. It was during one of his absences that Kate attended to her own small injuries on her buttocks and thighs.

When Master Alex returned from yet another meeting he found Kate stitching up a small gash that he hadn’t noticed before. The wound, at the bottom crease of her left buttock, had Kate twisting awkwardly as she tried to make the stitches. Alex felt almost touched that Kate had been neglecting her own wounds until then, such was her concerned for Ray.

“Why didn’t you let me do that?” He asked, almost disappointed, as he gazed with admiration at Kate’s contorted body. “Let me finish off before you stretch the wound and make it a whole lot worse.”

She couldn’t argue with him even if this was one job she’d rather have managed herself. Yet it felt good to have somebody fussing over her for a change. A man showing tenderness - now that was a novelty! The best part was that he decided it was necessary to remove her chastity belt, exposing her sex to the open air for the first time in more than a week. Alex watched with evident interest as she cleaned herself vigorously with a damp cloth.

“I told the handlers that these plastic covers are not sanitary.” Kate said holding up the plastic moulding that had covered her pussy for the last week.

“Compared to what bunnies were getting up to on the beach, I think they are much healthier.” Alex retorted. “The things you bunnies had been sticking in your holes was quite disturbing. You, kate, were even photographed using the stump of tree branch!”

“And why did we do that?” Kate’s anger was beginning to boil up, as it so easily did when stressed. “...because of the drugs you feed us. That’s why! Sometimes I’m so desperate for a fuck I’d sit on a rusty pipe if I could get some relief! Even now my body is screaming for relief, though it’s the last thing I really want to do.”

She glanced towards Ray, in bed, wired up to various monitors, as if to explain the comment.

Master Alex dialled a number on the phone and made a brief request. A minute later a pussy-girl arrived with a long plastic box. He opened it and handed Kate a vibrator. “Would this be of any help? Maybe it will help you relax.”

She grumpily snatched it from his hand and ran into the adjacent en-suite bathroom.

“Leave the door open!” Master Alex called out just as she reached for the door handle.

He watched her take a kneeling position, knees spread wide, defiantly facing towards him as if to prove a point. With her sun-bleached blonde hair and pretty features, she suited the heavy leather collar around her neck; particularly with that look on her face as she took hold of the vibrator. Alex wondered why he’d never fucked her before.

After fiddling impatiently to locate the switch, the vibrator came to life, and so too did Kate’s body as she held it against her sex. With her eyes closed and mouth open she teased herself with the vibrating tip, her breathing becoming more urgent and ragged. Soon the vibrator had become the best substitute of a penis, plunged fully into her as if searching for some magical spot deep inside her belly. She bucked up and down repeatedly, abandoning any sense of self-control, her bountiful breasts bouncing with a life of their own.

Her first orgasm came - a dramatic and almost desperate thing - her moans echoed around the tiles walls, giving vent to the pent-up tension within her. Her paced slackened only briefly, as one hand reached up to grasp a breast, now moist with perspiration. Feeling for a nipple to play with, she found only the metal cap held on by a wire piercing the nipple. Not only did it protect her milk but denied her that fundamental woman’s pleasure. She tugged and twisted the nipple cap frustratedly but sensed how little joy it could yield.

By the time of bunny Kate's second orgasm, Alex could hold out no more. He simply had to get his hands on those breasts, for both of their sakes. While she continued masturbating, eyes still closed, mouth still open, he knelt behind her. His hands reached around to grasp her heavy breasts, squeezing them, digging his fingers into her flesh as if they were claws, whilst encouraging her to continue plunging herself with the vibrator. She came again, seemingly insatiable.

Master Alex lifted and dragged her to the toilet seat and laid her belly and breasts across its wooden lid. Taking each of her hands in turn, he fastened them into the handcuffs still dangling from the chain connected to her collar. Kate was too far gone to care what he did.

Spooning himself behind her, and lowering his pants to his knees, he pushed his rock-hard erection forcefully into her warm and damp sex... and she was glad to have it; that much was obvious. Holding a handful of her hair in his fist he forcefully pulled her head back so she had to face the tiled wall. His other hand was cupped under her chin, his fingers invading her mouth. She was eager to suck them as if needing a counterbalance to his cock impaling her at the other end.

Time and again Alex thrust within her, his momentum building, while their entwined position remained unaltered until the inevitable shuddering, convulsing and simultaneous climax.

Alex tenderly kissed and caressed her, before slowly lifting himself from Kate’s limp and sated body. Her hands were motionless, relaxed within their familiar cuffs. After using the phone to order tea for both of them, he retrieved Ray’s key-ring from the table next to the sedated patient’s bed. Kate heard the jangle of keys from behind her as Alex looked for the appropriate key for her cuffs. He didn’t find it. Switching on the shower and setting a lukewarm temperature, he pushed Kate, still handcuffed into the shower.

Two minutes later he came back holding out a large towel, inviting the refreshed, satisfied and thoroughly soaked Kate to step into it. He rubbed her down briskly with the towel as a parent might with a child. Kate loved it, but tried not to show it.

“Sorry that you can't dry yourself, it’s just that I couldn’t find the handcuff key on Ray’s keyring.” Alex apologized disingenuously, continuing to rub her. His hands were busy, thoroughly drying her pussy. “You wouldn’t happen to know what that key went?” Kate felt his hand press heavily against her sex as if attempting to squeeze out a reply.

“I’ve no idea,” Kate replied, bringing that line of questioning to a rapid conclusion. Dried off and feeling better than she had in a long time, Alex led Kate back to the main room, both guiltily relieved to observe that Ray remained sedated but stable.

LUCY

There was a gentle knock on the door. Without waiting for a response a pussy-girl entered the room with a tea tray.

Alex greeted her warmly. “Thank you lucy, please put the tray down over there.”

Lucy was all smiles and charm, her fine blonde hair pinned up, with wispy curls tousled downwards, sweetly framing her face. She was attired in an immaculate white dress with its tightly laced bodice and long full skirt. Although not big breasted, the bodice’s square cut decolletage shaped the top of her breasts into something most alluring, a sight not missed by Alex as she bent down to pour tea into the two cups.

Kate was kneeling on the marble floor, naked and secured in her chains. She gazed at the pussy-girl with mixed feelings, almost like envy.

“Did you remember the other thing I asked for?” Alex asked Lucy. Dipping two fingers between her uplifted and squeezed breasts she pulled out and handed him a small envelope, curtsied respectfully and slipped quietly from the room. Master Alex had seen how Kate was studying every move of the pussy-girl.

He opened the envelope and took out two small keys and gestured for Kate to come closer to his chair, to sit with her back to him. He unlocked not just her handcuffs but also the thick leather collar she had worn for months. Without the familiar feel of the collar Kate felt truly naked, though the significance of being divested of the collar was not lost on her.

They both took a sip of Earl Grey tea from the cups. “How would you like to become a pussy-girl, working here at The Lodge?” Alex asked. “You’ll need to be undergo training of course, but you’ll find it an improvement on your current status.”

Kate’s mind sprung into life. Out of Ray’s awful accident had come the opportunity she had been looking for. “Do I have a choice?”

“Absolutely. It’s impossible to be a pussy-girl against your will. That’s what bunnies are.” He said with an indulgent chuckle. He seemed surprised that Kate hadn’t figured that out. “It’s entirely your choice. Actually, I have in mind a special role for you, right here in the medical suite.”

Kate’s excitement at this suggestion was impossible to conceal. It meant she could continue to nurse Ray. “What do I have to do?” she said, trying hard to maintain a calm matter-of-fact tone of voice.

“You must dress like a pussy-girl, act like a pussy-girl and think like a pussy-girl. You’ve seen how they are always smiling, always obedient, and always trustworthy. I know that you bunnies think the pussy-girls have sold their souls to the devil, but the fact is they have a far better and more interesting life than the bunnies. I could set you a few tasks to test how you react to various situations. If that goes well you’ll have a few weeks aptitude and etiquette training, and then you’ll be a pussy-girl. You’ll love it, I’m sure.”

Master Alex made a good salesman, although Kate had already decided to buy! It was time to start thinking like a pussy-girl... if that wasn’t a contradiction in terms.

Leaning back, assuming the role of a psychoanalyst, Master Alex prepared to discuss something urgent with Kate. “Tell me what happened today, and don’t leave a damn thing out.”

She told him everything. How the ponygirls returned to the beach for help, and she and Nancy went to the spot where Ray had fallen. Giggling, she explained about her hitting the whipper controls. Then, about how she found Ray, first fearing that he was dead.

Kate sensed that Master Alex had set a trap for her. He’d seen the sling she made for Ray’s arm and was certain to know it was from a parachute. She decided to come clean, sensing he would already have deduced that there was an intruder on the island. It was a female journalist, she casually informed him, but couldn’t remember the name.

Master Alex’s questioning was not done. “Ray’s keys... what happened to them?”

Kate shifted nervously, still kneeling on the floor, aware of the nagging irritation from her stitches. “Nancy and I had to unlock ourselves otherwise we’d never have been about to lift Ray up. Nancy wanted to keep the keys but we - that journalist and I - managed to persuade her to let me take the keys and save her from getting in trouble. What’s the problem? I gave Kurt the set of keys.”

“All except one key. I discovered it was missing while we were in the bathroom. Could bunny nancy or the journalist have had time to remove a key from the ring?”

“I guess so. We all held the key ring for at least a few moments.”

Master Alex laughed. “It seems our journalist lady has made a great start to her stay with us. Jesus Christ, she’s already acquired a master key for everyone’s handcuffs! Our festival starts in two days so this is damn bad timing. She’ll get one hell of a story if we don’t find her.”

Showing newly acquired pussy-girl attitude, Kate agreed it really was bad timing, but it didn’t feel like her problem. She was yawning, exhausted, sexually and emotionally drained by the events of the day. At any moment she expected to be collected by a handler and chained up in a cell, or perhaps even find herself being abused in a stranger’s bed. But her thoughts were preempted.

“Would you like to sleep in that bed tonight,” Master Alex asked pointing to the adjacent bed in the room. “I need to stay up a while, get some work done on the computer, and monitor Ray’s progress for a few hours. I’ll wake you up early and you can watch him while I get a little sleep.”

He must have read her mind, though the way she had being eyeing up that comfortable bed for the last couple of hours, it wasn’t difficult. Beckoning her to where he sat, he told her to turn around, and put handcuffs on her wrists. She laid out on the bed and Master Alex covered her with a sheet.

Suddenly, just before her brain shut down for the night, something came back to her. “I remember the name now. Galtz, I think... Yeah, Karen Galtz.”

Master Alex smiled. “Hah! I know that name from somewhere.” He seemed highly amused by that news.

He dimmed the lights and Kate was asleep in moments.

It was a distance of two miles from the scene of Ray’s accident to the bunny camp on the beach. As they walked slowly along the trail Karen tried to make up for hitting Nancy on the head and putting her back in the cuffs, but there really wasn’t anything she could do except apologize again. Nancy grudgingly accept. She was curious to know how and why the journalist came to Rabbit Island.

“You’ve a tattoo of a rabbit on your inner thigh, haven’t you?” Karen stated.

“That’s true. We all have, and a number too.”

“There was a woman in the news recently. She had suffered a major memory loss and nobody has yet identified her.”

“...and she had a tattoo like mine?”

“Yes, similar. It’s definitely a rabbit design. I interviewed her myself and she showed it to me.”

“So how did you know about this place? Surely we are somewhere in the middle of the South Asia Sea.”

“Let’s just say I have a few connections with people who know about places like as this.”

“So what’s your point?” Nancy pressed. “You already know that she came from or passed through here. You don’t seem to want to help us escape, so why exactly are you here?”

“To see if it is true. To find out if they are amputating the arms from their ponygirls.”

Nancy stopped walking, dead in her tracks. “That’s crazy. You’ve seen the ponygirls for yourself. There are definitely arms in those harnesses. The people running this place may have some perverted ideas about sex and power but they are not crazy. They take good care of their ponygirls.”

“I’m glad for your sake. If that’s true, I’ll take some photographs around the island tomorrow and then I’m out of here.”

“By parachute?” Nancy joked.

“Fast powerboat actually. I chartered one to collect me at the jetty at midnight tomorrow. I still have a few other places to check out.”

“What? Other places like this?”

“Of course. You didn’t think this place was unique did you? I’ve heard it said that this is one of the better slave islands. Did you know that in some places they keep their girls in small cages, in dark basement cells? Other slavery organizations think Rabbit Island is a joke, far too soft, what with the bunnies, ponies and pussies.”

“You seem to know an awful lot.” Nancy said, treating Karen’s claims with scepticism. “How did you come to know so much about this sordid business?”

“Well, as you know I’m a journalist and I’ve always had a consuming interest in sex. A few years ago I got my first assignment covering the sex movie industry, I knew instantly I’d found my niche. That assignment was about ‘fluffers’. That’s what they call the women off-stage who keep the actors’ dicks hard when they make gang-bang movies. I decided to learn about it first hand, if you know what I mean...

“I wrote other articles about prostitution, sex clubs, weird fetishes... you name it! One time I had an article to do on glamour modelling and that led me into a bondage modelling shoot. The photographer persuaded me that I should let him tie me up for a double shot with the model. Well... I loved it. The next day I went back there and got tied up myself, and my pictures started to appear on the internet. The rope and gags turned me on so much I would have done the modelling for free. I’ve been tied up in so many different ways I’ve lost count...

“Next, I answered an internet ad from a Dom who was looking for a legal 24/7 slave. I’d seen a lot about such things and thought it would make a good story. So we signed a contract with a specialist lawyer and I did a three month stint as a real sex slave. The only condition was that I finished the three months without injury or disfigurement. That gave him an awful lot of latitude and he took it. Sometimes it was heaven and sometimes it was pure hell, but it was something I’ll never forget...

“By that stage I had my own syndicated magazine column and all sorts of gossip, information and contacts started to come my way. I started to learn about the existence of places like this...

“My last assignment was a two week visit to a human pony farm in England. They were such nice people and it was great fun, but I thought it was ruined when the ponies were allowed to go to the pub with their masters in the evening. That’s not what being a ponygirl is all about. The ponygirls on Rabbit Island are so much better!”

“But they are non-consensual!” Nancy objected.

“Exactly! And that is what allows them to fully experience being a human pony.”

Nancy looked at the visitor as if she was mad. “I have an idea. Why don’t you take my place on the island? You can have the full Rabbit Island bunny experience and I’ll return to the States!”

“I would, honey, but I’m just too busy. I have publishing deadlines to meet. Besides, Rabbit Island doesn’t accept consensuals any longer.”

Karen was one of those people who think there’s something wrong if two people were together but not talking. “Nancy, what’s your favorite position?” she said excitedly.

“For sex?” Nancy queried.

“For bondage! You must have been tied up lots of ways since you arrived here. Which one do you like most?”

Nancy paused. She thought of the one she disliked least. “Ball-tie. Tied up in a neat little bundle and left alone in peace!”

Karen was quick to offer her preference. “Me, I like a hog-tie. Rope of course. Elbows tied and touching. Ankles all the way back to my wrists, and with a crotch rope naturally.”

“Naturally!” Nancy repeated with a smirk. The normal bunny conversations were bad enough for the likes of Nancy, but this woman was even worse.

“And I have to be gagged too!” Karen continued excitedly. “A ballgag, but not too large...and I prefer to be on the floor because I always worry about falling off a bed while I’m squirming around.”

Despite, or perhaps because of, Karen’s incessant conversation the walk back to the cabin seemed to take longer than Nancy expected.

Nancy made the introductions to the other bunnies. There seemed to be more and more reasons to hate the journalist: Self obsessed, arrogant, condescending, insensitive and violent! Although her handcuffs prevented her from touching it Nancy was convinced that there was a large bump on the side of her head.

While Ms Galtz held court over the other six bunnies, revelling in their fawning attention and admiration, Nancy sat a few yards away from the group, thinking of other matters as she often did. There was one thing about Karen that Nancy really, really liked. She had a speedboat taking her off Rabbit Island tomorrow night.

When Ray was taken to the medical suite with Kate in close attendance, ponygirls Jessica and Debbie were led to the paddock area, still pulling the vacant trap behind them. Riccardo had invited the assembled guests to inspect his ponies, Linda and Karita, at close quarters.

The half a dozen men and women approached the ponygirls almost in awe, hands tentatively touching the the numerous straps of the harnesses that securely embraced the ponygirls. Secure too, because of the six small padlocks that prevented their unauthorized removal. Some guests liked to caress their heads, still fixed with the bridle, as if petting an animal. Others liked to feel and admire the impressive muscularity of the ponygirl’s sleek thighs, while others could not resist tugging on the rings in her nipples and labia, marvelling at well adapted to the rings the pony’s flesh had become.

Throughout it all, despite their aching arms, tired legs, and smarting buttocks, the ponygirls remained noble and impassive, just as they were trained. Whilst much of the groping might not have been to a ponygirl’s taste, the compliments most certainly were. There weren’t many lady visitors to Rabbit Island who did not harbour a wistful desire to be a pony themselves, if only for a fleeting moment.

Riccardo led the orphaned ponygirls Jessica and Debbie to their tack room. Despite his kindly gestures he never said a word to them, though he could tell how troubled they were by the day’s events. They seemed unable to keep still as Riccardo unlocked the remaining padlocks from their harnesses. As was the driver’s custom he only released one of the ponies’ harnesses, leaving her remove her own bridle and bit and also unbuckle the other.

Jessica and Debbie walked into the main room of their quarters each carrying a large armful of leather straps which they dropped onto the floor next to a large table. Both were naked, as always when not in harness, and each had her pony’s tail still swishing against her thighs as natural as if it were the real thing. For sanitary reasons they kept their tail/butt-plugs in place until they reached the bathroom.

It was a long and anxious wait for news on how their pony driver was doing. Pussy-girl Lucy gave them the best report later that evening.

“I just took some tea to the medical suite. Ray is doing okay. He’s injured but they say it’s nothing to worry about. Master Alex and bunny kate are doing okay too.” She added mischievously.

The meaning of the pussy-girl’s words wasn’t lost on Jessica. Her best friend and Master Alex had been working together. She was pleased for Kate, yet couldn’t stop herself from feeling jealous. Jealous of both of them. She hated herself for it, and hated being left on the periphery of events. Ponygirls were always so close to the action but were seldom at the centre of it. Everything happened just outside of their blinkered vision. It was as if they were constantly shielded from human affairs.

A dark cloud had blown in and settled above her. Not even her fellow ponygirls could lift Jessica from the depression she had fallen into. She and Debbie sat diligently cleaning their harnesses as they did every night, but the conversation of six off-duty ponygirls wasn’t full of the normal joking and teasing.

“What you need,” Debbie declared, putting down her newly cleaned boot, “is a good, hard fuck!”

Jessica laughed. She hadn’t had sex with a man or a woman for five days. No wonder she was feeling frustrated. “Yeah, I can never find one when I need one. Can I order one from room-service?”

They all laughed and carried on with the polishing. Her joke may have made the mood a little lighter but Jessica’s blues remained.

Soon after the ponygirls had finished polishing their tack Erik appeared outside the barred door that connected the pony quarters with the Lodge. He had a piece of paper in his hand, reading it to himself while looking over the group of naked ponygirls.

“Jessica needs a good hard fuck!” Ponygirl Linda called out to him.

Flushed with embarrassment, Jessica slapped her on the arm. “Shush! You are such a troublemaker!”

Erik smirked, and continued to study the paper.

“Okay, Linda and karita. You’ll be doing a little double act, a pussy-girl will be along shortly to dress you. Debbie, you’ll be having a lot of fun. You like needles and clamps, don’t you? And Jessica... come with me now.

She stood up, walked the few yards to the vertical-barred door where Erik waited. She turned around so her back was against the bars. In the door was a square gap in the bars at waist height. Jessica held her hands together behind her and felt the click of Erik’s handcuffs around them. He blindfolded her, just as she expected. She turned again to face the bars as Erik instructed. He clipped the ends of a thick chain to her nipple rings, creating a shallow arc of chain between them. Jessica could feel its weight pulling down on her nipples. “Just a little decorative touch. Or maybe something to hold on to you by.” Erik explained.

The barred door opened briefly and Jessica was removed. Erik held her firmly by the elbow, and escorted her along familiar corridors. She recognised the echoes of the walls and the feel of the flooring, whether it was marble, flagstone, or wood veneer. Like all the other bunnies and ponies she’d never seen these corridors because they were always blindfolded when walking through them. She always wondered what it was they didn’t want her to see. The answer would be a disappointment.

Erik took Jessica outside into the sultry night air, much to her surprise. It was noisy with crickets chirping as it invariably was.

“Will this one be okay?” Erik asked somebody.

“Looks alright to me,” said a husky voice. He sounded like a large man.

“She’s a ponygirl. Nice strong body. Good temperament, but she will fight back and escape if she gets half a chance.

“No problem. I like ‘em with a bit of fight in them.”

Jessica felt his hand grip her arm as Erik’s had done, but with twice the strength.

They were walking on the grass. Not strolling, but at a purposeful pace. “What’s your name?” Jessica asked the stranger.

“Did I say you could speak, bitch?”

“No Sir. I’m sorry Master.”

Jessica started to be concerned about the stranger. The further away from The Lodge they got the tighter was the grip on her arm. She guessed they were at the far end of the back lawn, near the spread-eagle and suspension frames.

Suddenly he grabbed her breasts in his hands, squeezing hard for his own pleasure. His thumbs rubbed coarsely over her nipples, while the chain than connected her nipple rings rattled in response to his rough handling.

“On your knees!"

Jessica complied immediately and heard the unzipping of the man’s pants.

“Open your mouth!”

She did so, and was not surprised by what was soon pushing past her lips, making her open her mouth even wider to accommodate it.

“Cock-sucking whore.” he muttered, as if involuntarily. “Keep sucking bitch.”

Jessica, half scared and half-excited by this new encounter, did as she was told, even as the thick penis continued to grow within her. His large hand pressed on the back of her head pushing her into his crotch. His other hand held the nipple chain and had it wrapped around his fist, pulling violently on Jessica’s nipples.

Suddenly he pulled Jessica off his cock and pushed her to the ground. Handcuffed and blindfolded, it wasn’t a fair fight as he wrestled her onto her belly, then sat astride her, his weight grinding her pelvis into the grass. Jessica kicked backwards with her legs, determined to at least put up a fight. The man laughed, enjoying her struggling beneath him.

“Whoa! They said you were a feisty one!”

“I don’t... like... being... raped.” Jessica grunted out.

"Maybe you just like to fight beforehand? Then you don’t feel so guilty.”

“Bullshit!”

He took one of her ankles, wrapped it with rope and tied it to an iron ring which was cemented into the ground for that very purpose. Her other ankle received the same treatment leaving them spread well apart. The man’s hand found her sex exposed and inviting. His thick fingers probed, brushing against the labia rings. They came out wet. He wiped them across Jessica’s bare buttocks.

“Can you feel that? That’s your juice. You love it like this.” He spanked her buttocks several times with hard stinging blows.

“You fucking bastard!”

He laughed, not in the least upset or annoyed by her outbursts. It was all part of their fight as far as he was concerned. To her surprise she felt him unlocking her handcuffs, which prompted another round of wrestling as he tied her wrists to the other spread-eagle securing points.

Jessica was left cursing and struggling frustratedly against the ropes, which were slack enough for her to raise herself up on her hands and knees but were still inescapable.

“It’s been nice talking to you, but now it’s time to make love, or rape, if you prefer. Would you like to open your mouth for a gag now, or shall I make you open it?”

She opened up and immediately felt a rubber ball passing between her lips. The man tugged deliberately hard as he buckled the strap behind her head. Pegged out on the ground like a helpless sacrificial lamb Jessica waited, trembling in anticipation, as the man got ready to take her.

And take her, he did, for the next half hour. Neither her vagina nor her ass was spared as his oversized member thrust deep into her belly. The more she struggled the more he seemed to like it; and the harder he became, the harder he pushed. By the end of his assault Jessica was flattened out on the grass, exhausted, with his heavy body resting like a conquering power on top of her.

She needed a good hard fuck and she’d got one. And yes, she did feel better for it, although the sleeping body on top of her was beginning to feel awfully heavy. Almost as heavy as her heart.

End of Chapter 5
(comments and suggestions welcome!)

The story so far:
(Ch. 1) Jessica’s and Kate’s escape, punishment and return.
(Ch. 2) A week of devious torments. Jessica has to make a decision.
(Ch. 3) Jessica is trained, and graduates as a ponygirl.
(Ch. 4) Ray is injured, Kate rescues him and takes him to the Lodge. Karen Galtz, an investigative journalist arrives on the island.
(Ch. 5) Kate proves her nursing skills. Jessica suffers from Ponygirl Blues.

THE MEDICAL SUITE

“Kate, it’s your turn to watch Ray while I get some sleep.” Master Alex whispered, shaking Kate gently from her sleep. It was 4 am.

“Uh? W-w-what?” Kate sleepily replied, her eyes barely open. “Ray... Yes... I’ll watch him now.”

Master Alex helped Kate to her feet and led her to a chair next to Ray’s bed chaining her cuffs to its wooden backrest. “Just call out if you need me,” he said sleepily, stripping off and falling into the warm bed Kate had vacated.

Kate sat in the instrument-illuminated darkness, contentedly watching over Ray, listening to his breathing, and occasional snores from Master Alex. The air-conditioning was slightly cool for her naked skin. Although her nipples were still secured within their metal hats she knew that they were hard, expanding fully in their little housings. How nice it would have been, she thought, to quietly play with herself while watching the two men sleep. But the cuffs locking her hands to the chair’s back denied her that simple pleasure. It had a double purpose, denying not just her escape, but her pleasure too.

They couldn’t restrain her thoughts however. Those thoughts were not of escape and freedom but of the previous night when Alex had taken her across the toilet seat. She shivered with pleasure at the recollection, frustrated that she was unable to attend to her pussy’s sudden need to be touched.

Behind her, with its fan still humming, was the computer from which Master Alex had tapped into invaluable medical advice. Its internet access, connecting the island the outside world, did not escape her notice. Smiling to herself, Kate wondered whether she might be permitted to check her email. Probably not, she conceded.

TOAST

Pedro the milkman arrived at the medical suite around eight in the morning, prior to embarking on his usual round of the island. He was a man that Kate was always glad to see - the only one that could relieve the weight of her growing breasts. Master Alex brought Pedro up to date with developments regarding Kate; although there was little that the milkman hadn’t already heard through the grapevine.

Pussy-girls, Pedro knew, could not stay in lactation. He said he was disappointed to lose a ‘young and promising milker’ - a comment that caused Kate to smile. He muttered pessimistically to Alex about not being able to meet his yield projections.

Kate assumed her usual milking position on the floor, legs crossed with the receptacle nestling between her thighs. Pedro quickly tied her ankles together with a leather strap, out of habit rather than necessity. Next came the part that all the milkmaids loved - when Pedro clipped through the wires that fastened the nipple caps to their breasts and pulled the wire out of the piercing. After cleaning each nipple with an antiseptic wipe, giving them quick ‘wake-up’ squeeze, he attached the suction pumps.

The electric motor hummed into life. Kate sat back and relaxed, enjoying the feel of the sucking action on her breasts and the way it permeated down to her sex. Contentedly she watched her milk leaving her body and collecting in the clear pouch that nestled between her calves and her protruding mound. Pedro switched off the machine sooner than Kate expected, much to her disappointment. Surely, she thought, he must have known there was still more milk left in her breasts!

Shortly after her milking Kate was enjoying a light breakfast by herself in the medical suite. Enjoying would be an understatement; the joy of being able to use a real knife to butter her toast was almost overwhelming. Although alone and unfettered she knew she was being watched by the CCTV so was on her best behavior. It was obviously a test, although sitting down enjoying a nice breakfast was not a difficult challenge.

She heard the noise of pony-boot bells, a sound that always perked up a bunny because it signalled that feeding time was imminent. She laughed to herself when she noticed her mouth watered even though breakfast was on a tray in front of her. A Pavlovian response, Jessica had once told her. Something to do with dogs apparently.

Looking out the window, she recognized Frank and his ponies, Sandra and Cathy. They were not on the breakfast run, but were returning from the jetty. Sitting alongside Frank was Dr. Schmidt.

Master Alex had mentioned that Dr Schmidt would be back at the Lodge during the morning but Kate hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Suddenly her appetite had gone. The remains of the toast remained uneaten. Had she really diagnosed Ray’s injuries correctly? Was his broken arm properly set? She feared if the doctor disapproved of her performance she would be thrown into the punishment cells.

The doctor breezed in and after a quick greeting he commenced questioning Master Alex about Ray’s condition and treatment. Alex did his best to explain; sometimes failing to find the right terms, so Kate interjected periodically until it was she giving the patient’s history. Despite Kate’s occasionally nervous explanations the doctor seemed satisfied with Ray’s treatment thus far, bringing a sigh of relief from both her and Master Alex.

Kate's brief role as a nurse had ended with the Doctor’s arrival. Handlers came to take her from the medical suite. She was taken to a plain, very bright room bathed in diffused natural light. The only thing in the room was a simple wooden chair with a high back and no arms. She sat down on it and looked around the empty room. She was alone, and what’s more she wasn’t chained or tied up in any way, her sex was free of the chastity belt, her nipples finally released from the metal caps that signified her milk belonged to others. It was as if she had been given back her body. Her hands soon found there way to those parts so long denied them. Just to feel her nipples and labia with her fingers was wonderful. If this was her only reward for rescuing Ray then it was worth it.

KATE BONDS WITH PUSSY-GIRLS

The door opened and Kate guiltily returned her probing fingers to her lap. Two pussy-girls and Kurt, one of the senior handlers, entered, making Kate feel outnumbered as well as under-dressed. As usual the pussy-girls were immaculate in their long white dresses with their tightly laced bodices. Kate saw that each girl carried coils of soft white rope, and knew that she would soon be wearing it.

While Kurt stood to the side offering quiet advice, the pussy-girls secured Kate’s wrists and ankles to the chair; ankles tied to each front leg and each wrist to the rear ones. A half-dozen tight wraps of rope on each limb then more bands tight around her waist and the chair-back ensured that Kate was going nowhere.

It was the way the pussy-girls looked at her body as they worked that made Kate sense that their task was not merely to tie her up. Lucy rubbed some shaving foam on Kate’s pubic hair. Her light growth was dealt with by a few rapid strokes of the razor, before being wiped clean with a tissue.

The pussy-girls knelt one to each side of her, their hands reaching to explore her body. Fingers soon found their way into Kate’s easily accessible pussy. She tugged anxiously against her bonds anxiously. Something about this didn’t seem right. Initially it seemed like a little harmless girl-on-girl action, quite sensuous as each pussy-girl’s lips started planting delicate kisses on her thighs. By the time their lips were against her ribs Kate began to worry about where it was leading.

“No!” Kate gasped as the two pussy-girl mouths captured her nipples. “No, this isn’t right. It’s not natural,” she pleaded, even as the milk was being teased through the ducts in her nipples. Unlike the impersonal suction of the milking machine she could feel demanding and insistent lips and teeth, sucking and nipping, greedily taking their fill from her breasts.

Kate’s tears trickled down her cheeks. “Please stop. I don’t like this,” she snuffled, her teary eyes pleading with Kurt; but the suckling continued relentlessly. Kurt stepped behind the chair, stroking Kate’s hair as if to comfort her. Then his hands cupped and squeezed her breasts to further stimulate the milk’s flow.

When the pussy-girls’ mouths finally released their grip on her teats Kurt’s fingers were there to take their place. He squeezed both at the same time, squirting Kate’s milk onto the face and chest of each pussy-girl. They both laughed and licked their lips.

“C’mon katie girl,” Lucy said sympathetically, “cheer up. It’s nothing to get upset about!” She dabbed the tears from Kate’s eyes with a white handkerchief before applying it to the splashes of milk on the top of her breast.

After the poor attitude and ungenerous spirit Kate had shown, Master Kurt gave her a severe lecture. She was still bound to the chair while he paced around menacingly around her, criticizing, cajoling, and browbeating her until she was once again in tears.

“I want to go back to the beach!” Kate cried, her tears splashing onto her bare breasts.

“No you don’t.”

“I do. I don’t want to stay at here any more. I couldn’t bear to be a pussy-girl.”

Master Kurt laughed heartily, as if to ridicule her. “Bunny kate. Do you really think you can pick and choose where you go every time something displeases you? Are we are here for your convenience? You will complete the remainder of the pussy-girl trial, like it or not. Failing that, we could accommodate you in the cells for a few weeks. With the start of the festival some fresh meat in the cells is always useful, but I don’t think you like that at all.

Kate knew that was true. When couple of dozen rich, sadistic perverts from around the world landed on Rabbit Island the cells were the worst place to be. It was as if each cell door had a sign on it saying ‘hurt me’.

The ever-reliable Erik arrived in the room to interrupt Kurt’s inelegant pep talk. Kate’s next appointment awaited her.

After being untied from the chair Kate was cuffed and hooded, then frog-marched through the seemingly endless corridors of The Lodge. They entered a room which had a distinctive echo. She was made to kneel down on the cool tiled floor. It was a public bathroom.

THE MEN’S ROOM

The hood was lifted off Kate’s head, revealing to her a row of toilet cubicles on the other side of the tiled room. To her left and right were several men’s urinals; alongside those, towards the door, were washbasins. With its hardwood fittings and marble surfaces, Kate observed that it was a very elegant place, the kind of washroom seen in a five star hotel.

Directly between her kneeling legs there was a small drain hole in the tiled floor. She realized that her position in the rest room was as much part of the design as any other fixture there.

Behind her Kurt and Erik were busy fitting Kate’s arms and neck into a stainless steel frame, adjusting the height of the vertical pole so that two semi-circular arms could be closed in on each side of her neck. They joined and overlapped to create a hasp and staple so that it could be secured with a padlock at her throat. Kate’s upper arms and wrists were fitted with similar clamps on the sides of the vertical pole. Clamps, she noted, not mere shackles, which left her wrists and elbows completely immobilized.

Kate was also fitted with ankle shackles, their chain passing behind the vertical bar to ensure she would remain kneeling on her shins. She looked around the room, just able to turn her neck within the rigid stainless steel collar. Looking down was not so easy; she could just barely catch sight of her nipples if she puffed out her chest.

Just as Kurt and Erik were leaving, pussy-girl Lucy entered the bathroom carrying a make-up bag. Kate found it a humiliating experience having someone else slapping make-up on her, as if she was somebody’s little toy. But that is exactly what she was. After applying a glossy red to Kate’s lips, black and lustrous blue on her eyes the pussy girl brushed Kate’s unkempt hair and pulled it into a high ponytail to keep it off her shoulders and face.

“See. You look much nicer now!” Lucy said, evidently pleased with her efforts. She held a tiny mirror a foot in front of Kate’s eyes. Kate studied the face in the mirror and had to agree. It was only good manners to thank the pussy-girl.

“Just because men are pissing on you, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look your best.” Lucy stated, wagging her finger. Very true, thought Kate, that’s a good motto for life too!

“Remember Katie - always be nice to the men. Stay cheerful. Chat to them; show them that you appreciate their pissing on you. It really doesn’t hurt. You’ll find most men will be very courteous towards you. Perhaps it’s because they feel a little guilty, or maybe it just seems odd having a woman in their men-only space. Oh, and whatever you do, don’t laugh at the ones with small dicks!”

Kate smirked, happy to share the joke and glad of the advice.

Pussy-girl lucy gathered up her things and headed for the door. “I’ll be back in an hour to hose you down. That’s a promise.”

Kate was still adjusting to the vice-like grip of the urinal device when her first customer arrived.

“Good morning, Sir.” She called out to the man, determined to impress from the start.

The man, quite young and handsome and well groomed in a preppy way, was sheepishly looking around for a urinal to use but discovered yellow tape stretched across them to indicate they were out of order.

He returned her greeting, having realized that he was expected to urinate on the pretty blonde girl. He unzipped his fly and pulled out his flaccid cock in front of Kate’s eyes. She involuntarily swallowed with nerves and closed her eyes tightly. He looked at the wall above Kate’s head and read the sign.

“Gentleman. We respectfully ask that you
aim below the collar. A full range of
water sports is available in the cells. Please
contact the cell block supervisor.”

He watched Kate’s full round breasts rise and fall with her breath, then aimed his piss gently splashing onto them. Instead of recoiling Kate seemed to puff out her chest as if to catch the flow. He was glad that this beautiful girl kept her eyes closed and liked the way the pale yellow urine streaked down her slim belly and onto her sex, to make it seem as if she was pissing with him.

When the flow stopped Kate tentatively opened her eyes and saw the man was zipping up his pants. “You have lovely breasts. Too good for peeing on... I mean...not just your breasts...you as well...you’re very pretty. Will you be here later?” he asked, bumbling like an American Hugh Grant. At least a few hours she told him, but she didn’t know for sure.

Kate sensed she had an admirer. It wasn’t to be the last. There was something about a pretty girl in a urinal that made men fall in love with her.

“Hey Katie! How are you doing?” Lucy asked, breezing into the restroom an hour later. As promised she had her bucket and sponge and went to work rubbing vigorously on Kate’s breasts, belly and pudenda. Kate’s face was still dry and her make up immaculate.

“Been busy?” Lucy asked as she continued to rub.

“Ten, maybe twelve guys. They were no problem at all; but Lucy, my arms are aching terribly. Can’t you loosen my elbows just a little?”

“Can’t do, sis! They’re all locked in place. You just have to get used to it.” Lucy switched on a hose and sprayed Kate with cold water, causing her to shriek at the sudden chill. It rinsed all the soapsuds from her body. A brisk rub down with a towel left Kate ready for the next hour and the rest of the day.

BREAKFAST AT THE BUNNY CAMP

Karen Galtz watched from a safe distance as the bunnies were fed their breakfast. The seven remaining after Kate’s departure were kneeling along both sides of the long stainless steel tray long before the pony driver had arrived. The journalist’s zoom lens captured some great images: weak-willed women, utterly subservient to their masters, reduced to eating from a trough like farm animals. She sensed a great article in the making, with one of her photos as the magazine’s cover shot. Her zoom lens gave her a great view, but she was too far away to hear the conversation between the ponygirl driver and the bunnies.

When the coast was clear, the ponies and driver departed, and bunnies milling around after breakfast, Karen emerged from her cover a hundred metres away.

“Did he ask about me?” Karen asked Nancy.

“No. Why would anybody know you are here? It was Kate and me that rescued Ray. She may be a little attached to the guy but she’s not the type to open her mouth.”

The journalist breathed a sigh of relief. It meant she could have a good look around the island, take some more photos and jump on her midnight boat back to civilization. It was all going so well.

BEACH SOCCER

Something that Karen wasn’t expecting was to see was a bunny kicking a soccer ball along the beach. “Can you play?” Nancy asked.

“A little.” Galtz replied reticently. She didn’t see any need to tell them she was the star striker for her college team.

“Great. As you may have noticed we are one player short this morning. You’ll have to play in bare feet of course.”

“Sure!” Karen agreed, removing her hiking boots and socks and placing them tidily alongside her camera case. The rest of her possessions were in her rucksack, hidden alongside the trail when she was walking with Nancy the previous night. Though bare-footed, at least she was still wearing her khaki shirt and shorts. The bunnies envied her clothing. It was obvious from the way they looked.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Nancy added, as if she’d almost forgotten, “it’s only fair that your hands are tied while you play.”

Ms Galtz couldn’t very well object, knowing what an advantage she would have otherwise. Sumi, the Korean bunny held a short length of frayed rope, washed ashore from a fishing boat. Sumi’s dexterity surprised the journalist. She managed to knot the rope, despite her own wrists being cuffed behind her. “Is that all right for you?” Sumi asked, concerned that it was too tight.

Ms Galtz tugged gently at her wrists. “It’s fine,” she confirmed, more worried about keeping such a small piece of rope in place than escaping from it.

The day’s teams were agreed and the local rules explained to the visitor before they kicked off. Once she got the feel of the ball Ms Galtz started putting her skills to the test, but her unnecessary showing off didn’t endear her to either her opponents or her team-mates..

It wasn’t long before a well-timed shoulder charge from one of the bunnies sent Galtz flying head first, collecting a mouthful of sand as she landed. She tugged on her wrists expecting to break free of the little piece of rope that held them. She tugged a few more times then strained to move her wrists to one side so she could see them over her shoulder. Her wrists, she was surprised to see, were fixed as surely as if they were in handcuffs. She laughed at the absurdity of being tied up by a woman that was herself in handcuffs! Galtz liked the occasional bondage session, particularly with other women so really didn’t mind her predicament, knowing that she’d be untied as soon as the soccer game finished. The sunshine, pretty girls everywhere, the feel of the sand between her toes, soccer and bondage at the same time - it was actually a lot of fun.

GREAT SHOT!

It was when Ms Galtz was on the verge of scoring her fifth goal that she appeared to stumble, mis-kicking the ball as if she had no coordination at all, then collapsing like a felled deer in the sand. Just yards from the goal, the soccer ball beside her, Ms Galtz lay moaning in semi-unconsciousness with the seven naked bunnies surrounding her. A small tranquilizer dart was stuck in her shoulder.

“Sorry to ruin the game, girls,” a voice called out behind them. Two handlers arrived on the scene, one holding a rifle. Masters Tony and Vince were well known to all the bunnies.

“You don’t get commission for this,” Tony joked to Nancy.

“I don’t care. You can have this one for nothing.”

“Great shot, Tony.” Vince said, kneeling down to inspect dart’s entry point. “Let’s get her bound up. Riccardo should be here any time now.”

Using the thin leather strips that are also used for the ponygirls reins, they started to bind her. Nancy stood and watched. “She told me how she loves a really tight hog-tie,” she gleefully informed the handlers.

“She’s in luck, bunny nancy, that’s my specialty as you know only too well!” Tony winked at her while lashing Galtz’s elbows together. For Tony there were just two kinds of women in the world: those that could be bound with their elbows touching and those that couldn’t. He was pleased to discover that Ms Galtz was one of the former.

The two handlers bent the journalist’s legs back to her waist and tucked the long trailing cords from her ankles under the crossed wrist tie. Tony pulled the slack from the cords while the other handler lifted Galtz’s knees. It helped bring her ankles and wrists even closer together. A couple more loops were done to ensure a strong union of hands and feet then the trailing end of the ankle cord was tied off at her tightly bound elbows.

They had just fitted her with a ballgag when Ms Galtz was groggily returning to consciousness. She lifted her head from the sand and saw a pair of slim feminine legs in front of her. Craning her neck upwards, past the plastic cover over the woman’s sex and the straps that held it on, were small conical shaped breasts with their prominent nipples, and above them was Nancy’s smiling face.

“Is that tight enough for ya? I told them how you like your hog-ties good and tight!” Nancy’s pleasure was further enhanced by the sight of Ms Galtz squirming helplessly in the sand at her feet, pain etched on her face, fury at her betrayal evident behind her tears.

The harmonious jingle of pony-boot bells signaled the impending arrival of Riccardo and his ponygirls. Tony slipped the gun barrel under Ms Galtz’s elbow and wrist bonds. Vince gripped it, then they lifted, with Ms Galtz dangling helplessly beneath it. It was the easiest way to carry a hog-tied woman.

The bunnies followed the handlers to the pony trap, watching as they heaved Ms Galtz up onto the small trailer. While they were securing Karen Galtz in position, Riccardo inspected his ponygirls; watering them and wiping them with a towel on what was already turning into a sweltering day. The bunnies gathered around him, regaling him with the story of the soccer match and how suddenly Ms Galtz tumbled to the ground after being shot. Riccardo laughed, amused at their betrayal of another female. There was another reason for the bunnies gathering around the pony driver: As usual Riccardo had a little treat for the bunnies, tossing grapes from a paper bag for whoever could catch one in her mouth.

The two hunters stood by as the ponygirls strained to get their load moving, leaning gently against the back of the trailer to ease them into motion.

Nancy watched the pony trap disappear down the track, feeling just a little guilty about betraying the journalist. But then she smiled inwardly - tonight, at midnight, she would board a boat taking her away from Rabbit Island forever.

KEY HOLES

“What are you looking so pleased about?” Tony said, snapping Nancy out of her reverie. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue!”

He snapped a surgical latex glove on his hand and poked his fingers in Nancy’s mouth probing around the gums, pressing deep into her cheeks, and toying with her large tongue stud. She’d had a tongue stud since her mid-teens but they’d replaced it with a bigger one when she arrived six months ago. The large metal ball on her tongue served as a constant humiliating reminder of her slavery.

Nancy hardly noticed as Tony slipped a pill on the back of her tongue as he searched her mouth. She swallowed, unaware that a powerful emetic was on its way to her stomach.

“Um... what’s going on?” Nancy asked, looking mystified as they placed a bucket on the sand in front of her.

“We’re looking for a key. Unless you tell us where it is we’ll have to continue your cavity search.”

“A key? What key? I don’t know what you’re talking about! What’s the bucket for?”

“You’ll find out very soon. It’s probably best if you kneel down now.”

Nancy’s stomach was already rumbling as she knelt by the bucket. She burped a foul-tasting gas and was becoming nauseous. “I feel sick,” she said quietly, failing to win any sympathy. The men stood by, waiting for the inevitable to happen.

She burped again. Her whole body seemed to gulp, then the liquefied contents of her belly gushed from her mouth and into the bucket. She gasped a huge desperate breath then wretched several more times. Groaning and exhausted, Nancy leant over the bucket, her face turned a ghostly white.

Tony held the ends of two twigs in his fist. Vince studied them briefly and picked one. He didn’t seem happy with his choice. Tony revealed the remaining twig, which was much longer than the one Vince had taken.

Without a word spoken Vince checked the contents of the bucket with his hand while Tony gave Nancy some water.

“The search continues...” Vince announced wiping clean his hand and chucking away the contents of the bucket.

Nancy had barely begun to recover when they lifted her to her feet and escorted her to the nearby whipping post. Vince fixed leather suspension cuffs around her ankles then each man lifted each ankle clipping them to sturdy rings on each side of the thick post. Nancy’s ankles were at shoulder height, slightly apart like a narrow V, while her cuffed hands and upper back rested on the sand.

“I swear I don’t know anything about a key!” Nancy protested weakly, looking upwards at her tormentors. “It must have been the journalist that took it...or Kate. What about bunny kate?”

“Maybe... but our job is to check you. You’re the prime suspect.” Tony started to unlock the webbing straps of Nancy’s chastity device, which in other circumstances she might have been glad about.

“We’ll start with a vaginal douche.”

He removed the pre-packed kit from its clear plastic wrapper and hung the liquid pouch from the top of the post. Pressing the shield firmly over her sex he released the clip on the tube.

“Doesn’t hurt, does it, nancy?”

It didn’t. Nancy lay quietly, sensing the fullness of the tepid liquid within her. That was until the fullness became a painful cramping and a stretch that she’d never known before. She was still too weak from her puking to protest.

Several minutes later they let her down from the whipping post, collecting the douche water in the cleaned-out bucket. She shared the handlers’ disappointment that a key was not discovered, even though it would have been a hell of a shock if they had found one!

Leaving Nancy laying miserable and exhausted on the sand, the handlers took a quick cigarette break and radioed back to The Lodge with their progress so far.

Cigarettes extinguished, they hauled Nancy’s exhausted body onto her feet, lifting her cuffed hands to head height behind her, thus compelling her to bend forward at the waist. Weak and subdued, she allowed her cuffed wrists to take more of her weight than was advisable and received a stinging slap on her thigh as a result.

“Stand up properly, nancy!” Tony commanded. She slowly gathered herself, redistributing the weight back on to her feet and off her straining shoulders.

It wasn’t just Nancy’s wrists that were attached to the iron ring at the top of the post; a large plastic pouch containing an enema solution also hung down, ready for action. Behind her Tony was preparing the enema nozzle, his finger coating it well with a jelly lubricant. The double-bulb nozzle was well suited for today’s purpose.

Nancy winced at the pain as she felt her sphincter opened by the invading enema nozzle until it contracted again, divided the nozzle’s inner bulb from its outer one. Tony squeezed the little pump in the palm of his hand, watching the outer bulb inflate while Nancy felt the inner bulb pushing insistently against her rectal walls. It only took a few pumps before her ass was plugged like a cork in a champagne bottle. Tony connected the nozzle end to the enema tube, and turned the little valve to the open position.

The soapy enema began to fill her bowels, gravity quickly transferring the liquid from the enema bag at the top of the whipping post into Nancy’s colon. Occasionally Tony would block the flow of the hose to allow the enema to settle within her. Nancy’s cries and protests were ignored. Vince stood with Nancy’s head pressed against his firm stomach; his hands were squeezing her small breasts, and enjoying her hardened nipples against his soft palms.

"Nearly there, babe.” Tony encouraged her. His hand reached down to massage her distended belly. Nancy moaned at the pregnant pain that had been visited upon her.

The enema flow stopped. The bag was empty and Nancy was full. Tony closed off the valve near the outer bulb and detached the tubes. They left her for fifteen minutes, bent over and chained, fighting the pain of the cramps in her distended belly. Nancy turned her head slowly from its downward facing position and saw Mike and Vince chatting and laughing with the six other bunnies. Vince was even sharing a lit cigarette with one of them. The laughter, Nancy knew, was directed at her.

The bucket containing her evacuated enema did not yield a key. Tony and Vince were disappointed that their dirty and unpleasant task had not produced the result they expected. Yet they still suspected Nancy was guilty, and in any other circumstance would have been whipping the truth out of her. However, because it was the day before the festival the bunnies were spared the whip, ensuring that visitors would find clean unmarked skin awaiting them.

Master Tony looked around suspiciously at the other bunnies. “Does anyone else know about the missing key?”

They shrugged their shoulders; no one had even heard about a missing key until they arrived to investigate.

“Perhaps they need some help remembering?” Vince suggested to Tony, a wicked grin on his face. “Maybe we should give them some time to think about it, it might help them to recall something.”

“Excellent idea, Vince. You’re right. Let’s give them a little time to think. D’you think if they had more blood flowing into their brains it would help them think better? Like if they were upside down?”

Vince fetched some bed sheets from the cabin and started to cut them into long strips. The bunnies were sat down in the sand beneath the large swing frame a short distance from the cabin. It was a long and very sturdy five-meter scaffold pole eight feet above the sand.

One by one the bunnies had their ankles tied together with the newly-cut strips of their bedsheets. They were begging Nancy to tell them where she had hidden the key before they were all made to swing. Nancy, in return, pleaded with them to believe her that she knew nothing about the missing key.

It seemed fitting that Nancy should be first to be hung up. They helped her to her feet then Vince bent down to put her in a fireman’s lift. He carried her underneath the scaffold bar. Tony took hold of the long trailing end of sheet around her ankles and tossed it over the bar then tied it back to her ankles again. Nancy was left swinging helplessly while they hauled the next bunny to her feet.

Soon all seven bunnies were dangling upside down in a neat row, all the while protesting their innocence and directing their anger at Nancy who was obviously to blame for their plight. She could do nothing to convince her fellow bunnies that she was as innocent as they were. Such was their anger that the two bunnies dangling on either side of Nancy started pushing her with their hands, forcing her to swing from side to side.

Vince intervened, securing their cuffed hands to a strip of sheet he tied around their waists.

If it wasn’t bad enough dangling upside-down in the midday sun the handlers had one more torment for the bunnies - what they jokingly called ‘pepper sauce’. Just a few drops on their labia was enough to drive the bunnies mad for hours with its maddening itching and burning sensation. The plastic cup of the chastity belts offered no protection against it as the liquid dripping between its air holes and onto the bunnies’ flesh.

There was a notable side effect of the pepper sauce, which was that squeezing the breasts could partly alleviate the hot itchiness of the labia. While the bunnies all squirmed like fish on a line Tony and Vince were glad to do their best to assist them. All seven bunnies were begging Tony and Vince that their breasts needed to be squeezed, scratched and mauled, their nipples bitten, anything at all to save them from the maddening itch. The men obliged as best they could whilst reminding the insistent bunnies that they only had two hands each.

All that breast squeezing had aroused Tony and Vince beyond all reasonable endurance. They both lowered their pants and revealed their aching and erect members. Two of the bunnies would spend the afternoon with their belly and breasts spattered with the handlers’ cum.

GALTZ INTERRUPTED

Karen Galtz didn’t exactly enjoy her journey to The Lodge. Her body strained and the leather cords digging into her as the pony trailer jogged rhythmically to the ponygirls’ steady pace. If it had been one of her bondage photo shoots she would have used her safe word/signal long ago.

The two mountain-bike style wheels of the trailer seemed to swish speedily along the gravel tracks to the accompaniment of the pony-boot bells, making Karen feel sleepy, despite her best efforts to stay alert. The journey did however confirm her belief about the superior quality of Rabbit Island ponygirls, even if she hadn’t planned to test them in quite this manner.

Nor was it the way she expected to first see The Lodge. She, or rather, the ponies were received as if her capture and subsequent transportation had been well planned. The ropes that held her fast to the pony trailer were unfastened. She was lifted, still in her stringent leather-corded hog-tie onto a handcart. Judging by the padded section for her knees the handcart seemed designed for this exact purpose. A strap was buckled tightly across Galtz’s back to keep her compressed against the cart’s uprights. A black cloth bag was then placed over her head, blocking out her vision.

A man tilted the cart and wheeled her into the Lodge, treating her no different than he would a sack of potatoes. The short journey took Ms Galtz into the administration block. The porter kicked something at the bottom of the handcart, which sprung open a metal arm to stop the cart from toppling over. It left Ms Galtz in an unusual position: an upright hog-tie securely strapped to the handcart, and ready to be wheeled around again wherever her captors might wish.

The room fell silent, but it wasn’t long before it filled with the sound of voices and the scraping of chairs on a wooden floor. Her cloth hood was pulled off, and adjusting to the light she focused on three men sitting at a wide desk in front of her. One of them was Master Alex. She vaguely recognized the face from somewhere.

Through her ballgag Ms Galtz began to plead her innocence in the strongest terms that her bondage would allow. The men looked at each other, smiling and shaking their heads.

“Do you have anything else to say on the matter?” One of them asked her.

She did, but that was just as garbled as her previous outburst.

Becoming weary of her incomprehensible ballgag-muffled voice, one of the men removed the large rubber ball from her mouth, buckling it loosely around her neck as if to indicate that she would soon be wearing it again.

“Karen Galtz?”

“Yes!”

“A Journalist?”

“Yes!”

“Employed by the Global News Corporation?”

She paused, surprised that they knew so much about her. “Yes!”

“Why are you here?”

She didn’t answer.

“Ms Galtz, we are not signatories to the Geneva Convention. We have all manner of tortures here to extract answers from you.”

She stared at them defiantly, watching as one of them brought a small box onto the table.

“Is it true that you have a phobia of spiders?”

“Yes,” she meekly replied, even before one of the men lifted his hand fully out the box she could see the hairy legs of a tarantula on his hand.

“Would you like to meet Cedric and his eight-legged friends?”

Ms Galtz was sweating, the blood visibly draining from her. Sheer terror etched on her face. “Okay! I’ll talk. It’s to do with your ponygirls.” Her voice changed to whining whisper. “Please, just put him away.”

Once Cedric was back in his box and Ms Galtz had calmed down, she began to explain.

“I interviewed a woman recently; a young woman who had lost her memory. She could barely remember anything after her fourteenth birthday, yet she appears to be about twenty-three years of age. She was discovered on a beach in Thailand, wandering naked and confused. But worst of all, her arms had been amputated at the shoulder.”

Up til then she hadn’t told them anything that hadn’t already been widely reported. They urged her to continue.

“She had a tattoo. A rabbit at the top of her thigh, just like your bunnies and ponygirls.”

This time the men were shocked. “And you think she came from here? It simply isn’t possible. All our captives have the tattoo removed or altered before being disposed of. Besides, what happened to that girl was utterly barbaric. It would never happen on Rabbit Island.”

“My initial research concurs with that statement. Rabbit Island doesn’t have a reputation for that kind of treatment, although the presence of the tattoo is confusing. If it can be shown that Rabbit Island is not involved with this woman I will drop all references to this place from my report. Now, if you would just untie me I can be on my way.”

“It’s not that simple, Ms Galtz. I think the phrase is ‘you’ve seen too much already’. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here as our guest until this matter is resolved. We have already made provision with your employer to keep you here for six months.”

She looked confused. “That’s impossible. I’ve a job to do.”

“Your employer was most accommodating, in fact he was of the opinion it would do you some good. Said you were becoming a ‘loose cannon’. Ms. Galtz, I read your recent article on ponygirls where you stated...here, let me read it to you....

“The cult of human equestrianism, whilst thousands of years old has acquired a growing following in recent times. Every weekend throughout the world people play with harnesses, are attached to homemade carts, making animal noises, and appear to derive fun from the experience. With its associations with leather, bondage, domination, submission and bestial role-play it’s easy to see that many kinky types would find much to amuse them in this fashionable activity.

A minority of the human ponies, males and females, are striving to capture a feeling that will forever elude them. Only if they were forced to be ponies against their will, with their liberty permanently denied them, would they truly experience the ‘ponyhood’ they desire. Despite their regular weekend playtimes, there are certain aspects of this anthropomorphic kink that will have to remain forever a fantasy.”

He put down the paper and grinned. “We’ve decided, Ms Galtz, that you should experience what you call ‘ponyhood’ for yourself, Rabbit Island style. Then you’ll know more of what you write about. After this meeting you will be taken to be pierced and tattooed. You’ll spend a week in the punishment cells, then you start pony training.” The Master turned to the handler standing nearby. “Joe, take our new recruit to the soft cells, and don’t forget the full body cavity search, we still haven't found that key.”

Gagged and hooded once more, Karen Galtz felt the handcart transportation tilt forward at an angle. She was wheeled away to commence her latest and most unexpected assignment.

KATE TESTED AGAIN

Late in the afternoon Kate was released from the urinal pole and taken to the same room in which she suffered the milking indignity that morning. Alone in the room and sitting on its only chair, her unbound hands were soon at her pussy. Those hours spent in the men’s room had taken its toll. She never dreamed she’d ever see so many penises in a single day! Any one of them probing between her labia right now would be welcome.

The door opened and Kurt entered with two pussy-girls. They were different ones from the morning, although no less pretty. The rope they carried was the same, so were the tight white dresses with the flowing skirts.

“Give bunny kate your rope,” Kurt told one of the pussy-girls. She cheerfully obeyed.

He took the rope from the other pussy-girl, turned her around and tied her wrists. “Tie her hands like this.” He instructed Kate, “and make sure it’s tight.”

Kate wasn’t used to tying up others but took to it almost instantly. Kurt wasn’t surprised - he knew that one who is herself regularly bound develops a good feel for how to do it to others. She tied her pussy-girl’s wrists as tightly as Kurt had done his, even eliciting an oddly satisfying ‘ouch’ from the pussy-girl as she tugged the final knot. Kurt seemed pleased. He and Kate then blindfolded their respective pussy-girls with soft white silk scarves.

It was a devious twist to the morning’s breastfeeding. This time Kate was not only consenting but initiating and controlling it. She helped the pussy-girls to kneel either side of her chair, caressing their hair, almost mothering them as she guided their lips to her nipples.

Master Kurt stood aside, careful to stay outside the view of the hidden video camera. He quietly watched and delighted in the sight of two delectable blonde pussy-girls, bound, blindfolded and helpless suckling from Kate’s swelling breasts. Kate, he thought, was showing all the signs of making the grade as a pussy-girl, but there were still many tests ahead of her.

IN THE DOGHOUSE

Kate was glad of a rest after her exhausting day. She was inwardly thrilled that instead of being sent to a cell she was taken back to the medical suite. It seemed so empty and quiet. Ray, she learned, had been evacuated by helicopter to a hospital hundreds of miles away. Dr Schmidt and Master Alex had accompanied him. Kurt cuffed her hands behind her then chained them to the same bed on which she slept the previous night. Despite the late daylight still illuminating the room (it was six o’clock according to the clock on the wall) Kate was asleep within a few moments.

A hour later she was roused from her slumber by Kurt and pussy-girl lucy. The pussy-girl seemed very excited about something and Kate just knew it had to involve her. She didn’t object when Lucy attended to her make-up again. This time Lucy cleaned off her lipstick and painted her eyes in a dramatic black. It was when her nose was also painted in black that Kate suspected something unusual was happening.

“Hold these.” Kurt instructed. Kate took a small spongy ball in each hand. When she squeezed her fist it could close around the ball, almost concealing it from view. Kurt and Lucy wrapped bandages around Kate’s fists ensuring they stayed closed. Each hand was put in a black fist-shape leather bag that laced up onto her wrist like a boxing glove. They glued the laces so Kate wouldn’t get out of the gloves without the aid of a sharp knife and somebody’s steady hand.

Kate found it amusing, sparring playfully with Lucy as if she were a boxer. It was a light relief for someone who spent much of her time in chains. Next came the kneepads, which Kate found no less amusing.

Pushing her down onto padded hands and knees they gave Kate’s feet a similar treatment. A slim but dense pad was tied onto her soles, with Kurt appearing to take great care with their application. After that Kate’s feet were also laced and glued into soft leather boots. But Kate soon discovered that these boots were NOT made for walking.

“Stand up and walk towards me,” Kurt commanded, whilst backing up to the far side of the room.

Seemed easy enough, thought Kate, rising to her feet.

As soon as her sole pushed down on the floor she felt a powerful jolt, screamed with fright and fell back to her hands and knees. It was as if her hip had been dislocated. Master Kurt was greatly amused and even pussy-girl lucy couldn’t help but smile. “So you see, Kate,” Kurt explained through his laughter, “that’s what happens if you try to stand up. You’re a puppy now, and so you must learn to behave like one.”

Puppy kate was then fitted with a body harness, an array of thin leather straps in a lattice pattern, surrounding but not covering Kate’s fully rounded breasts. Lucy was lubricating a butt plug, at the end of which was a dog’s tail, with its characteristic curve, in the same blonde colour as Kate’s hair. “Knees apart, puppy katie!” The plug popped easily into position.

The body harness had a crotch strap that passed between Kate’s legs and threaded through a ring at the base of her butt plug. It not only kept the plug within Kate’s rectum but also held the tail in its correct dog-like curve. A small padlock was used to secure the strap in position. Pussy-girl lucy showed Kate she had the key on a cord around her neck, the key itself nestling between her tightly bodiced breasts. The point was well made - Lucy was her ‘owner’; a job that the pussy-girl was obviously relishing as she wrapped a thick leather collar around Kate’s neck.

Master Kurt looked down at the new puppy. She looked much sexier than some of his previous puppies. “A good doggy deserves a bone, don’t you think?”

Without waiting for the puppy’s answer the bone was offered to her mouth. Kate took the six-inch white rubber bone firmly between her teeth. At each end of the authentic-looking bone were leather straps, which Lucy buckled together at the back of Kate’s head. “Wouldn’t want you to lose such a nice juicy bone, would we?”

Lucy clipped a chain leash to her puppy’s collar and gave it a sharp encouraging tug. “Better take you outside now. They don’t like puppy dogs inside The Lodge.”

Kate crawled by Lucy’s side, along a crowded hallway where people walked past in all directions. It was her bit-gag, shaped like a doggy bone, that caused the most amusement for the visitors (and humiliation for Kate). Lucy apparently had no pressing duties to attend to as she happily stood and chatted to anybody that showed an interest in her new pet. Kate had never felt so small, crawling along looking over her blackened nose, an animal living at the level of people’s shoes.

During her walk through the hallways someone tried to take her bone away, pretending not to notice the straps. He pulled Kate’s head this way and that pretending that they were fighting for it. “Look she doesn’t want to let go!” He jested. Kate growled in response, but it generated more amusement at her expense. She would have bitten him had she been able to.

Eventually they made it outside onto the large lawn that led to the pony’s training ring. Lucy unclipped the leash and encouraged her puppy to walk alongside. Kate felt little inclination to stray and crawled along obediently at Lucy’s side. At the far end of the lawn they reached a small doghouse, which Kate realized was to be her new home. Lucy delivered her lecture:

“Katie. This is your home for the next couple of days. Now try to behave more like a dog. If you had a dog when you were young try to remember the fun you had with it.” She looked Kate in her black puppy dog eyes and smiled. “Do you have any idea how cute you look? Everybody thinks you’re adorable. I could have sold you ten times over! But don’t worry, I promise that nothing bad will happen to you while you’re my puppy.” She patted the key at her breast to remind Kate who was in charge.

“Now Katie. You need training. The first thing to learn is how to wag your tail properly. Keep your knees firmly together and quickly wiggle your hips.”

Kate tried it. A simple technique, but it worked.

“Perfect! What a good doggy!” Lucy said, knowing how important it was to praise good behavior in puppies. “Now let’s see how good you are at fetching.”

Kate’s bone-gag was unfastened and used as the stick for her to fetch. Lucy was a lousy thrower so Kate only had to crawl a few yards to retrieve it. Next Lucy taught her how to sit nicely in front of the human and how to offer up the bone so that it could be thrown again. After half a dozen throws both Lucy and her puppy were tired and the bone was once again secured in Kate’s mouth; to prevent her from losing it, Lucy said.

The doghouse had a long sturdy chain fixed on the outside. The pussy-girl attached Kate’s collar to the end of it, then, waggling her finger she told Kate to be a good doggy, promising to return later with supper.

Kate crawled inside the single-dog sized doghouse, lying down on the thin vinyl covered mattress. Even though the chain was simply clipped to the collar her paw-like gloves proved unable to manipulate the clip, or do anything else requiring digital dexterity, as she discovered when she tried to scratch the itch caused by the crotch strap. She sat outside leaning back against the doghouse, legs outstretched in a very un-doglike pose, enjoying the last of the day’s sunshine.

Supper soon arrived. Kate greeted Lucy with a genuinely offered wag of her tail, pleased to see her owner carrying a two stainless steel bowls. The multicolored biscuits in one bowl looked uncannily like the ones her pet Labrador used to eat. Even the brand name stamped into each biscuit was the same! It was one aspect of authenticity she hadn’t been expecting. She crunched her way through some of them, finding them palatable if not exactly delicious, and took a drink of water from the other bowl.

PONY NEWS

While Kate was eating Lucy leant on the fence a couple of yards behind the doghouse and watched some ponygirls being put through their paces. It was a practice session for the upcoming pony competition. The ponies were running through their routine for the dressage event, where ponygirl pairs are required to pull their trap in a preset sequence of steps and are graded on accuracy and poise. One of the pairs really caught the Lucy’s eye. Tall, with marvelous posture and lean elegant thighs, that looked simply wonderful during their high-stepping phase. Their drivers were perfectionists, and while one man was seated in the trap controlling the reins another walked alongside the ponies looking for the smallest faults. He didn’t hesitate to give them a hard rap with his cane when required.

They must have gone over and over the same sequence for twenty minutes, seeking perfection and, in Lucy’s opinion, finding it. Only one thing spoiled the spectacle for Lucy - it was that these were not Rabbit Island ponygirls, they were one of the six visiting pairs.

After Kate’s dry biscuit supper Lucy took her puppy to a secluded spot in the bushes to answer the call of nature. She unlocked the crotch strap and unplugging the tail and tucked the loose straps out of the way. Any residual dislike that Kate had for Lucy disappeared when her keeper sensitively took care of her hygiene before lubricating a re-inserting the tail and locking up the crotch strap again. The bone-gag was strapped back in place then they took a brief stroll around the flower borders before returning to the doghouse.

When Lucy returned to her other duties Kate sensed her long day was at an end, even though it was not yet dark. Her thoughts turned to Ray’s accident, not quite able to believe that it was just twenty-four hours ago. She shed a couple of tears, and was aching to know if he was okay.

Kate was distracted by more ponies coming and going in the training ring, some she recognized but most she didn’t. She felt sad knowing that Jessica and Debbie would not be amongst them. Instead of competing and having a chance to win with Ray controlling them, they were destined to spend the next five days on heavy transport duties with an unfamiliar driver controlling them. There just wasn’t another driver with Ray’s skills.

The training ring had emptied with the fading light when one last pony pair entered the ring. Kate knew just by the sound of the pony-boots that it was Jessica and Debbie yet couldn’t quite understand how or why they were there. In a moment of wild optimism Kate move towards the fence to the full extend her neck chain allowed; straining to see who was driving. She was hoping it was Ray, but she knew that was impossible.

When the ponies trotted past, Kate saw that it was Tony, one of the handlers, doing the driving, bouncing unsteadily in the trap’s bench seat as he rode along. Like many handlers he liked to try his hand at pony driving but his level of competence was limited to basic trotting and turning. He might be an efficient and respected handler, but a pony driver he wasn’t. Kate covered her eyes with a paw; it was almost too embarrassing to watch. Even with Riccardo walking alongside giving instructions, and breaking the golden rule about talking to the ponies, the task ahead of them was immense. While the visiting ponygirls were in the ring preparing to put on a show, Jessica and Kate controlled by their new driver, could hardly trot in a straight line.

Riccardo, the Island’s most experienced pony driver, was doing everything he could to encourage the Tony but it simply wasn’t happening for them. The ponygirls were becoming frustrated by the lack of a firm hand they depended on.

While Kate was absorbed by the travails of the ponygirls she hadn’t noticed a man approaching from behind her. He put a hand on her head causing her to yelp with fright. She turned to see it was Master Alex who had touched her. Genuinely happy to see him, she lifted up her rear end to give him an unambiguous wag of her tail then rested her face against his leg. She looked up at him with the bone wedged firmly between her teeth. How could he not be charmed by that black nose and soulful dark eyes?

Other than their almost affectionate greeting there was no conversation. This frustrated Kate because she felt sure Alex had news about Ray’s condition. He walked over to lean on the fence as Lucy had done earlier and waited for the ponygirls to pull up in front of him.

Riccardo and Tony joined Master Alex at the fence glad to put their training aside for a few moments and were soon deep in conversation.

“How is it going?” Master Alex asked.

Riccardo laughed sardonically. “Let’s put it this way, Tony won’t be troubling the dressage rankings, but he’ll be fine for the haulage jobs.”

Kate barked at the ponies as dogs often do. Blinkered as the ponygirls were, she was well out of their line of sight. Jessica sensed that their Masters’ attentions were elsewhere, so pulled Debbie slowly around to the direction of the barking.

Jessica almost literally jumped for joy when she caught sight of Kate. She smiled and laughed as much as a fully harnessed and bridled ponygirl would dare. The ponygirl and the puppy-girl! It was just their sense of humor to appreciate the absurdity of their situation.

Eventually Kate’s yapping got through to Master Alex. He turned around and yelled at her to shut up.

“As I was saying,” Master Alex continued his conversation with Riccardo in a voice deliberately louder than required, “Ray had the operation on his fractured skull today. He’ll be out of action for a while, but he’s going to be fine. The doctors said the excellent early care and treatment he received might have saved his life.”

If he heard a collective groan of relief from the ponygirls and the puppy then Master Alex certainly didn’t acknowledge it. It was too dark to continue the training by the time the men had finished talking. The ponies headed off with Riccardo and Tony sharing the bench seat for a quick ride back to The Lodge, enjoying the sudden spring in the steps of the ponygirls.

Master Alex, clearly exhausted, bade the puppy-girl goodnight with a stroke of her hair, and walked slowly across the dark lawn to the welcoming lights of The Lodge.

PLEASE SQUEEZE!

The approaching sound of the pony-boot bells on the supper run signified that the bunnies’ upside-down bondage and torment would soon be over. They were exhausted from their futile writhing against that infuriating itch in their pussies. For a couple of them it had still not abated. They still twitched occasionally while the others hung limp, utterly drained of fight.

Frank (the duty pony driver) and Kurt (the senior handler) lifted down and untied the bunnies, but it became apparent that the bunnies had more on their minds than supper. They were prowling around in frustration, thrusting their breasts in the direction of the two men, some coyly, others blatant and provocatively, begging the men to massage their breasts to finally relieve their itching. Above all else they wanted their chastity belts removed, even if it was only for five minutes.

The men took pity on them and told them to get in a line, side by side. “In order of breast size!” Frank added with a grin, “and if we think you’re wrong you won’t get a massage.”

They watched, highly amused, as the bunnies stood around arguing over it. Nancy, with the smallest breasts, was sheepishly waiting at the end of the line while the difficult middle places were sorted out.

Kurt and Frank walked slowly down the line of seven puffed out chests, making sure that the bunnies had completed the task correctly. Nancy was grimacing, Sumi was in tears, and others had the anguish of an unscratchable itch written on their faces.

“Very good.” said Frank. The men applied themselves to the onerous task of giving all their breasts a prolonged and heavy massage. Starting, naturally, with the largest.

Their chastity belts however stayed firmly in place. Orders were orders.

NANCY GOES FOR A WALK

Still believing Nancy to be guilty some of the other bunnies were not in a forgiving mood. Paradoxically the authorities at The Lodge saw it differently. If, went the argument, Nancy had taken the key why was she still wearing her handcuffs? They had decided not to prosecute her further, at least not until the journalist had been thoroughly interrogated.

Later that evening, not missed by the other bunnies, Nancy headed up the trail to look for Karen Galtz’s backpack, hoping and praying that it had not been recovered by the handlers and taken to The Lodge. She managed to locate it hidden a few yards away from the trail and begun pulling out its contents. Besides a complete change of clothing, a torch, a first-aid kit and rations, there was a survival pack. It included a coiled-up wire saw.

It took a long time, an hour or more, to rig up the wire saw between tree branches so that it could cut through a metal link of her cuffs. Nancy’s persistence had paid off and her hands were finally separated. She swung her hands though the air in during wild triumphant dance, ignoring the pain in her shoulders caused by their previous immobility.

With her arms free she could wear Ms Galtz’s spare clothing. She tried on Karen’s bra but found it too constricting after so many months hanging free. She flung it away disdainfully. It just seemed like exchanging one form of bondage for another.

The shirt, she was delighted to see, had long-sleeves that could hide the bracelets of the handcuffs which remained on each wrist. There was no time to remove her locked-on leather collar and chain but she found a large red bandana that she tied around her neck to conceal it.

Wearing real shoes and socks, to go with her other clothing Nancy felt alive again. She put on the backpack, which contained little except its survival supplies and most importantly, Ms Galtz’s photographic proof of slavery on the island. She made her way down to the harbour and waited patiently, having no idea of the time.

At exactly midnight, on a starlit but moonless night, Nancy stepped aboard a speedboat and made her escape from Rabbit Island.

PUPPY LOVE

Kate was awake early. Early enough to see the sun rising, one of the few times she had witnessed that event since her arrival on Rabbit Island. She had slept well in the doghouse, secured only by the long chain attached to her collar. Wide-awake and feeling refreshed, she enjoyed her solitude on the manicured lawn while the rest of the island slept. She studied the suede mitts holding her hands into fists, or rather, paws. How useless her hand was without the dexterity of her fingers.

It didn’t take long for boredom to set in. Time never goes so slowly as for an impatient early riser waiting for others to stir. Luckily for Kate, pussy-girl Lucy was also up early. She was the person that Kate most wanted to see. Once again Lucy took care of Kate’s intimate needs, unlocking the crotch strap to remove the doggy-tail butt-plug. Kate crawled under a bush and took advantage of her limited opening time.

Lucy cleaned her up and inserted the tail again. Naturally Lucy had a treat for such a good puppy. She unlocked the bit-like bone between Kate’s teeth. It took all of Kate’s willpower to stop herself from talking to Lucy. Her good behavior was rewarded with some small biscuits that she took with her mouth from the palm of Lucy’s hand. After a slurp of water from her bowl, Kate’s bone-gag was strapped back in place. While Lucy petted her hair Kate concluded that there were far worse things in life than being Lucy’s puppy.

Back on pussy-girl Lucy’s leash, Kate crawled alongside her keeper back to The Lodge. They walked through the empty front lobby, then into the accommodation area. Black satin sacks were available at the door to ensure that bunnies, puppies and other subs were hooded before entering the area. It wasn’t very far down the corridor before Lucy guided Kate into a room.

Her hood was removed and Kate looked around the room. It was a well lived-in hotel room with a few personal touches that indicated a long-term guest. Kate was already pining for Lucy the moment she closed the door behind her... that was until she saw who was sitting up in bed. Puppies can be so fickle!

Master Alex patted the bed covers and bade her to come to the bedside. Like any self-respecting labrador puppy her exuberance took over, Kate leapt up onto the bed and gave him an affectionate slobbering on his cheek. That was all she could do with the bone lodged between her teeth. She hoped the point was well made. If they wanted doggy she’d give them doggy, including the slobber!

Kate snuggled down at Master Alex’s side, careful not to overstep the mark with her antics. While he continued to read some kind of report in bed she laid outstretched beside him, enjoying the softness of the mattress. It wasn’t long before Kate felt Alex’s hand idly feeling her breasts and stroking her belly through the straps of her harness. She made a little groaning noise to indicate her pleasure at his touch, hoping his hand would move just a little south to where the terrain was even more inviting.

Kate sensed that she wasn’t the only one making groaning sounds. They definitely weren’t coming from Master Alex, who was quietly reading. She noticed that his knees were bent and pointing upwards and spread wide to create a ‘tent’ under the quilt. Her Master watched with amusement as Kate prodded the area tentatively with her paw. Something moved, or rather, someone moved. “Want to see what I have in my bed?” Alex teased.

Kate got up onto all fours and barked, although ‘wooh’, was the best she could manage with that bone wedged between her teeth. She wagged her tail eagerly, knowing how much Alex liked her doing that.

He pulled back the covers just a little, enough to reveal Jessica’s head, her mouth ring-gagged and stuffed with his cock. Kate and Jessica’s delight at seeing each other again was tinged with mutual embarrassment at their respective positions. Jessica had no choice about her predicament, yet still felt ashamed to be discovered by her best friend in such a sexually submissive position. She shook her head the small amount her cock-filled mouth allowed, as if to say ‘It’s not what it seems’. It was, however, exactly what it seemed.

Kate’s case was a little more difficult to argue. Doggy accoutrements or not, she was not bound up in any traditional sense and was manifestly enjoying her new role as a puppy. The tightly bound Jessica was having difficulty with that.

Alex threw back the remaining part of the duvet to reveal Jessica’s naked body, immaculately hog-tied in a complex pattern of soft white rope. Kate didn’t hesitate, having no idea when she would next be so close to her friend. She climbed up over Jessica’s body and sat facing Alex. He seemed greatly amused, and even more so when Kate bent forward on Jessica’s body pretending to hump her like a randy dog. No one had explicitly told her which sex of dog she was a supposed to be.

While Master Alex caressed Kate’s blonde hair, enjoying the comical yet sexy expression on her face, he failed to notice that Kate’s mound was pressed hard against Jessica’s bound hands. Jessica couldn’t help but notice and was doing her best to force her fingers past Kate’s crotch strap. Meantime, the sight of Kate’s randy display and her vigorous rocking had brought Alex’s cock to full erection within Jessica’s mouth.

Jessica, despite her fiendish hog-tie, relished a challenge. She attempted bring off both Master Alex and Kate, even though her own needs might remain unfulfilled.

It was an extremely hot few minutes before their menage-a-trois was interrupted by a knock on the door. Pussy-girl Lucy entered, an expression of open-mouthed shock on her face.

“Bad doggy!” She yelled, pulling Kate from the bed in such a way that the sole of the puppy’s foot made contact with the floor. Kate yelped in pain, she’d almost forgotten about the anti-walking sensors. She quickly returned to her hands and knees growling angrily at Lucy as she clipped the leash back on to her collar.

“Master Alex, have you forgotten that Jessica has her class with Madame Cervoix this morning? It starts in ten minutes!” Lucy led Kate from the room, chastising her as they went.

“Damn!” Was all Master Alex could say as he undid the cord at the base of his cock so it could be unhitched from Jessica’s ring-gag.

Madame Cervoix, the world-renowned authority on oral sex techniques, had been paid a large sum of money to visit the island during the festival. She was there to give her “Oral Skills for Slavegirls” training course. Jessica and Kate were enrolled in the first class of the day. Alex hurriedly released Jessica from the hog-tie and had placed her in handcuffs just as Erik arrived.

Erik put a hood over Jessica’s head and guided her naked rope-imprinted body towards the classroom.

ORAL SKILLS FOR SLAVEGIRLS

There were three others already seated in the class when Erik led Jessica into the classroom. Each of them was kneeling on her shins with her hands tied or cuffed behind her. A foot-long chain fixed the wrists loosely to the floor.

Jessica joined them, kneeling in the last available position alongside Kate. On the floor between Jessica’s legs was a plastic zip-locked bag containing a long and narrow black anal plug and a sachet of lubricant. A wire trailed ominously from the bag and along the floor in front of her.

“Legs wider. Bend forward.” Erik instructed the kneeling Jessica.

He expertly teased the plug around the opening of her anus, an action that caused for Jessica to relax herself as she had been trained. Erik pushed firmly on the plug and it eased slowly into her rectum until her sphincter closed upon its narrow neck. There was a definite click that Jessica heard and felt. Erik has flicked a small switch on the base of the butt plug. Jessica noted the trailing wire running from the plug, along the floor and up a chrome stand, like a heavy-duty microphone stand, two feet in front of her.

Kate was delighted to be sat next to Jessica. They were able to talk freely while waiting for Madame Cervoix to arrive. She explained to Jessica why she was acting like a puppy.

“A pussy-girl?” Jessica said in disbelief and anger. “You’re training to be a pussy-girl?”

Kate became upset; she hadn’t expected Jessica to be angry instead of pleased to see her. “Why are you so negative about it? I just thought I’d be able to see you more!” Her voice cracked and tears formed in her eyes.

Jessica tried to explain. “Katie. You can’t be a pussy-girl without betraying us ponygirls and bunnies. It means you approve of what they are doing on Rabbit Island. One day you could be expected to punish me. Then what would you do?”

“I’d never hurt you Jessi,” Kate sobbed. “I’m going to tell them I want to go back to the bunny camp. They can stick the rest of this pussy-girl trial up their fat asses.”

Jessica looked sympathetically her friend’s tearstained face, trying not to laugh at the black streaks her tears had made out of her makeup. “So you say you’ll be working in the medical suite?”

Kate nodded and snuffled. “It looks like it. If Dr Schmidt agrees to take me.”

Jessica paused to think. “Maybe you should see how it goes? We need a good nurse at the Lodge. They might even let you administer my vitamin jabs?”

They both laughed, and wished they could have a friendly hug. Kneeling, cuffed and butt-plugged staring at huge dildos in front of their noses, the best Jessica could manage was to lean over and kiss Kate’s shoulder. Jessica studied her friend’s dog collar and body harness, and the streaked black makeup on her face. “God, you could get arrested for looking that cute, Katie.”

Alongside Jessica and Kate were two women, somewhat bemused by Kate and Jessica’s behavior, and fascinated by Kate in her puppy attire. After Kate had welcomed them to Rabbit Island, they introduced themselves.

“Eva from Argentina. I am a lawyer; or rather I was a lawyer. I’m the daughter of a wealthy man, but for two years now I am a prisoner at La Finca de las Cadenas in South America.”

“I’m Suchita from India. I was a movie actress in Bombay until two months ago.”

She was modest as well as beautiful; being one of Bollywood’s most adored stars. “When I was kidnapped I thought that I would be ransomed for money, but instead I became a possession of a very rich man. Now this is my life. Most of the time I am in his house. I live naked in a small hanging cage like an exotic bird. It is so shameful!” She looked down sadly at her dark-skinned and very slim body unable to come to terms with what happened to her.

Both were extraordinarily beautiful. Given the trouble and expense of shipping a slave across the world for a week’s ‘holiday’, it was not surprising. They were not merely sexual slaves like Jessica and Kate but exotic status symbols that could only be shown off at festivals such as these. Seeing the sad expressions on the visitor’s faces, Jessica felt sad too, and a little guilty that perhaps her life wasn’t as bad as others.

Jessica looked up at the top of the chrome stand and couldn’t help but laugh. There was a cardboard cut out face of a famous American movie star. Each of the students had a different face on her stand, representing their respective countries of origin.

The brisk click-clack of feminine heels in the corridor interrupted their jokes about the pictured faces and heralded Madame Cervoix’s entry into the classroom. She was dressed in a smart pinstriped jacket and skirt. Her dark hair and make-up were immaculate. For such an authority on oral gratification it was not surprising that she had the most amazing mouth - big, wide and shapely red lips and perfect white teeth.

“Good morning students,” she began, casting her eyes down to the four of them “...and welcome to my course ‘Oral Skills for Slavegirls’. For the next three mornings I will teach you all I can about how to please your Masters with your mouth. You have everything to gain and nothing to lose from this, so I expect your full attention and commitment during these classes.

“Before you can learn, you must first unlearn the bad habits you picked up as teenagers. We shall start at the very beginning with a lesson in human biology.” She turned on a slide projector and revealed a large color picture showing a cross-section of a man’s sexual organs.

A highly informative hour later, and after taking questions from her students, Madame Cervoix announced it was time for a coffee break.

“Now... none of you have had breakfast this morning?”

They all shook their heads.

“Good, because I’m providing breakfast for you. You will find it in the phallus in front of you. Place your mouth over the phallus and move back and forth as deeply as you can. If your movement is strong and deep enough you will get a little reward. If you fail to stimulate the feeder into delivering your breakfast you will receive correction from the anal motivator. I shall return in twenty minutes by which time you’ll have had your breakfast and be warmed up for the next lesson.”

She pressed a button on a small remote control she was holding. Classical music started playing. Very pleasant, thought Kate. Just as she was asking Jessica whether the music was by Mozart, the anal motivators burst into life. All four students received an electric shock in the rectum eliciting a four-part “ooowww!” in response.

“Let’s eat, Katie,” Jessica said, shuffling forward a couple of inches and stretching her mouth over the thick phallus. Jessica had experienced this feeding system once before when she was caged and transported to the island (RI ch9). It didn’t take long before she felt the first squirt of the cum mixture at the back of her mouth. Kate, in thinking of her regular oral servicing of Ray, was soon feeding happily also. Eva too, was enjoying some success.

Suchita, judging by her regular high-pitched squeals, was having no success at all. Her delicate mouth was stretched around top of the phallus, tears streaming from both eyes.

Kate broke off from her feeding. “Suchita, you have to go deeper, you’ll get nothing from the tip! Yes...like that! Keep going like that. Yeeeeooooowww!”

The anal motivator was triggered by Kate’s momentary lapse of activity. After that, Kate decided, Suchita was on her own!

THE HUNTING GAME

Rabbit Island festivals always got off to a great start with The Hunting Game. Rather than have their sexual victims laid out a plate, so to speak, the visitors had to go out into the fields and hunt them down. Actually, they didn’t really have to, it was just damn good fun to do so!

The bunnies, twenty of them from the three different camps, were prepared for action immediately after breakfast, ready to be led up to the high ground in the center of the island where most of the action took place.

The handlers soon realized that one of the bunnies was missing...

“For the last time,” Tony shouted at the six remaining bunnies in the camp. “Does anyone know where bunny nancy has gone?” This bunny was really testing his patience, and indeed that of her former companions.

They gave a collective shrug of their shoulders. They knew no more about Nancy’s whereabouts than they did about the key yesterday.

There didn’t seem any point in worrying further about the truant bunny. This was an island and they knew Nancy would be found sooner or later, whether she had unlocked her cuffs or not. The tracking device in Nancy’s pearl earrings could emit her location once the hunters were equipped with the receiver units. As soon as they got within one hundred yards of her she would be picked up by the receiver.

Tony and Riccardo prepared their ever-declining stock of bunnies for the hunt. While Tony fitted each with a regulation ball-gag (padlocked on), Riccardo was responsible for the goggles, which were normal swimming goggles to protect the bunnies’ eyes from any stray paint balls. The heavily tinted goggles also had another purpose in severely restricting their sight and hence their ability to evade the hunters for too long.

Linking a length of chain between each bunny’s collar they were led by Riccardo’s ponygirls Linda and Karita in a line from the beach up to the middle of the island.

PONY PREPARATION

The Oral Skills for Slavegirls lesson ended with a quiz (an oral one of course.) All four students thought they’d done quite well, although none were perfect. Madame Cervoix punched their scores into her control panel before leaving the class. “You’ll get your grades later,” she explained.

The students talked quietly amongst themselves while they waited for their respective handlers to take them to the next appointments. They had to admit that the lesson had been very informative and even kind of fun.

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud beep from Madame Cervoix’s control panel. A few seconds later the anal motivators burst into life. Painful jolts pulsed through their bodies. The four students lunging for the phalluses in front of them, hoping it would save them from the shocks as it did at breakfast.

No matter how hard they sucked, the shocks just kept coming. The soft phallus was performing a different role now, giving the girls something to bite down on as their bodies jerked and arched in agonizing spasms. One by one the motivators stopped. Kate’s first, then Eva’s and Jessica’s. They each sat quietly recovering while Suchita continued to receive more shocks. Each student had received her respective grade, and felt highly motivated to do better in tomorrow’s class.

Pussy girl Lucy came to collect her pet from the classroom, replacing the anal motivator with the puppy’s tail. Naturally the bone was once again fastened between Kate’s already sore lips.

Erik removed Jessica back to the ponygirl quarters where she was required for duty.

Debbie - Jessica’s ponygirl pair - was eager to hear all about the class, so while they prepared for duty, Jessica gave her a full account. Jessica couldn’t understand why Debbie found it so funny.

They quickly plaited and pinned up each other’s hair so that the neck was fully exposed. Like the other ponygirls they had long untamed hair, which when not on pony duties cascaded freely over their bare shoulders.

Next they rubbed a lubricating sun cream all over, giving the skin a dark lustrous appearance. The pony partner was needed to complete this task on the other’s back.

With their naked bodies glistening, they headed for the adjacent tack room to put on their pony boots. They always take great care with their fitting, ensuring that they are tightly laced but comfortable., knowing from experience that an ill-fitting boot will make for a truly painful and miserable day.

Finally, they secured themselves to await the arrival of their pony driver. Jessica pushed a large sponge ball into her mouth. It is impossible to expel without using a hand. Debbie did likewise a few feet away.

Dangling from a chain attached to a ceiling joist is a pair of handcuffs at waist height. Each ponygirl fixed herself into these holding her hands behind her back. Then, locked in their self-bondage they silently awaited their pony driver.

It is like a period of transition, an uncomfortable stage where she is neither a ponygirl nor a naked woman. Usually the wait will be no more than ten minutes but it can be much longer. Unable to do anything other than stand and look at each other the ponygirls are always very relieved at the arrival of their pony driver... except today, when they knew it would not be Ray. Tony would substitute for him so Jessica and Debbie knew it was going to be a long and hard day.

The inner door to the tack room is like that of a cell, with strong vertical bars, Tony stood on the other side. Luckily Frank, another pony driver, had come along to assist Tony in rigging up the ponygirls.

“First thing we always do before entering the tack room is ensure the ponygirls are securely cuffed.” Frank explained. Jessica and Debbie turned their backs towards the men and each tugged her arms apart as they had been taught.

“Never... ever... enter unless you are sure they are properly cuffed.” Frank added. He makes us sound like Hannibal Lecter, Jessica thought. The men entered the tack room and inspected the ponygirls to ensure their hair was correctly pinned up and their bodies properly coated with the sun lotion.

“First we put their bridles on.” Frank explained to the inexperienced Tony. “Here...you do debbie and I’ll do Jessica. Stick your finger in her mouth to hook out the sponge... mind she doesn’t bite.”

Tony could never tell whether Frank was joking. He looked tentatively at Debbie’s mouth, observing the red sponge between her perfect white teeth. He pushed a thumb and forefinger between her lips and quickly pulled out the ball, very relieved to still have his fingers. Debbie just smiled.

“Now put the bridle straps on like I’m doing. The hole for buckling is clearly marked in blue... Push the bit well back in her mouth...you’ll feel it clip into place... now the chin strap... Perfect...And finally clip the little padlocks into the two slots.

Jessica and Debbie were agreed that the moment they got the bit between their teeth was when they felt like ponygirls, and would also be treated as such. Frank had a confident touch, fitting the bridle snugly on Jessica’s head as if he’d been doing all his life.

“Right. Let's deal with their pesky hands or else their fingers get in the way. We get them to make the hand into a fist and slip the suede bag over it. The Velcro tabs will hold it closed. Just give her a snap of the riding crop if she gives you any trouble, and remember to make a chalk mark on her thigh. Let her know who’s boss!”

The crop wasn’t needed. Jessica and Debbie seldom gave trouble these days. What was the point when all it did was accumulate punishments?

“Now on to the harness. Drop it over her head and shoulders and buckle each strap to the marked hole... As these two have larger tits than many ponies we’ve fixed a little soft mesh material between the straps to stop them from bouncing around.

With Jessica’s suede covered hands already chained at the correct height it was easy for Frank to wrap the leather cuff around her wrists. He secured them hammerlock-fashion to her harness. Jessica was almost enjoying Frank’s brisk handling - even while instructing Tony he was going quicker than Ray did.

“On to the reins...” Frank paused, watching patiently as Tony fiddling with last buckles on the harness. “If you dig around with the netting of her breasts you’ll find her nipples. Just tug on their rings, until they poke through the netting. It doesn’t hurt ‘em. Good… now padlock two reins onto each nipple ring.”

After both men had done exactly that, there were eight flat leather cords, each around ten feet in length, hanging down from their nipples and trailing over the floor.

Frank showed Tony how to thread the upper reins, which went up from the nipple, and threaded back through rings to the side of the ponygirls’ bridles.

The lower reins went downwards from the nipples, joining through a central D ring on the ponygirl’s belt before being threaded through the six rings in her labia. It created an attractive Y shape, linking the most intimate parts of her body.

Frank explained the intricacies of the ‘rein stoppers’. These ensured that the reins could only be pulled a limited distance before snagging, thus preventing the ponygirls’ nipples from being subjected to overstretching.

“Always test that the stoppers are functioning!” Frank said, tugging on all the reins to the maximum extent the stoppers allowed. He studied the movement of the ponies’ nipples ensuring they weren’t stretched too far. Jessica and Debbie couldn’t help moaning in response. It wasn’t pain they were feeling. Frank laughed at their reaction. “My ponygirls like that part too.”

He gripped each pony nipple in turn, checking the piercing, and then squeezed the breast, purely because he knew the ponygirls liked it.

Tony seemed flustered by all the intimate contact with Debbie’s soft flesh. With her little movements and cute noises Debbie knew what she was doing. She was amused to see Tony had a raging hard-on.

Just about maintaining his self-control Tony finished the job. If he didn’t know Frank better he might have questioned the driver’s sexual orientation at that point.

“Yes, it is difficult at first,” Frank admitted, “but we get used to it. Horny bitches aren’t they? I don’t know what it is about this harness that does it to them! Listen Tony, judging by what you’ve got in your middle pocket I think you’d better leave the tail fitting for me.”

Jessica and Debbie spread their legs and bent forward on cue while Frank’s brisk manner in ponygirl preparation continued. After a firm push from him and a grunt from Jessica the tail plug popped into its place in Jessica’s rectum. A few quick squeezes on the little bulb-pump hidden in the tail hair ensured it would not fall out during the upcoming exertions.

The ponygirls were led out and hitched to the trap. Getting the right length in each of the retaining straps was an art best left to an experienced driver. Frank could only really guess at the adjustments for Jessica and Debbie, and had to check himself from apologizing in advance if he had got it wrong.

In front of them, already harnessed and hitched up to their trap and trailer were ponies Diana and Melinda. A man and a woman were petting them, although with all their harnesses and straps it wasn’t easy to pet an on-duty ponygirl. Most visitors simply tugged gently on their reins trying to get a reaction out of the seemingly impassive ponies.

Frank mounted the trap, and with a subtle tug on the rein Diana and Melinda walked a few steps and then broke into a slow trot.

Meanwhile Tony had mounted the seat of Jessica and Debbie’s trap. Jessica felt a tug on her reins, her nipples pulled sharply downwards, a signal for the ponies to stop. As they were already stationary Jessica and Debbie decided to start trotting behind Frank’s ponygirls.

HUNTED AND HOG-TIED

Jessica and Debbie followed behind Frank’s trap as best they could. Their main problem was the inadequate driving and inappropriate whipping from Tony.

They knew that Ray was a good driver, but didn’t know how good until they were driven by somebody like Tony. Ray knew how to use the whipper with economy, saving the hardest strokes for the times when they were needed and the softer ones for general encouragement. They and their sore behinds were missing him terribly.

They managed to get to the hunting base more or less intact, pulling up immediately behind Diana and Melinda. Further ahead were Riccardo’s ponies, Linda and Karita and right at the front were Sandra and Cathy who were just about to head back to the Lodge.

Each pony pair was hauling not just the usual lightweight trap but also a six-foot long trailer. This was a lightweight single axle design running on two sturdy mountain-bike style wheels. Sandra’s trailer was already loaded with its cargo: Five miserable squirming naked females in a neat row, facing alternately left and right, to better utilize the space on the trailer. Each was painfully hog-tied using the same leather as their reins. Jessica was trying to recognize them as the trailer went past.

The other trailers were gradually filled with the remaining captured bunnies. Once filled, each trailer departed back to The Lodge. As ponygirls Jessica and Debbie were the last pair, they had the longest wait.

Jessica was a bunny when the previous hunting game took place several months ago . What’s more, she was the last bunny caught by the hunters; hence she won the bunnies’ part of the competition (RI ch.12). It was that event, she realized, which had initiated her regular contacts with Master Alex.

Eventually they departed back to The Lodge hauling their trailer load of exhausted hog-tied females. Jessica had a nagging feeling that Nancy had not been amongst those caught. There could be a dozen reasons for it but Jessica hoped quietly for the best reason of all - that Nancy was no longer on the island.

Upon reaching the paddock of The Lodge it became obvious from the people milling around that something had gone wrong and that it concerned the ponygirls. As ever, because of their blinkers and their position, ponygirls Jessica and Debbie were at the peripheral of the action, but it didn’t stop them hearing the conversation - ponygirl Linda had twisted her ankle. They saw her being carried into the medical suite.

Linda’s accident didn’t mean that ponygirls Jessica and Debbie would miss their routine punishment for misdemeanors during the trip. They were clipped to the punishment rail and while a crowd of guests gathered around. Tony inspected the chalk marks on Jessica’s thigh and delivered their lashes - six strokes each. Unfortunately for Jessica and Debbie, Tony’s prowess with the whip was much better than his pony driving.

BONES

Kate was crawling through some thick shrubbery looking for her bone when pussy-girl Lucy came to fetch her. A handful of guests were having great fun with Kate’s doggy persona, making her crawl after her bone in all directions as well as trying to teach her some obscene new tricks. Lucy clipped the leash onto Kate’s collar, buckled the bone-gag between her teeth and led her puppy away from the disappointed visitors.

They entered the courtyard just as Tony was thrashing Jessica and Debbie, but crawling on her hands and knees she could see nothing as Lucy led her into the medical suite.

Lucy entered into the surgery and saw the doctor attending to Linda’s ankle. “Here’s kate, sir, as you requested.”

“Thank you lucy. You may go.”

“Good luck,” Lucy whispered to Kate, ruffling her puppy’s blonde hair affectionately as she departed.

”So, what do you know about twists and fractures?” Dr Schmidt asked Kate while carefully cutting off the paws from her hands and feet.

“Enough, I think.” she replied honestly. “But you’ll excuse me if I’m a little rusty as I haven’t been able to practice my profession for a while. I’ve been tied up a lot recently.”

The Doctor didn’t appreciate Kate’s sarcasm. His stern look over the top of his glasses said it all. She apologized immediately.

“Now, go to the bathroom, clean up your face and put on your apron. We need to get this pony’s ankle treated.”

Kate’s smile was far bigger than she intended. She almost ran into the bathroom. There she scrubbed every bit of makeup from her face and ensured her hands were clean. If only Lucy would come back and unlock the thick black collar, the harness and the tail-plug she would feel even better! It wasn’t going to hinder her renascent nursing career. She put the white apron on, tied the strings in a bow at the small of her back and promptly returned to the surgery.

Dr. Schmidt pointed to the collar, thinking maybe Kate had forgotten to remove it.

“It’s locked on.” Kate explained, “and so is this.” She made a quick quarter-turn and stuck out her butt so the Doctor could see the tail curling jauntily out of her ass. He raised an eyebrow and mused on whether a tail could be made part of her new nurse’s uniform.

Ponygirl Linda, stripped of her harness and boots, sat up in bed with her wrists handcuffed to the sides of the bed frame. Kate comforted her as the doctor manipulated her ankle, but the pain appeared to be the least of her problems.

“I can’t believe it,” Linda said to Kate, “first Ray has an accident and now this. It’s the eve of the competition and both our teams are out of it!”

Kate didn’t realize that the ponygirls took this so seriously. “They lock you up in harness, whip you and make you run and haul stuff all over the island. What does it matter about a stupid competition?”

The doctor gave an admonishing cough and looked at Kate disapprovingly.

“It’s pride, Kate. Don’t you see? We’re stuck here. It’s our prison but it’s also our home; whether we like it or not. I enjoy having something to work towards and the competition is it. Now all the practice that Karita and Riccardo have done is wasted... Yeeeeeoooow!”

“Did it hurt when I did that?” The doctor asked, feeling Linda’s ankle.”

“Yes. Quite a lot,” the ponygirl replied calmly, without a hint of sarcasm.

“A bad strain. We’ll get you strapped up. You won’t be running for a while. Riccardo will have to find himself another pony.”

“THAT’S IT!” Kate shouted excitedly, “Why can’t Riccardo drive Jessica and Debbie. At least we’d have an entrant in the competition.”

Linda agreed. Even Dr Schmidt was obliged to agree, although he couldn’t quite match Kate’s level of enthusiasm. Nevertheless he picked up the internal phone and made the call.

FINAL PRACTICE

Jessica and Debbie were in the jacuzzi recovering from their arduous day at the end of Tony’s reins. They were still annoyed about being punished with six lashes because of his incompetent driving. They joked that even Kate had been a better driver. Their laughter was interrupted by an announcement from the tannoy system:

“Ponygirls Jessica and debbie. Harness in ten minutes.”

It had been a long and hard day already. The thought of being harnessed again just so Tony could fulfil his pony driver ambitions filled them with dread. For the second time that day they prepared themselves for the harness.

Jessica and Debbie were standing ready in their preparation chains when Riccardo arrived. He soon had them harnessed up and out on the training course. As the drivers never bother to speak to the ponygirls, (aside from a few horsy style encouragements) they were left to conclude for themselves that Riccardo was training them for the dressage.

All became clearer soon after when Frank appeared in the ring, fresh from delivering the day’s corrective strokes to his ponygirls.

“Take ‘em through a trot first. I’ll run along side.” Frank shouted out. With two drivers talking together it became much easier for the eavesdropping ponygirls to figure out what they were expected to do.

They did exactly as Frank said. Then they did it again... and again and again. There was still the high stepping to be practiced. Jessica and Debbie, although quite pretty as far as ponygirls go, were built for speed and power - even before they started on Dr. Schmidt’s steroid regimen. They would never compete with some of the ponies that looked like they’d come from the Folie Bergere.

Frank took a firm whip to their thighs knowing they could lose valuable points. “Knee..up..kick..out..foot..down..knee up..kick..out..foot..down”

Fireworks launched the first evening of the festival. It was a compelling spectacle of diverse and deviant entertainment. As the island’s bunnies were unwillingly providing much of the entertainment, their opinion might have been different. Jessica wished she was there instead of high stepping around a track. She found herself wondering who was sat kneeling chained to Master Alex’s chair, and that wayward attention cost her a sharp rap on her thigh.

“Knee..up..kick..out..foot..down..knee up..kick..out..foot..down”

The training eventually finished. Jessica and Debbie were returned to an almost empty pony quarters. Only the forlorn figure of Linda, with her strapped up ankle, was there waiting for them.

Riccardo and Frank went in search of a couple of well-deserved after-work beers and a quick peek at the festival activities.

SWORD SWALLOWING

Madame Cervoix’s “Oral Skills for Slavegirls” class had an early start this morning. With all the festivities planned it would be a long and exhausting day for ponygirls and bunnies alike.

Jessica, Kate, Eva and Suchita were classmates again, and after yesterday’s shared experience a friendly rapport had developed between them. They were fixed up in the same way as yesterday - each was kneeling on the wooden floor, her hands cuffed behind her and chained to the floor between her feet. The anal motivators were in place, the cold steel cylinder nestling deep within the rectum of each student. The four talked quietly, awaiting their teacher’s arrival.

Even though the anal motivators had delivered a surprisingly nasty punishment yesterday, the students all agreed on how nice Madame Cervoix was. Somehow, because she was never in the room when the punishing shocks were delivered, they didn’t hold her responsible for their pain.

Cervoix had a charming personality, more like a respected college lecturer than a domineering slave mistress. She treated her students with a surprising degree of respect too, able to ignore the fact that her students were in chains and lived as slaves. She was always complimenting them: Jessica on her lustrous dark hair, Kate on her breasts and cute smile, Eva on her smoldering Latin eyes, and Suchita on her beautiful face. It was a clever technique for winning over her students and made them want to please her all the more.

“Good morning class.” Madame Cervoix said cheerily upon her arrival. The students reciprocated the greeting in unison, as if they were back at school. She looked as immaculately dressed up and made up as she was yesterday; her pinstripe skirt and suit jacket making her look every inch the sexy businesswoman.

Cervoix walked slowly behind her four kneeling students, bending down to check that the handcuffs were chained securely to the floor and that the anal motivators were properly inserted and switched on. She paused to gaze at Kate’s bare back. It was criss-crossed with light welt marks.

“...And how is our Kate feeling this morning?” She asked, obviously teasing. Suchita and Eva chuckled. “You really made quite an impression last night!”

Jessica sensed that she missed something the previous evening. Kate bit down on her bottom lip and glanced across at her friend with a sheepish smile.

“Why? What happened?” Jessica inquired, just as the others hoped she would.

Suchita was bouncing on her heels, eager to recount the story.

“First there was a competition where the five pussy-girls wear strap-on dildos and have their hands tied behind them... and they’re ball-gagged too…

“And there’s a line of naked girls bent right over a fence rail, standing with their legs tied apart. It’s a race where the pussy-girls were supposed to pump the dildo into each of the bunnies’ vaginas ten times, then run back to the finishing line in the fastest time, but...” the Indian woman’s voice cracked up with laughter at her recollection.

“...But Kate’s dildo kept missing the hole on the first girl!” Eva giggled, taking up the story. “She must have been trying for a minute or two, the dildo bobbing around in front of her. She got madder and madder until she was jumping up and down and moaning behind her gag at everyone. It just made them laugh more and more.”

“...Then,” Suchita resumed, “a man gave her a helping hand and made Kate put it up the asshole of one girl. Kate pumped away regardless of the poor girl’s protests. She finally managed to fuck all five girls but it must have taken fives minutes. Honestly, some people were laughing so hard I thought they might collapse!”

Judging by the giggles in the room as they told of Kate’s misadventure, the fun hadn’t only been enjoyed by the Masters. Kate shrugged her shoulders at Jessica and gave here one of those ‘so what’ looks, as if to say ‘they wanted amusement and they got it’.

But that wasn’t the end last night’s escapades...

“And then later in the evening there was that whipping competition,” Suchita continued, “where the first woman to orgasm is the winner.”

Kate looked down, studying her large, still lactating, nipples, as she often did when feeling embarrassed.

“First they tie the woman’s hands to the top corners of a wooden frame that looks like a door frame, and she is made to kneel on the ground. There’s a long dildo pointing upwards from the bottom of the frame and she’s lowered onto it so it’s inside her...”

“And they were all blindfolded as well,” Eva chipped in.

Suchita continued, becoming more animated. “So there are four of them in a row, kneeling in their frames. Each has a man who’s her teammate. The whistle goes, and each guy is allowed three minutes to put his girl in the mood, so they are all kissing them, playing with their breasts and such. It really was quite sexy!

“Then the whistle blows again and now they are only allowed to touch their girl by whipping them. They are soft whips, like a flogger, but some of them are still whipping the women quite hard. They can whip them in any way they want, just enough to make the girls go up and down on the dildo…

“So these four women in their frames are moving up and down like crazy, and everyone is cheering for them, and Kate’s lovely breasts are bouncing everywhere, and of course I’m cheering for Kate as well, and she’s making all these sexy noises. The guys keep whipping the four of them faster and faster and the women are all going mad with passion. Then Kate screams and screams as she has the first orgasm. Everyone cheered as she kept screwing herself on the dildo as she came a second time…

“She was the winner, of course! The guy whipping her was awarded a big bottle of champagne. He shook it and sprayed all over Kate and the other girls.”

Jessica smiled broadly, congratulating Kate on her victory, although she wondered whether such undignified behavior really deserved congratulations. She asked Kate, curiously, who was partnering her in Ray’s absence.

“Master Alex,” Kate replied.

Kate immediately noticed an instant change of expression, almost like bewilderment, on Jessica’s face. It seemed to shock her. Kate broke the stony silence a few moments later. “Anyway Jessi - the good news from last night is that they told me I can stay in the medical suite. I’m a pussy-girl now!”

Jessica was annoyed with herself. How could she have formed such an irrational attachment to Master Alex? Surely Kate’s well being, and the fact that she would soon be living nearby, was more important than her relationship with that overeducated slave trader!

Kate and Jessica’s awkward scene presented a good moment for Madame Cervoix to call her students to order. The laughing and joking had ended.

The lesson began with a brief review of what they learned yesterday.

“Tell me, Eva. What is the correct attitude for a slave-girl prior to fellatio?” Madame Cervoix began.

“My eyes tell him how much I desire to have his penis filling my mouth.”

“Very good! If you are kneeling like you are now, you must remember to raise your eyes to him, but not your head. What do you want him to see, Suchita?”

“The whites of my eyes showing below the irises.”

“That’s right. You have beautiful submissive eyes. You must use them to show that you are submitting to him. Kate, please demonstrate that to us.”

Kate nodded, then looked upwards towards the face of a famous British sportsman. She licked her lips, opened her mouth, and extended her tongue slightly. Then she leant forward so that the erect phallus slipped sensuously into her wet mouth, and looked upwards again as she started to move over the head of the penis. “Excellent technique Kate!” Madame Cervoix proclaimed.

“In today’s class we will learn about sword-swallowing, otherwise known as deep-throating. You may have heard negative things said about it or even had bad experiences yourself, but when it’s done right, this can be extremely satisfying for the slave-girl as well as her Master. Let’s start with Kate as she is already warmed up.”

Mme Cervoix stood behind Kate, instructing her to keep sucking on the phallus. She positioned her hands firmly on each side of Kate’s face, gradually changing the angle so that Kate felt the phallus’s head against the back of her throat. Then lifting Kate’s chin as she continued to work on it, Kate felt the phallus being forced down into her throat. She gagged on it, as Cervoix expected, but the teacher held her head so that the phallus lodged further and further within her..

“Push right up to the base Kate.” Mme Cervoix encouraged. “That’s it, nice and slow!”

Kate’s straightened her back and pushed herself upwards despite the resistance in her throat. The tip of her nose made contact with the base of the phallus unit. A red LED light came on, triggered by a pressure sensor. She’d made it!

“Brava, Kate! Now hold it right there, and don’t forget to breathe!”

The three other students looked on with a mixture of horror and fascination. Kate was kneeling with her spine perfectly straight; head upturned and straining to keep the phallus fully down her throat, worried that she would gag on it at any moment. Madame Cervoix quickly wrapped a red silk cord several times around her neck then knotted it securely to a point on base of the phallus.

“As you’re still a beginner I’ve tied the cord around your neck to help you hold it down,” Madame Cervoix helpfully explained to Kate.

Eva and Suchita were next to sample the art of sword swallowing. It took a great deal of coaxing and cajoling, not to mention the threats, until they too found themselves in a hitherto unimagined position. A silk cord tied around the top of the neck ensured they stayed that way. Kate and Eva looked fairly relaxed with their predicament but Suchita was trembling and wide-eyed with fear.

Madame Cervoix laughed. “Breathe, you stupid girl!”

The teacher’s attention turned to Jessica. Following a little personal coaching, she too was able to push her mouth fully onto the phallus. She felt the fat intruder burrowing insistently deep within her throat. It was a surprise and a relief to discover it wasn’t as bad as she expected. She could breathe. “You’re a natural!” Madame Cervoix was delighted to inform her.

Jessica couldn’t help thinking of her next encounter with Master Alex. She could imagine his cock buried deep in her throat while he ran his fingers through her hair, as he liked to do. Lost in that thought, she scarcely noticed as Cervoix looped a cord around her neck and tied it tightly to the phallus. Jessica tried to pull herself off the phallus but felt the cord choking her. Something else was happening - something very disturbing. The more she pulled against the rope around her neck the more aroused she became. If only Madame Cervoix would run her hands over her pussy, Jessica knew she might be brought to orgasm there and then.

Madame Cervoix was observing Jessica’s blushing skin and shallow breathing with admiration. It was so tempting to help take the girl over the edge, into a whole new realm of pleasure. But no, that honor would be reserved for the one who paid the bills. She knew Master Alex would be very pleased with Jessica’s progress.

One of the great satisfactions for a teacher is when you witness the growth of your students. So it was for Madame Cervoix with the sight of four kneeling contemplative figures, each fitted with what she considered to be the ultimate gag. Their eyes nervously followed her as she walked around them, correcting their postures, stroking their hair. She ran a fingertip gently up and down the shapely bulge at the front of Suchita’s neck. Suchita, responding to the tickling, attempted to swallow, causing her throat to grip the phallus even tighter. The Indian beauty looked more ravishing than ever.

Several minutes later, with only an occasional groan breaking the peaceful calm of the class, the students were becoming restless, wordlessly pleading with their teacher/mistress for release. Cervoix relented, untying them only because there was still much more to teach.

Their breakfast was served by the same method as yesterday. Cervoix loaded the food canisters in the base of the phalluses and switched them on. While she went for a sociable coffee and a croissant in the bar, the students hungrily set to work on their respective phalluses, sucking them with enthusiasm, each enjoying the bland, salty-sweet liquid that periodically squirted into their throats.

Madame Cervoix returned promptly from her coffee break to find four smug and satisfied students licking their lips and joking with each other. She wondered whether she had been too easy on them. That was easily rectified in the remaining hour of the class.

Cervoix declared herself very pleased with her students’ new abilities. Tomorrow, she announced, they would learn about the ‘O-Box’! This was one of Cervoix’s recent inventions and was already proving to be a big success at the Rabbit Island festival.

She departed from her students while they were still cuffed and kneeling on the floor. There was just enough time for a lunch date with a rich admirer before her afternoon class.

The students remained kneeling, waiting anxiously for the grades. Kate had something troubling her that she wanted to talk to Jessica about. “Last night at the festival, Jessica. I know I was kind of busy, but I didn’t see or hear anything about Nancy. In fact, nobody has seen anything of her for nearly two days. What do you suppose has happened?”

Jessica, rather than being concerned about her college pal, seemed thrilled by the news. “With any luck she’s escaped. Nancy’s a smart girl you know! She may have already alerted the authorities. Jesus, Katie! We could all be free within the week.” Jessica tugged excitedly on her wrist chains that attached her to the floor. “Free from bondage at last!”

They became silent again as they contemplated that thought, and dreaded the imminent punishment of the anal motivator. For the duration of the class the electric probes deep inside them seemed benign, almost a pleasant feeling. But with the class over, they knew cool steel within them would at any moment deliver the first of many painful jolts.

The control panel sounded a beep. For a few moments there was a collective fearful whimpering and crying, knowing that their failings during class were about to be translated into voltage.

“Yeeoowww!” Their four-part cat’s chorus had begun.

PONY CORSETRY

If there were a poll of Rabbit Island workers to nominate the most useful member of staff, Carole would surely win. As beautician, costume designer, and de facto ‘house mother’ to many of the island’s slavegirls she was always in demand, dealing with the demands of the Masters and the complaints of slavegirls with singular good grace.

“It doesn’t seem right - a ponygirl wearing a corset!” Jessica remarked.

“Jessica. You sound like Master Alex.” Carole reprimanded her. “Now breathe in and keep still. I need to get this thing laced up much tighter.”

Carole tugged away on the laces at the back of Jessica’s leather corset, while pussy-girl Lucy worked simultaneously on Debbie. The waist-cinching corset was giving a delightful definition to Jessica’s waist and hips.

Fishnet stockings were next. Jessica and Debbie were allowed to put these on themselves. They smiled at each other as they did it - it was fun to get dressed up when, as ponygirls, they usual wore nothing but harnesses. Carole attached the stocking tops to the corsets and adjusted the stretchy garters to ensure a good fit.

Naturally, the ponygirls fitted their own boots, lacing them carefully up to just below the knee. They each stood up and walked around the room, making absolutely sure the boots were fitted snugly. They loved the comfort and the look of the pony-boots. With their high arched support and thick soles of the boots their resemblance to a pony’s hoof was remarkable. Carole and Lucy felt relieved when the ponygirls sat down again. The tall, muscular ponygirls could seem quite intimidating.

Jessica and Debbie were also fitted with full-length kid leather gloves that laced up above the elbows. These were custom-made garments that held the hand in a tight fist shape.

Usually, the Rabbit Island ponygirls wear nothing around their necks, but today’s costume included a leather band that laced up at the back of the neck to match the corset’s lacing. It looked very sexy, Carole informed them, although the ponygirls were more concerned about its tight grip around their throats than how it looked.

Hair and make-up followed - Carole and Lucy’s respective specialties. Poorly presented ponies would reflect badly on them, so they took considerable care and effort to ensure that they would look good and feel good. Even ponygirls sometimes like to be pampered!

Carole’s final touches were red silk carnations attached to each nipple ring and another at the end to the ponygirl’s plaited hair.

Because their fingers were already immobile within the long gloves Carole had to secure the ponygirls in the tack room to await their driver’s arrival. She had just finished clicking the cuffs around Jessica’s wrists when Riccardo and Frank arrived.

“Jesus Christ!” Riccardo exclaimed when he set eyes on Jessica and Debbie.

“You like?” said Carole.

“Maybe too much! I have to concentrate on working these ponies for the next few hours. Good job I visited the O-Box earlier!”

Frank and Riccardo fitted the dressage harnesses, their shiny black patent leather gleaming in the sunlight that flooded into the tack room through the skylight. The men were struck by how trim were the ponies’ corseted waists. They were able to tighten the harness belts a notch further than usual. The same shiny leather was used for the bridle straps that complimented so well the ponygirls’ glossy lips and black-lined eyes. With two experienced drivers at work, the ponygirls were soon reined, tailed and plumed. It was difficult for Riccardo to imagine that there would be any better ponygirls on display.

Once attached to the trap, a quick application of the whipper on their hind quarters had the ponygirls trotting smartly towards the dressage ring, the ponygirls’ long plaited manes with the red carnation at the end, bounced jauntily in the breeze.

They fell into line with five other pony pairs. All twelve stood perfectly still with ramrod posture, to await the judging of ‘best turned out’ ponygirl.

Jessica no longer thought about the absurdity of her situation. When bound, bitted and harnessed to a cart, life seemed simpler, avoiding her driver’s displeasure and the whip he wielded was all that mattered. Being a ‘dumb harnessed animal’ actually required a surprising degree of concentration.

INSPECTION

Although the blinkers restricted her view, Jessica could hear the judge approaching from the side. Suddenly she was standing in front of Jessica. The judge was a slim middle-aged woman, immaculate in fawn breeches and red riding coat. She looked Jessica straight in the eye with a severe expression as if trying to see inside her. Jessica stared straight ahead as she had been trained. ‘Never, ever, look a human in the eye,’ was one of the fundamental ponygirl rules.

The judge glanced at Jessica’s details on a clipboard. “How long has this one been a pony?”

“Three months.” Riccardo answered.

“That’s quite young to be entering a competition like this. I notice that she still tugs against her harness straps. Ponies should have that beaten out of them while they’re still young. So, tell me more about her.”

Riccardo seemed more nervous than Jessica was. “Ponygirl Jessica has developed very well physically. She is a hard worker and extremely loyal. Although strong willed, her intelligence makes her easy to train. She is now performing to a high standard and requires very little correction. She’s sociable and much loved by her peers and seniors alike. She is prone to seriousness, although is seldom depressed.”

Jessica thought Riccardo’s was a fair assessment, and uncannily similar to a review a former boss in New York had once written about her.

The judge cast her eyes up and down Jessica’s almost-perfect pony body. Her finger toyed with one of Jessica’s ringed nipple with its two reins and red silk carnation attached. She scrawled a few notes on her clipboard. “Quite lovely,” she muttered to herself as she moved to the next ponygirl pair.

They looked striking - taller and leaner than Jessica and Debbie. Unlike Jessica’s traditional ponygirl headgear these wore latex half-hoods that covered their hair and eyes. The protruding edges of their small eye holes meant that blinkers were not needed. That, and their black latex body suits gave them a sleek and streamlined appearance. Some visitors thought they looked very sexy, but the ponygirl traditionalists were appalled.

The only hints of color on these ponygirls were their shiny red lips. The judge was looking between them as the driver explained the new ‘permanent T bit’ design. It necessitated the removal of the ponygirl’s back teeth, bonding-in a bit piece and piercing of her tongue. He reassured the judge that it was hygienic and that the tongue depressor bar could be removed if required.

Tantalizingly displayed through a cutout in the latex garment, were the ponies’ labia. The cutout was just large enough to show that their sex was hairless. It was their only skin visible below the neck. The labia were as red and shiny as their upper lips.

Something else caught the eye of the judge - their long blonde tails, fitted in the usual butt-plug fashion and cascading down towards each ponygirl’s knees. It seemed softer and not as straight as normal pony hair. The pony driver confirmed her impression that it was human hair.

DRESSAGE

The dressage competition took place in the fenced corral behind where the ponygirls were arrayed. Jessica and Debbie could only listen to the polite clapping that signified the end of each routine. The trap creaked and shifted a little as Riccardo took his seat. The ponygirls became alert - ready to move at the instant he gave a signal.

He tugged on the reins causing both nipples to be pulled upwards. The ponygirls walked forward, happy to be moving at last.

A rapid repeated tug on the right rein and they turned right until the tugged ceased.

Riccardo pressed the a button on the small panel in front of him making the whipper slash at his ponies’ buttocks. They immediately started to trot and would not deviate from it unless Riccardo signaled them to do so.

Another tug on the right-hand reins, and they turned to the right again. They had entered the corral and could see people leaning on the wooden fence posts attentively watching the ponies’ every move.

Riccardo drove them back and forth sometimes trotting, sometimes galloping. It required all Jessica’s concentration to react correctly to Riccardo’s instructions as well as keeping in perfect sync with Debbie.

It all went very smoothly until the transition to the high-stepping phase caught them out. They misunderstood Riccardo’s signal and took a few faltering steps before falling into step again. Riccardo knew he’d lost some valuable strokes. Polite applause accompanied their exit from the ring.

After all six pony-pairs had competed there was a break so the scores were calculated. The ponygirls were unhitched from the traps and led to the punishment rail. They each had a slipped loop of leather dropped around the neck and tightened, then they were bent over the rail and the trailing end of the loop attached to the frame near to the ground.

Jessica and Debbie each felt the number 8 written large across a buttock. It meant they were eight strokes behind the current leader. Therefore the leading pony driver was entitled to deliver up to eight strokes on his competitors’ ponygirls.

The multi-stranded flogger smacked down hard on Jessica’s buttocks. There was every incentive for the driver to make the strokes hurt in order to weaken the opposition. Luckily the flogger was designed to cause only light wounds. Which isn’t to say it didn’t hurt, particularly if it was lashed hard.

After being punished for their failures (except for the leading pair) the ponygirls were taken to various parts of the ground and chained to trees. The rules were strict, only the bridles were permitted for removal, so that they could be fed and watered.

Pussy-girl Sara came over to where Jessica and Debbie were kneeling, still fully harnessed, in the shade of a tree. She carried water and a bowl of crudités. “You did very well,” she encouraged them as she offered the food, but the ponygirls were downhearted following their beating.

“You can easily come back from eight strokes. I’ve seen it done before.” Sara said optimistically. “Most of the other ponygirls here are just toys. Very beautiful and elegant, but they can’t live with you in all round ability. Only Madame Cavallo’s ponies are anywhere near your standard.”

“The tall ones?” Jessica asked.

“Yeah. Both her pony pairs are six-footers. The black pair look like the poor twins of the Williams sisters! They’re a couple of strokes ahead of you but Cavallo wasn’t pleased with their performance. I just saw her beating them again. Her other pony pair look amazing in their latex body suits. Here’s a little gossip: I heard a rumor that their tails are made from their own hair! Aren’t you glad you belong to Rabbit Island and not her?”

They had to agree. If there was one thing Jessica had learnt it was that there were worse places to be than Rabbit Island. The regular beatings that formed part of a ponygirl’s routine were nothing compared to the fear of being shipped elsewhere.

BUNNY HAULING

The afternoon’s pony event required a lot of rope, twenty-four bunnies and twenty-four large sacks of sand.

Kate, although now the probationary nurse, was enlisted to make up the bunny numbers. She was actually glad to be back in the thick of the action, surrounded by old friends. Like the rest of the bunnies, her hands were rope-tied behind her, then a doubled up rope was passed around her waist and tightly up between her legs snagging her bound wrists in the small of her back. It was a classic Japanese crotch and wrist tie - erotic and effective. The six-foot long end of the crotch rope trailed along the ground behind her and was tied off to a large sack of sand.

After being made to lie down amongst the other naked and similarly bound bunnies, Kate’s ankles were lashed together with a dozen loops of rope. With that amount of wrapping she knew her ankles would soon be taking the strain. An upside down suspension she supposed, although there was nothing in the vicinity that they could dangle from!

None of the bunnies were gagged, which meant that the bunnies were permitted to talk. There was quiet chatter in the air, as the row of bunnies brought each other up to date with previous night’s torments and other gossip. Kate was deep in thought, squinting up at the sunny clear blue sky, almost enjoying the tightness of her crotch rope, which seemed to have been tied ‘just right’. She heard a vaguely familiar voice next to her.

“Kate?”

She turned her head to see Karen Galtz, the erstwhile journalist, lying next to her, trussed up just as she was. “Karen! How are you?”

“Exhausted, aching and mad as hell. You have no idea what these bastards have done to me in the last couple of days.”

“I probably do.” Kate replied honestly. She had to admit that Karen did look the worse for wear. “Listen Karen, I’m really sorry you got caught. Do you know what they plan to do with you?”

“They say I’m to become a beach bunny, permanently naked and handcuffed. I can’t bear it.” She wriggled in frustration and anger, unable to reconcile her fondness of casual play bondage with living as a perpetual non-consensual slave.

A handler was walking along the row of bound females. “Quiet now!” He brought his long cane down hard onto the front of their thighs. It stung like hell.

The ponygirls were being brought onto the field cheered on by an excited crowd of visitors taking their positions along the corral fence. The pony traps were backed up so that they were in a row in front of the bunnies bound ankles. Four bunnies were tied to the tow-bars on each trap.

The afternoon's competition was a test of the ponygirls’ strength and determination, and the cruelty of their respective drivers too. The rules of this game were simple - it was a race to the finishing line, or more likely, go as far the ponies could before collapsing from exhaustion. Dragging four females across a field was not such a hard task in itself, that was why each bunny had a sack of sand as ballast dragging behind each of them, pulling heavily on the crotch rope to which it was tied.

The whole area seemed to go quiet for just a few seconds. Then an air-horn blew. The race had started.

The drivers’ whips were flying. The visitors yelled for their favorites, while the bunnies yelped and howled as their asses were dragged across the lawn.

Jessica felt the repeated sting of the electric whipper on her bare buttocks. Riccardo wasn’t holding back. No matter how much she resented it and wanted to rebel against it, she always kept going. The drivers often said it was the only language a ponygirl understood! Besides, a ponygirl is loyal and never wants to let her pony pair down. The howls of the bunnies she was dragging behind her mattered little to Jessica at such a time.

Jessica and Debbie leaned forward as much as their harnessing permitted and concentrated on putting on their power into their muscular thighs. Gradually a faltering stride developed between them. They were in step and heading past the halfway point - their healthy hearts pumping strongly.

Jessica recognized a shrill, almost hysterical voice calling her name from the spectators’ area. It had to be Carole! Then another voice... she’d be damned if that wasn’t Madame Cervoix calling her name! She couldn’t help responding to such welcome encouragement.

The ponygirls’ blinkers made it impossible to see the positions of their competitors unless one was well out in front. None were in Jessica’s view, but it was still possible that others were heading them, hidden out to the side of their vision.

Jessica could feel the build-up of lactic acid as her muscles screamed for oxygen. She sensed Debbie alongside her, felt the same. The last ten yards seemed like a mile. The whipper was on its highest setting, normally used only for punishment, as if Riccardo was squeezing every last drop of energy from them. It hurt like hell but they knew he wouldn’t do that unless it was necessary.

Almost staggering, they crossed the chalk dust finishing line, but the whipping on their buttocks continued for a few yards more, until the pony trap’s wheels were also over the line. Jessica and Debbie dropped to their knees and gasped for breath.

Kate and Karen, lying tightly bound behind a pony trap, also gasped for breath. Being dragged over rough grassland and in turn, hauling a bag of sand from a crotch rope can do that to a girl. Despite the pummeling their asses had taken on the rough grassy surface, they still managed a smile - feeling highly pleased with themselves.

It had been Kate’s idea. When the pony driver mounted the traps just before the race, Kate had seen that it wasn’t Riccardo seated in front of them. She and Karen agreed to make a little effort on Jessica’s behalf. They both grabbed hold on the long tufts of grass that came into their hands as they were dragged along. They didn’t let go until the clumps of grass were uprooted. It was hard to know exactly what effect their efforts had but they were pretty sure of something - Jessica and Debbie had won the race by just one yard.

The ponygirls were led back to the whipping rail. With a 3 marked on her buttock Jessica knew she’d done well, now just three strokes behind the leader, but didn’t know that Kate’s spoiling tactics had made a valuable contribution.

The four students in Madame Cervoix’s ‘Oral Skills for Slavegirls’ class were awaiting the start of the third lecture. They were in their usual positions - kneeling on the floor, naked, chained and plugged with the fiendish anal motivators. They talked quietly, as they were permitted to do so.

Suchita and Eva were discussing the operation that both had had since becoming slavegirls - the removal of the prepuce. Eva had also been subjected to a labiaplasty - the trimming of her labia - to create a very neat and attractive outer appearance to her sex.

“Since the operation,” Suchita complained, “my clitoris is constantly on display. In fact my Master calls it HIS clitoris. I’m so ashamed of how easily I am aroused. Sometimes when I’m locked in my hanging cage he’ll just blow on it as he walks past me. It makes me horny, but with my hands fixed behind my back I can’t do anything about it. Actually I’m glad my hands are tied, otherwise I would just play with myself until I cum.”

Eva gave her Indian friend a sympathetic look. She understood all too well what her friend was going through. Her own protruding clitoris was pierced laterally with a titanium ring. It was the focal point of her hairless and cut back sex.

“I have the same problem. My Master calls this ‘the Devil’s piercing’. It drives me crazy. I’m always thinking of it, always secretly wishing that somebody would touch it. Sometimes he locks a long chain to it and uses it to secure me to something. One time he even chained me to the maid’s vacuum cleaner and I had to follow her around the house while she cleaned.

Today, as a punishment for a minor infraction from last night, Eva’s master had fitted her with a crotch tie. A thin leather cord went around her waist then tightly front to back between her legs. The cord went down through Eva’s clit ring pressing hard against her clitoris and deep between her labia. It was no wonder she was looking hot and bothered!

Jessica and Kate listened to their fellow students with sympathy, curiosity (and secretly a little amusement). They leaned forward in their chains, trying to get a closer look at their fellow students’ modified genitals.

The drugs regime at Rabbit Island already kept its captives horny enough. The idea of a ponygirl without a clit hood made Jessica shiver with fear, yet she felt a tingle of excitement too.

“I wonder what’s happened to Nancy.” Kate said idly to Jessica, intent on changing the subject.

Jessica shook her head. “Who knows where she is? I just hope she is far away from here and planning how to get us off the island.”

“Did you say Nancy?” Suchita interjected. The name sounded familiar to her. “Last night, when I was sucking my Master under the dining table, I heard them talking about a girl seen taking a taxi from the port. They said she matched Nancy’s description.”

“She’s made it!” Jessica and Kate said in unison. They leaned towards each other and kissed. If they weren’t chained to the floor with long metal plugs in their asses they would have been dancing around the room.

“She’s made it! She’s made it!” Jessica continued to sing happily to no particular tune. “She won’t let us down, Katie. Nancy never lets her friends down!”

“Apparently the handlers will be setting off after her early tomorrow,” Suchita regretted to inform them. “They plan to intercept her before she arrives at the American consulate.”

Just as Jessica was pressing Suchita for more details they heard the ominous yet alluring footsteps of their teacher. After becoming progressively louder, the footsteps suddenly ceased and the classroom door opened.

Madame Cervoix entered the room looking as splendid as ever. Today she wore a formal jacket and a below-the-knee skirt, both in black kid leather. Her white satin blouse with a narrow red leather tie was striking; the red tie perfectly matched the red of her lips. Fishnet stocking and high-heeled ankle boots in shiny patent black, complemented her ensemble.

Even were she not kneeling in chains at Cervoix's feet, Jessica might still have felt inferior to this woman!

Madame Cervoix, beautiful, immaculately dressed, worldly-wise, charming and kind, was a successful person. In contrast, Jessica was a slave and a failure. A beautiful and well-trained ponygirl, yet still a failure. She might be good at hauling people and produce around the island but little else!

Cervoix held up four leather straps, each with a two-inch diameter leather ring in it. “You’ve all seen one of these before?”

They nodded miserably. Ring-gags were a regular fixture for all of them.

“Good, then let’s put them where they belong. Open wide!”

None gave any resistance as Cervoix fitted their gaping mouths with the leather rings, breezily buckling the straps tightly at the back of their heads as if she’d done it a thousand times before - which of course she had.

“Now. Just because you are ring-gagged it doesn’t mean you can’t still use the techniques I’ve taught you. Let’s start with a five-minute warm up. Take your phallus in your mouth, then suck and tease it until I tell you to stop.”

Her four students leaned forward towards the phalluses fixed to the vertical stands in front of them. Trying to remember every little detail that Madame Cervoix had taught them, they lavished their attentions on their imitation penises as if they were long-lost friends.

Cervoix walked around her kneeling quartet of students, analyzing their skills, gently correcting minor flaws in their technique as she focused on each of them in turn. She noted with satisfaction that all four were displaying signs of arousal; their skin flushing and clammy to the touch, pupil’s dilating. She noticed glistening moisture on Kate’s shaven sex. It was no less than she had expected.

“Last one to swallow the sword gets five jolts added to her score!” Cervoix announced as if it were a children’s game.

Five extra jolts! She didn’t need to repeat the statement; her students understood the implications only too well. They had all the incentive they needed for pushing their mouths fully onto their phalluses. Without Cervoix’s expert hands guiding them, it was proving difficult. The sound of coughing and gagging accompanied their efforts.

Jessica straightened her spine and tilted her neck. At first it seemed an impossible task, but she would rather risk choking that have five more painful jolts. She felt the narrow girth of the phallus plunging in her throat as if she was a heron with a fish. She slowly pushed herself upwards, her nose edging closer and closer to the sensor at the top of the phallus. With a peculiar satisfaction she felt the tip of her nose touch against the sensor. A small LED light switched on to confirm her success.

She held her position, and looked out the corner of her right eye to see how the others were fairing. Kate was already done judging by her own motionless pose.

“Okay! Hold it in your throat that for two minutes! You may move up and down the phallus if you feel confident you won’t gag. Try to swallow. The feeling of your neck muscles clenching on his penis will drive your Masters crazy.”

They’d all succeeded with the task, but Cervoix didn’t announce which one of them was last to complete it. That would ruin the surprise at punishment time!

Cervoix seemed satisfied with her students’ progress. Charging such exorbitant fees meant that she had to deliver real results. The four students in this class would give untold pleasure for years to come. If one divided her fee by the years of pleasure that a slave-girl might provide, she reasoned, it represented excellent value for money.

For the final part of the class, Cervoix had something very special planned. Her own invention, the ‘O-Box’, had already been a big success at the festival. One of the pussy-girls, Sally - a former Cervoix pupil, had been very busy this last couple of days as its primary occupant.

Madame Cervoix had prepared a short video of Sally and the O-Box in action. She dimmed the lights.

The screen showed a small, nicely decorated alcove within the main hall of the Lodge. There was a wooden box, the height of a seat and the width of a woman’s shoulders. From the top surface of the box protruded a woman’s head. She would have to be seated with her thighs up against her chest in order to fit inside the box.

The camera zoomed in to show Sally’s beautiful head. Her face and hair were exotically made up to scream ‘sex’. She wore a leather collar below which was fitted a leather gaiter sealed around the hole in the wood. It made her seem almost headless, or rather, bodiless.

In front of her nose was a small wooden block with a cut out U on top, and beyond that, a padded section - a seat.

A man came it to picture.

“Shall I take off my pants?” He asked Sally.

“No need to Sir. Please take a seat and release your manhood for me.” Sally’s voice sounded confident, yet respectful.

The man pulled out his cock and balls fully from his fly and sat down so his crotch was inches away from Sally’s face.

“Please put your genitals fully through the loop, Sir,” she politely instructed.

The wooden holder was perfectly shaped and positioned for the root of the man’s shaft to rest on. He eased his flaccid cock and large testicles through the loop. Without warning, the cord fastened tightly, as if by magic. There seemed no way for him to extricate his tackle from the trap short of cutting his way out. With Sally’s ravishing face just inches in front of him, combined with the tightness around his base of his cock, his erection was growing steadily.

Sally ignored it at that time; there was more preparation for her to do. “Please slip your hands through the loops on either side of the box,” she requested.

This was the stage that men feared most submitting themselves to a slave-girl. The man located the soft cord loops and wiggled his hands through each loop so they hung comfortably at his side. The cords pulled tight, the slack disappearing into the box. A cursory tug by the man confirmed he was secured. He'd been warned about it, but was still shocked to find himself at the mercy of a woman who herself was tied up inside the box on which he sat.

The tip of the man’s cock seemed to stretch towards Sally’s inviting lips. When she licked it with the tip if her tongue it grew a little more. She was teasing him very effectively.

For the man, the only thing in the world that mattered was having his cock deep in Sally’s mouth. He thrust his loins towards her, but was halted by the cord around the base of his balls. It just made his erection stronger. The tip of her tongue touched the glans of his penis, as if coaxing it to a full erection.

To ask her to release him from the cords before shooting his load would make the man a laughing stock amongst his associates. To beg the girl in the box to suck him would be unbecoming for a Master! So he did what he was meant to do he sat back, watched and enjoyed as Sally’s lips set to work.

She gave him the best blow-job of his life.

The five competing ponygirl-pairs were lined up for public viewing. Unlike yesterday’s line-up for judging, this time anyone could inspect the ponygirls. Jessica and Debbie had almost perfected the art of standing motionless, staring ahead into space, while exploring fingers delved beneath their harnessing straps, pinching nipples, tickling their ribs, as if searching for the woman behind the pony. It might look like a woman beneath those straps, her body even responded to their teasing, yet the ponygirl seemed distant as if her thoughts were on something far away.

Jessica’s thoughts were actually not so far away. She was thinking of her time in the O-Box just an hour earlier. She and the other three students were able to try their oral techniques out on a real people. It wouldn’t have been right to let them loose on paying visitors but Madame Cervoix had recruited four Filipino gardeners. They were very glad they volunteered!

It left Jessica obsessed with the thought that she might soon be in the O-Box with Master Alex on the seat. She’d had his cock in her mouth on many occasions, but always while hog-tied and ring-gagged. How would Master Alex, the control freak, feel if she were in control for once? To be at her mercy the same way that gardener was? She couldn’t wait to find out! Suddenly the rubber ponygirl bit between her teeth tasted like Master Alex’s cock!

A procession of visitors-cum-amateur ponygirl inspectors came and went - mostly men, oozing wealth and power. Jessica felt a peculiar kind of humiliation in the disdainful regard they showed to the ponygirls.

Occasionally a woman would accompany a man. Was she his wife or slave? Perhaps she was both. In either case, Jessica envied those women. She wouldn’t so much mind being a slave to one man, providing he loved her and cared about her. That was all she ever wanted.

The sight of a woman harnessed up like a pony amused some visitors, particularly the women. It was the laughter of someone enjoying the misfortunes of others. They teased the ponygirls as if becoming a pony was their own fault, resulting no doubt from their own inadequacies as real women. Above all else, Jessica hated it when they laughed at her. She would sooner have a grim-faced man whipping her than a woman laughing at her.

A black-haired woman stood almost nose-to-nose with Jessica. She wasn’t laughing. Suddenly the rubber bit that usually nestled so comfortably between Jessica’s teeth seemed an irritation. The woman’s piercing green eyes were looking straight through the ponygirl’s defenses.

“When you come up for auction I shall buy you.” The woman said to Jessica. “You can be sure of it.”

She sidestepped towards ponygirl Debbie. “You too!” She said with a waggle of her finger and a crooked smile.

Debbie was ready for the woman. The otherworldly gaze of a ponygirl suddenly turned into a ferocious stare. Her urine started splashing down on the woman’s boots, and bouncing up onto her white jodhpurs.

The woman frowned, barely able to suppress her anger. “You won’t get away with that when you're in my stables. I’d kill you for less than that,” she snarled through clenched teeth.

The threat unsettled Jessica. She was trembling; needing comfort and reassurance, most of all from Debbie, who seemed to take everything in her ponygirl stride. Comfort arrived in the shape of their driver, Riccardo.

“Good morning, Madame Cavallo. How are you today?” Riccardo cheerily greeted the woman.

“Very well indeed, thank you Riccardo.” The woman replied cordially. “I was just admiring your splendid ponies.”

She shook her left boot in the air, wrinkling her nose in mild disgust. “One of them had a little accident.”

Riccardo laughed. “Terribly sorry. That’s ponygirls for you - very difficult to tame. Best not to stand so close next time.”

Madame Cavallo didn’t share Riccardo’s amusement. “I don’t know why you don’t just catheterize her like I do to mine. Pop a tube up her urethra, drain her bladder before the competition, and then just clamp the tube. What could be easier?”

“Maybe I’ll do that next time.” Riccardo said dismissingly as Madame Cavallo walked towards her own much better trained ponygirls.

The elderly woman who judged the ponygirls yesterday came around again. She held a piece of cotton wool over each of Jessica’s eyes then place a two-inch wide strip of tape over it, covering her face from eyebrow to mid-cheek. A firm pressure from the judge’s hand on the tape made a tight seal to ensure that Jessica was completely blind. Not even the bright light of day could penetrate her eyes. Debbie received the same treatment in preparation for the next ponygirl trial: The Journey of Darkness.

Unlike yesterday’s tests of elegance (in the Dressage) and strength (in the Bunny Hauling), the Journey of Darkness tested the driver’s control and the ponygirls’ responsiveness to their driver.

It seemed a long wait for Jessica and Debbie, going fourth out of the five competitors. Riccardo stood close by chatting quietly to one of the handlers, something his ponygirls found very reassuring in their otherwise dark world.

The P.A. system crackled, then announced: “The next entrants to run the Journey of Darkness are ponygirls Jessica and Debbie.”

Riccardo immediately tugged on the reins. His ponygirls started to trot. The driver’s experience was not very different to when the ponygirls were sighted, although in their darkness they had a tendency to slow up unless the whipper was regularly employed on their buttocks.

Jessica thought back to childhood holidays on Long Island, running along the beach with her eyes closed, counting the strides, fighting the urge to open her eyes. The beach was deserted; the worst that could happen was getting her feet wet in the shallow surf. Two hundred, she often counted, before the fear of darkness made the urge to open her eyes overwhelming. It always annoyed her that she was as safe from harm on the deserted beach as two hundred strides earlier.

Now Jessica had no trouble keeping her eyes closed. They were taped over. Nor could she stop running, or she’d be whipped. As Riccardo guided his ponygirls through the complex maze of red and white road-cones in the corral, Jessica seemed more attuned to the slightest tug of the reins than if she were sighted. With the subtlest pull on her nipples Jessica would turn, when the whip lashed her buttocks she would immediately run faster. Just like on the Long Island beach she knew she would not come to harm.

The fifty-yard sprint that followed the last turn brought spontaneous applause from the crowd even before they had crossed the line. The cheers from the partisan home support became louder still. They had seen the time displayed on the digital scoreboard.

Despite Madame Cavallo’s ponygirls’ performing very well, Jessica and Debbie had gained on them in the overall positions. It was a good result when, according to rumor, Cavallo’s ponygirls were forced to run blind for days at a time leading up to the competition.

Jessica reveled in Riccardo’s touch as his hand caressed her leather-strapped face. He tenderly peeled the heavy tape from her eyes, knowing by the smile of her bitted mouth that he had a surprisingly contented ponygirl on his hands. Jessica would tell Debbie about her Long Island childhood memory just as soon as they were free of their harnesses. Riccardo would never know why his ponygirl seemed so content.

Riccardo stepped on the large weighing scales.

“166 pounds!” The official informed him. “You can take that one.”

‘That one’ was Kate. She was standing in a line with two other pussy girls and two thrill-seeking female visitors. At 108 pounds she would bring Riccardo’s weight up to the racing weight.

Like the other volunteers in the line Kate’s hands were already tied behind her, ready for action!

She looked pretty, Riccardo told her as they walked to the pony trap. And so she did, wearing the pussy-girls’ white tight-laced strapless bodice and long skirt. Her soft lactating breasts filled out the garment beautifully, as if they were battling to escape from the corset-like lacings. Riccardo lifted her up on to the seat and tied the loose end of the rope dangling from her wrists to the rail of the backrest.

Kate couldn’t help but smile as Riccardo squeezed onto the seat beside her, his hip snug against hers. “Your hands are tied to the rail but hold on tight in any case. If I say lean, you lean!” Riccardo instructed.

There was a nervous expectation in the air. All ponygirl contests were entertaining but this one - four laps racing each other around a grassy track - was considered the most exciting for the spectators. An informal bookmaker was scrawling the latest odds on a blackboard. It seemed that every spectator had had a wager.

Kate glanced nervously at the other pony traps either side of her. There was no laughing or smiling, just an intent concentration by the drivers and trepidation on the faces of their reluctant passengers, all tied in place like Kate was.

A gun fired.

Five pairs of ponygirls were off and running, vying for position before the first bend of the grassy oval. While the drivers frantically whipped and pulled on the reins, their passengers held on for dear life, grateful for the rope holding them on the seat.

Riccardo was content to let his ponygirls hang back, leaving others to fight for the lead. There still were four laps of the 200-meter circuit ahead of them. Kate leaned like a pro as they went in and out of each bend.

Kate admired the rear view of Jessica’s and Debbie’s corseted and harnessed bodies as they trotted briskly along, settling into fourth position along the back straight. Their long plaited hair with the red carnations tied to the ends seemed to be dancing in the breeze. The long tails emanating from the ponygirls’ asses swished against their stockinged thighs.

Kate fantasized for a moment about being sandwiched between Jessica and Debbie tonight, while they were still in their harnesses. That would be very sweet indeed, Kate thought, as she leaned into the next bend.

Riccardo, whilst busy with reins and whipper, was a picture of contentment. It seemed as if Jessica and Debbie were running for themselves. They needed very little encouragement from him; only regular tugs on the left reins to steer them round each bend.

With little more than a lap to go Riccardo decided it was time to increase the pace, if the leaders weren’t to go too far ahead. He wasn’t sure how much his ponygirls had left in the tank but they seemed to be moving very smoothly. He applied the whipper several times. It worked! The sharp stinging on his ponygirls buttocks encouraged Jessica and Debbie to speed up, as he knew it would.

They drifted to the outside right of Cavallo’s black girls ready to overtake. Sadly, Riccardo’s tactics were poor; they would have to overtake them on the outside of the bend. If they had any hope of catching the leading two, there was no choice.

They were almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Cavallo’s ponies when, inexplicably, their driver steered them wide. Jessica and Debbie were obliged to run wider still, costing them valuable seconds. Eventually, running flat out, and having endured whipper at its most severe setting, they made it past their obstructive opponents.

It was too late - Riccardo could only watch from twenty yards behind as Cavallo’s blonde ponygirls fought for the finish with the English pony pair.

Riccardo had finished a disappointing third out of five, and witnessed several Rabbit Island staff throwing their betting slips disconsolately to the ground.

Kate was furious, tugging angrily on the rope that tied her hands to the seat’s back rail, while Riccardo tried to release her. “They cheated. The bastards cheated. Riccardo, can’t you lodge a protest or something?”

He tried to hush her, but was too late to stop Kate’s vociferous complaints being repeated to one of the officials. The man glared at her, furious that a pussy-girl would have the audacity to speak out in such a tone of voice.

“Gag her, and take her to the hanging garden.” The exasperated official called out to his assistant.

Kate continued her futile protest until the handler managed to push red rubber ball between her lips. Clipping a leash to her white leather pussy-girl collar, he dragged her away from the corral.

The Hanging Garden? No! Kate had only just registered what the man had said. She stopped walking, causing the chain leash to go taut as she dug her heels in. With tears welling in her eyes she shook her head at her handler, blubbing at him from behind her ballgag. She didn’t was to go to the torture garden, she was the Island’s new nurse, and was supposed to be reporting back on duty in the medical suite. Doctor Schmidt warned her that he would not tolerate any more misbehavior. Whenever she returned to the medical suite, she expected he would punish her again.

The colorful sweet-smelling rose garden heralded Kate’s arrival into the Hanging Gardens. The overwhelming scent of flora collected from all over the tropics assaulted her senses. Rich plant life hung lushly from walls and trellis partitions to create a maze-like, and sometimes tunnel-like surrounding of red, blue, purple, yellow, green and white: Heliconias, orchids, ginger plants and species too numerous to mention.

How incongruous were the screams and moans that came from within an area of such visual and olfactory splendor! Four other unfortunate women were already installed in the Hanging Gardens, not exactly hanging, but suspended so that their bound and helpless bodies could be worked on for the pleasure of their tormentors.

Kate could not see the other women, but she certainly could hear them. The dense foliage of the Hanging Gardens provided visual privacy whilst ensuring that the cries of its victims were publicly aired. Could it be that the tormentors were trying to outdo each other in the pitiful noises of their respective victims? Karen, the journalist, was one of those pleading for mercy as if her life was in dire peril.

The handler soon had Kate strung up, her hands re-tied in front of her, but only so they could be hauled upwards and secured far above her head, leaving her stretched and having to balance on tip-toes. The stilettos of her white high heels were redundant.

Kate prayed that she might be permitted to keep her ballgag to stifle the shame of her inevitable cries.

Two men stood intently watching her from a few yards away. The handler turned to them. “Here you are. You’re in luck - you’ve got yourselves a pussy-girl at no extra charge. I thought you’d like to undress her yourselves. Do you have your signed agreements?”

The men held out the papers that governed what they were permitted and forbidden to do to their victim. The handler folded and pocketed the papers, wishing the men a good time as he departed.

Kate was at the mercy of her two tormentors - a middle-aged man and another in his twenties. Father and son, she wondered? As if that would make any difference! She studied the implements that had been meticulously laid out on a table in front of her. Not just the usual nipple clamps, flogger and canes that had become a way of life for her but also a selection of long needles, a hot brazier, sandpaper, a hammer, violet wands, and an electrical unit like a battery charger. It was as if they wanted Kate to see all the tools available to them before putting the blindfold on her.

The younger of the men picked eagerly at the silk laces on the rear of Kate’s bodice, while the elder one removed her high heels. Normally, Kate enjoyed being undressed by a man, but what should have been a sensuous preamble to lovemaking was now a prelude to torture.

The laces loosened. The pressure on her breasts eased, then the support of the bodice disappeared as Kate felt a soft warm breeze float over her nipples. The man’s hands cupped her breasts from behind, squeezing their milky fullness slowly…for his pleasure, not hers. “Nice tits,” he whispered, as if Kate might appreciate the compliment at such a time.

Kate’s fingers clawed distractedly at the strands of the taut rope that held her body stretched upwards. Her skirt was unclipped and removed, leaving only her virgin white stockings and garter belt contrasting so well with her nut-brown tanned skin. Her tormentors were very happy for Kate to keep those on!

“Tie a rope around one of her ankles, Kenny.” The older man said.

The younger one did so, and made a good job of it - half a dozen neat wraps around Kate’s ankle, expertly knotted.

“Good. Now pull her foot behind her and thread the end of the rope through the ring at the back of her collar. Don’t worry if she protests, just pull it as tight as you can.”

From behind her ballgag, Kate did protest, and the young man did pull it as tight as he could. All her weight was left balancing precariously on the toes of one foot while the other was bent painfully back behind her, tugging on her collar.

While Kate was adjusting herself to the cruel bondage, the elder man was wrapping rope around her chest. He soon had rope circling the base of each of Kate’s breasts to produce two grapefruit-sized protrusions. His hands caressed the taut breast flesh with appreciation.

Kate moaned involuntarily at his touch. “You like that, don’t you bitch?” He said disdainfully. Getting the younger man to pull out her nipples he tied a thin cord tightly around the base of each nipple to create hypersensitive tips like small cherries atop each breasts. Kate mewled softly as he flicked her bound nipples with his fingernails.

He finally removed her ballgag. Kate spluttered and gasped for breath. She was a cute-looking woman, they discovered, even without a gag.

“Do you see this?” the elder man said, his finger touching Kate’s upper lip. “Tight philtral columns and a deep groove. See how exquisitely it shapes her lips into an archer’s bow? And that retrousse nose... perfect isn’t it? How ironic that if all women’s faces looked like this we wouldn’t be able to afford to come here!”

He traced his finger reverently over Kate lips and nose, delighting at how her nostrils flared in response to his touch.

The two plastic surgeons resisted the temptation of removing her blindfold for another look at her eyes. Kate was trembling, just as they expected she would be, but she was just a little aroused too. That was always the joy of Rabbit Island girls. Chosen for their submissive tendencies, then subjected to further conditioning, they became the exquisite victims of men’s desires.

“What’s your name, blondie?”

“Kate!” She replied nervously but with a measure of defiance.

The older man laughed. “You’re English? ”

“I’m an unwilling prisoner here, not a citizen!” Kate yelled. She struggled against her awkward bondage, her toes losing the tenuous hold on the ground for a moment. She swung from her bound wrists until the man steadied her at the waist so her toes were once more on the ground.

The older man laughed. “God, I love a girl with a bit of spunk in her. Makes it more fun beating it out of her.”

The older man took hold of a multi-stranded flogger while Kenny chose a light cane. They set to work on Kate’s body, with the intention of leaving no part of her body untouched.

Chapter 10 takes place later on the same day as chapter 9

KATE IN THE TORTURE GARDEN

Patience is a virtue, they say. Unfortunately for Kate, her tormentors had it in abundance. For more than half an hour they studiously applied the cane and flogger to her body, savoring every stroke they made and every moan she uttered. She was blindfolded and dangling by her tied wrists secured high above her. Only the barest touch of toes from one foot on the grass, prevented a complete suspension. Kate’s other foot was bent painfully back behind her, and tied to the D ring at the back of her thick leather collar. The upturned sole offered an inviting target for the cane of the man standing behind her. Her white pussy-girl stockings afforded it meager protection from the impact of the cane.

The two men talked casually as they beat her. Kate learned a new phrase: She was a ‘ten-percenter’. It wasn’t an exact term; just the elder man’s theory that she experienced 10% pleasure along with her genuine 90% pain. It was an ideal ratio, he explained to his younger associate.

“One doesn’t want a woman who is too masochistic, too much into the pain; but nor do you want a woman that is incapable of being aroused by the treatment.” He looked up and down Kate’s squirming body with admiration. “This one is perfect.”

Perfect! Kate couldn’t help but register the bizarre compliment, as he brought the riding crop down on her breasts yet again. How ironic that she would receive such a description whilst enduring one of the most comprehensive beatings she’d ever known.

When the beating finally ceased, everything went quiet except for Kate’s panting and puffing out her cheeks. Her body was sweating, tingling and marked in red all over.

She hadn’t even got her breath back when she heard the static buzz of a violet wand.

It touched the underside of her rope-encircled breasts, then her cherry-shaped nipples, before tracing a tender line down the center of her belly and thence to her sex. Kate yelped and moaned, to the great amusement of her tormentors. “Oh my god!” she gasped.

“That’s a lot more than ten percent!” Kenny declared. “Isn’t it, blondie?”

The older man slipped the pointed end of the wand between her labia and pressed the trigger, in order to elicit Kate’s answer.

“Yes...yes...oh god!” She couldn’t even remember what she was agreeing with. For a tormented slave-girl who’d forgotten the question, ‘yes’ was a safer response than ‘no’. All she knew was that they were playing her like a musical instrument; and her cries were augmenting the symphony of pain coming from the other victims in the Torture Garden.

Kate’s torture paused, more likely so that the men could have a rest rather than her. There followed a sound and a smell that Kate knew well. Something in Kate’s reaction made the men laugh.

“She’s one of us,” Kenny joked.

“It’s bad for your health, you know,” the elder man said, while carefully placing a lit cigarette between her lips. Kate drew the smoke into her lungs, coughing slightly, before savoring the nicotine hit. It was her first in nearly a year, since coming to Rabbit Island.

The smoke break having concluded, the older man wrapped narrow strips of medium-grade sandpaper around each of his index fingers. He pressed them against Kate’s bulbous nipples, rubbing gently on the tips with a circular motion. Kate’s moans turned to a pleading whimper, as the sandpaper felt like it came in direct contact with her nerve-endings.

In front of her, the man’s lips mercifully replaced the sandpaper on her nipples. Kenny ripped apart the stocking on her foot and did likewise to her toes.

If only she hadn’t moaned so loud, they might have continued for longer. They stopped as soon as her pleasure was apparent. She could have kicked herself, and with one leg tied conveniently behind her, she did exactly that.

There was just one more torture to come. Denial. Kate could hear the men tidying up the equipment. Within a minute she felt like a neglected toy, dangling sore and exhausted, to await whatever would next befall her.

Kate panicked, hearing them about to go. “You’re not going to leave me here are you?”

“Sure! A handler will untie you sooner or later. You’ll be quite safe till then.”

“But you haven’t...”

“It’s the Torture Garden, blondie. We’re not allowed to.”

“But my breasts...my nipples hurt...”

“They’ll be fine!”

They took a final regretful glance behind them at the perspiring and welted body dangling beside them. Her bound breasts heaving with passion, calling to them like a siren. The two men headed back to the Lodge, debating whether to have a beer before locating their next unwilling slave-girl.

While Kate was experiencing the torture garden, ponygirls Jessica and Debbie were taken back to their quarters.

Jessica and Debbie obediently stood still, although itching for their freedom. Riccardo and Frank busied themselves with unlocking the reins and straps that restrained and controlled the ponygirls for so long.

“So you really think we have a good chance tomorrow?” Riccardo asked Frank, making conversation as they worked.

“Sure! It’s the cross-country event! You and these ponies know every little turn and hill on this island. You’ll romp home with a time good enough to win the whole competition.”

“That’s enough,” Frank said, having removed the padlocks and reins, “the other ponies can do the rest.”

With a firm slap on the butts of their respective ponygirls, they sent Jessica and Debbie through the door leading to the pony quarters. The men left the tack room by the outer door, bolting and locking it behind them.

Jessica and Debbie stood in the entrance of the ponygirls’ main quarters, and called out from behind their bitted mouths. With their arms sheathed in the long leather gloves and their hands sealed within them in a fist shape, Jessica and Debbie were reliant on their colleagues for undressing.

Diana and Melinda soon appeared, their athletic bodies were naked and dripping wet having interrupted their dip in their small swimming pool. They had also spent the day in harness, but unlike Jessica, had only been on taxi duty. Perhaps next year they might be entered in the competition, at least that was their hope.

First to be removed were the pony boots, mainly because of the ponygirls’ self-regulating policy forbidding their being worn within the quarters. Diana and Melinda bent down to start unlacing them.

Diana told Jessica they’d spent most of the day at the corral, harnessed to their trap of course. Bruce, their driver, had deliberately made them stand facing away from the track. It didn’t stop them from gleaning information from the PA system and general conversation around them. It was like following the events on the radio, Melinda said.

Diana gazed at Jessica with admiration and envy. Even after the exertions of the day, she looked pretty in her corset and stockings. The yellow carnations were still clipped to Jessica’s nipples and labia.

Jessica let Diana undress her just as she did yesterday. Diana was in no hurry, lovingly unlacing the corset, collar, leaving the gloves til last so that Jessica was her helpless captive for the longest possible time. She enjoyed being the recipient of Jessica’s moans of gratitude as she removed each item of the costume.

Finally naked, except for the embossed marks the tight costume had made in her flesh, Jessica followed Debbie into the bathroom, her long pony’s tail swishing from her butt hole. Common sense dictated that tails were only removed when inside the bathroom.

On exiting the bathroom and jumping into the swimming pool, Jessica was informed that she would be going to the evening’s festival. The other ponygirls were given the task of preparing her.

Jessica contemplated the heavy chain that hung in a deep parabolic curve, connecting her collar to the side of a wooden chair on her right.

Does a chain only bind me if I pull against it, she mused. If it remains slack then is it really holding me? What if the chain just signified that I belonged to somebody? That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

Jessica shook her head as if trying to purge such crazy thought from her mind. She gazed around the Lodge’s ballroom. She was on a slightly raised tier that surrounded the dance floor. Chairs and table screeched on the parquet floor as they were arranged so that everyone would have a good view of the evening’s floor show. She looked up at the double height vaulted ceiling, with its massive hardwood beams. All manner of equipment, (lighting, speakers, hoists) hung down in the space that functioned as dining room, ballroom and theater. There were more than a hundred people already there, and space for half as many again. Jessica wasn’t the only one kneeling chained to a chair. Not by any means. There were others she knew from Rabbit Island, and also female visitors that had earlier been mingling freely, enjoying the pony events. Now they had their hands tied and were kneeling beside a chair just as she was.

The young blonde woman kneeling by the chair alongside her looked familiar to Jessica. Then she remembered - it was one of the women who had inspected her while she was a pony. The woman was free then, and Jessica could remember vividly how the woman’s hands were touching her nipples, admiringly caressing their rings, and commenting to her lover (or should that be owner?) on how erotic it was.

Now this woman was handcuffed, gagged and chained in much the same way as Jessica. Despite her predicament, her bright inquisitive eyes darted around the hall and she appeared more excited than anxious about what the evening’s events would bring. She looked over towards Jessica, as if to share the excitement of the event with her. There was no hint that she recognized Jessica as the ponygirl she had been so fascinated with earlier in the day.

A firm hand pressed down on Jessica’s bare shoulder, as if needing it for support. Jessica sighed with relief when she saw Master Alex sit down wearily in the chair. He studied her for a moment as if trying to gauge her mood. She stared back at him, her dark eyes blazing defiantly. Their respective looks of benevolent dominance from him, and defiance from her, had become a ritual that betrayed the grudging and growing respect between them.

“Move your knees apart,” he instructed.

She made a V shape with her thighs, although it was partially obscured by the hem of her dress.

“Sit up straight.”

Jessica raised her torso to its fullest height and stuck her chest out proudly. The arc of heavy chain between her collar and the chair swung gently, as Jessica settled in position.

“Chin up. Look straight ahead.”

Alex began his inspection. Jessica’s wrists were firmly cross-tied behind her with what was clearly a long length of rope. She wore a blue satin dress with spaghetti straps tied on the shoulders. Unusually her breasts, or at least her nipples, were covered. She wore a strapless bra that helped form an impressive swell of cleavage. Jessica’s upright posture caused it to rise and fall with each breath.

Her dark wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders, both at the front and back. Jessica had never grown her hair this long before, but she had no choice; it was a ponygirl requirement. One of the less onerous ones.

Jessica’s makeup was immaculate too. Eyes rimmed with black and shadowed in a blue that matched her dress. Her lips, red and shiny, teeth white and perfect, made the ball in her mouth seem dull by comparison.

Alex reached down with his left hand, pulling up the loose hem of the dress, that rested softly at mid-thigh. His palm alighted fully on Jessica’s shaven sex, her labia rings tickling his skin. His fingers explored the rings, confirming that his instructions had been followed. The labia rings were laced together with a ribbon as one might a pair of shoes.

“What did I tell you?” Alex said sharply, when he saw Jessica looking downwards. She quickly resumed her forward look, staring vaguely into the space in front of her.

The other ponygirls had done a good job, Alex thought, although Jessica’s colleagues had no choice but follow instructions if they didn’t want to be punished. That was exactly what they said to Jessica as they thoroughly tied her wrists with the rope. (‘If you want a slave-girl tied up properly get another slave-girl to do it,’ was an oft quoted saying on Rabbit Island.)

“Stay exactly like that,” Alex instructed as he walked off in search of someone or something. Jessica did so, maintaining her posture and focusing her eyes well beyond the blurred shapes moving in front of her. She felt strangely aloof, with a kind of contentment, as if her Master’s instruction had somehow liberated her from the status of a captive.

A few minutes later Jessica’s meditation was interrupted. Her view was blocked by a man and woman standing immediately in front of her. Tight leather pants accentuated the woman’s spindly legs.

“Is that one of the ponygirls?” The woman asked, with evident distaste. Jessica immediately recognized the voice of Madame Cavallo.

“That’s right.” Alex replied, thinking further comment unnecessary.

Cavallo seemed almost distressed by the sight of Jessica. “She should be in a stable. It doesn’t seem right to have a ponygirl in here. You’re the manager here for God’s sake. You can choose from dozens of slavegirls!”

Alex laughed. “And tonight I chose this one. Sometimes Madame Cavallo, you give the impression you think ponygirls are not human.”

Cavallo became irritated. “Of course I know they’re human, but the art of ponygirl keeping, is in their transformations - shaping them in mind and body. My surgeon is performing wonders with my slave girls. Each one becomes more suitable for her purpose. How will this one ever complete her pony transformation if you are dragging her off to parties every night?”

“Ah! That is the fundamental difference between us. On Rabbit Island we don’t believe in permanent transformations.” Alex replied. “Firstly, there are other adventures to be enjoyed, for the ponygirls and masters alike. Secondly, it’s unhealthy. As much as your objective is the transformation of your slaves, mine is the preservation of their well-being and sanity.”

“Each to their own I suppose. Neither of us is in a position to judge the other.” Madame Cavallo said, trying for a conciliatory tone. “Not everyone on the Rabbit Island committee agrees with you on your lax attitude to slaves. Take my advice, Alex. One day they’ll creep behind you and stab you in the back.”

Cavallo timed her departure perfectly with those fateful words as if she had planned for the conversation to end on exactly that note. Alex watched cautiously as she strolled off with her empty glass towards other party guests.

“Ghastly woman,” Alex muttered as he sat down and took a sip of white wine.

Jessica continued to kneel as motionless as a statue, her back perfectly upright, as if a thin wire was stretched between her collar to the ceiling. She hadn’t so much as glanced sideways for several minutes. It felt like she could hold that pose forever.

Alex placed his hand across the shelf of flesh atop Jessica’s breasts, surprised at their warmth as he felt their gentle rise and fall. He was used to having full access to Jessica’s breasts and her wonderful nipples as she wasn’t normally permitted to cover them. Yet the old maxim about something being more desirable because it is hidden, came to his mind.

He lifted up the hem of her dress, as Jessica feared he might. When he did that earlier, she was dry. Now she wasn’t. His hand was again on her moist sex, molding itself to the curve, finger gently drumming her flesh.

Jessica sensed with horror that she was virtually pumping her juice onto his hand, but he showed no sign of moving it. It was a strange and wonderful kind of shame.

Alex removed his hand, wiping it with a handkerchief then dabbing Jessica’s labia too. She continued to stare ahead at the blurred objects of people walking past just a few feet in front of her, glad that she was not required to look at the man who engineered that sweet humiliation. She was soon wet again.

PLACE YOUR BETS

Master Alex gave Jessica permission to move. It was like a spell had been broken; a force field that protected her from her surroundings had been lifted. The Ballroom was much fuller than when Jessica last looked around. It was a lively and good-natured atmosphere as there wasn’t yet the sound of crying and sniffling slavegirls that usually occured on such evenings.

The slave-girl next to Jessica was no longer kneeling at the side of her chair. Unnoticed by Jessica, she had shuffled forward. Her shoulder was leaning against her master’s thigh, while he played idle with loose strands of her hair. Other kneeling slavegirls had also moved to a similar state of relative comfort.

Jessica started to feel conspicuously different, and if only for her social comfort she shifted herself slowly, until she too was leaning against her so-called Master’s thigh. She was glad that Master Alex didn’t acknowledge her, although he couldn’t have failed to notice her body leaning lightly against his thigh.

The main lights dimmed. The floor show was about to begin. A loud dance beat came over the speaker system. Colored spot-lamps darted madly around the hall as the first act of the evening was led in.

Eight naked, healthily tanned, bunnies entered the central stage area in two regimented lines. Each couple was linked together by a single pair of handcuffs on their adjacent wrists. Their eyes looked around the hall, nervous of performing in front of such a large number of people, but they knew what they were required to do.

The handlers, each dressed in a black singlet and long black pants, ushered the bunnies into their positions, swishing their riding crops lightly on the bunnies, mainly for the amusement of the audience.

One of the handlers shepherded the soon-to-be-performing bunnies on to four cushioned rubber mats, the type commonly found in a gymnasium. “You two - on that mat. You two - next to them. You on that one and you two, at the end. Sit down, and stay quiet.”

They did as they were told. The handcuffs connecting each couple giving the impression that they were simply best friends holding hands. In one sense it was an accurate impression - they were good friends, which was exactly why they were participating in this event.

“Which one is the bottom?” The handler gruffly asked the first pair.

“Me,” the bunny on the right replied meekly, her eyes cast modestly downwards.

The handler gripped her right ankle and lifted it high, exposing her openings. Another handler was ready with a four inch steel anal prod. Being quite narrow, it slipped easily into her. He pressed a button on it. The bunny gasped - with surprise more than pain - as a section of the prod expanded within her to prevent its removal. There was a long trailing wire on the end of the prod. He trailed it along the floor, plugging it into a small junction box.

Then he bent her right ankle backwards and handcuffed her right wrist to it. She sat up awkwardly in her asymmetric bondage, watching as her partner was fitted with a dildo gag. A six-inch rubber phallus protruded obscenely from the front of her gagged mouth. A wide-eyed look of panic passed between pair of them..

The other three pairs received exactly the same anal plugging, bondage and gagging. While the handlers taped down the trailing wires and tested the control box they routed into, the Master of Ceremonies explained the event.

Jessica rested her chin on the linen fabric of his pants. It seemed like the correct gesture of her submission to him, and she hoped it would attract his attention from the eight naked competitors. She wanted to give him a betting tip.

Master Alex became aware of wetness on his thigh - the dribbling from Jessica’s mouth. He cursed her.

Jessica became distressed when she realized her mistake. Blaming it on her ballgag simply wouldn’t work. She frantically rubbed her chin on his pants hoping somehow it would wipe it away. It didn’t work. The damp patch just spread across Alex’s thigh.

“For heaven’s sake Jessica. When you’re in a hole, stop digging!” Alex finally said.

Jessica quietly turned away, ashamed and embarrassed. It wasn’t nice to dribble on somebody. With a firm hand on the top of her head Alex turned her to face him. Through a series of grunts she managed to communicate her recommendation that he bet on Sumi and Rachel. It was only moments before the bookmaker’s runner came around.

“Five!” said Alex to the runner, “on the third pair.”

Jessica relaxed again. Surely he wouldn’t be too mad if she lost him five dollars.

The runner was one of those people who needed to say aloud whatever he wrote. “Master.. Alex.. number.. three..., five... thousand... dollars... at... four... to... one. Thank you, Sir!”

Jessica let out an exasperated groan. Shit! He had five thousand dollars riding on her tip. Suddenly being tied up and chained to Alex’s chair didn’t seem such a smart place to be.

“How about if we win, I remove the gag and we split the winnings?” Alex joked. He didn’t say what would happen if she lost. One of his special cane beatings, she supposed.

Meanwhile, the eight naked contestants were busily discussing tactics, the bottom girl talking to her dildo-wielding partner, explaining how best to bring her to orgasm.

For Sumi and Rachel, no consultation was necessary. Sumi was already seducing Rachel with her dark eyes. She had been sold to Rabbit Island from a Korean brothel, and was a true expert in the art of pleasuring men and women alike. Rachel, a leggy blonde Texan, formerly a stripper and pole dancer, had no fear of performing in public. They made a good team.

A bell clanged.

The four pairs commenced their very public seductions, amidst cheering and encouragements from guests, each rooting for the pair that their respective money was riding on. It looked not unlike a high school wrestling meet apart from some very obvious differences.

Rachel was laying on her back, her right wrist and ankle cuffed together at her hip, Sumi lifted Rachel’s left leg up and backwards, cunningly using Rachel’s left arm - which was cuffed to her own- to pin it. If it were a wrestling match, she would have just won.

Sumi pushed the dildo protruding from her gagged mouth into Rachel’s mouth. It was like a deep kiss, but it was Rachel’s saliva that Sumi was after. Trailing the dildo’s tip down Rachel’s heaving chest, it provided an ideal implement for massaging her large breasts, digging into each of them in turn, circling the erect nipples, then brushing back and forward over them. Meanwhile the fingers of Sumi’s left hand were already probing into the blonde’s moist sex. Rachel moaned, hopelessly pinned by the lighter but more agile Korean.

Jessica watched intently from her position five yards away. She was excited in more ways than one, making little bouncing moves in her kneeling position, mewling softly, willing her friends along. It they could win this game it might save her from a beating and save Master Alex from losing five thousand dollars.

Making a move that deserved to be seen again in slow motion, Sumi spun around on top of her team-mate/victim so the puffy lips of her sex hovered inches above Rachel’s mouth. Sumi plunged the dildo into Rachel’s upturned sex, bobbing up and down to the accompaniment of Rachel’s pre-orgasmic cries.

The scoreboard showed Rachel’s orgasm rating hovering stubbornly at 99 as if the meter was stuck. The other three pairs were still in the low 90’s but gaining fast. With an ear splitting cry of joy, Rachel came. Sumi pummeled away diligently until the anal sensors recorded Rachel’s orgasm on the scoreboard, just in case anyone in the audience had any doubts.

Handlers immediately pulled the other pairs from their various coital embraces. There was no second place in this competition. Sumi had her dildo gag removed and Rachel’s wrist-to-ankle cuff was removed, as was the anal measuring device. They laid side by side like sated lovers, still breathing rapidly from the exertions. Perspiring, exhausted, with a mixture of triumph and relief.

Sumi and Rachel knew there wasn’t a prize for winning, only the avoidance of a penalty - and so it was today. The anal probes within the three losing ‘bottoms’ soon revealed their other function. The women’s bodies jerked when the first shock was delivered. They yelled and cursed and cried as the probes delivered a series of shocks, while their gagged partners tried in vain to comfort them.

Jessica watched the punishments with more amusement than sympathy. She had suffered the same punishment in Madame Cervoix’s oral class that very morning and knew its effect was dramatic but mercifully short-lived. She felt Master Alex unbuckling her ballgag. The sensation of a man’s strong hand unbuckling a strap at the back of her head was something that Jessica come to enjoy. She opened her mouth as wide as possible to allow Alex to pull out the ball. He re-buckled it loosely around her neck like a second collar, then wiped her chin with a handkerchief - the same one that had earlier wiped away her pussy juice.

“What are you going to do with your share of the money?” Master Alex asked.

Jessica was confused at first, before remembering that Alex had earlier joked about splitting the winnings with her. This guy sure could be cruel!

Jessica paused for thought, and then announced, “I think I’ll go to the travel agency tomorrow and book a flight back to the USA.”

Alex laughed a short nervous laugh that acknowledged the wit of her answer. “There’s no need. Your flight is already taken care of, but won’t be leaving for another year. I’ll stick it in your bank account for you.”

Their faltering conversation was interrupted by the man sitting next to Alex. He was one of Rabbit Island’s committee members, and someone often opposed to Alex when it came to Island policy.

Kneeling between the men, Jessica was well positioned to follow their conversation. That’s when she learned that Master Alex was leaving the island the next morning. It was a trip of great importance to the future of Rabbit Island, the men agreed.

After that, Master Alex pushed his index fingers into Jessica’s ears, as if she were a child not meant to hear an adult conversation.

In his capacity as a psychiatrist (and most definitely NOT as a Rabbit Island member), his medical contacts had arranged for him to meet the ‘armless woman’, the same one that had motivated Karen Galtz, the nosey reporter, to visit the island. She was still in the care of a Bangkok clinic and the US consulate.

(Jessica closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of Alex’s fingers teasing her ears.)

Alex’s task was to discover if and how this woman had lost her memory. Was there really a connection with Rabbit Island? If not, then what was the significance of her rabbit tattoo? They agreed that Alex would take the necessary course of action if he felt the woman could ever implicate Rabbit Island in her unfortunate story. ‘Do whatever it takes!’, the man emphasized. Alex nodded.

Alex removed his fingers from Jessica’s ears as the conversation moved onto less serious matters.

“Did you visit the O-Box?” The man enquired.

Alex confirmed he had.

“Kate, I believe she was called; the newest pussy girl. Nearly blew my mind! There’s still waiting list for her.”

“I know. She’s a friend of this one,” Alex said, gesturing to Jessica, stroking her hair like a dog, which also ensured she couldn’t turn around to look at him. “Both graduated Cervoix’s oral course with distinction,” he added.

Last time Jessica had seen Kate she was being marched to the Torture Garden, so it surprised her to discover that she was doing duty in the O-Box so soon after. Perhaps had she seen the unsightly red welts covering Kate’s body she would agree the O-Box was the only sensible place for her.

The evening’s entertainments continued. A woman was wheeled onto the stage, tied belly-down on a small gurney. She was hog-tied - her ankles bent fully back and each lashed tight to its respective wrist and upper thigh. Her big toes had been bound together and a leather cord tied as taut as a bow string between them and a D ring at the top of her head harness.

As the trolley spun around to give the audience a better view (it also allowed her a full view of the audience) no one could fail to notice her bald and shiny head. If her recent close shave were not enough to shame her, she also had to endure a nose hook. A two pronged hook that slipped into the nostrils with its connected cord tied off tight at the top of her head harness, giving the nostrils a distended vertical shape. The pig-like expression on the tormented woman’s face caused great amusement.

Jessica asked Master Alex who it was.

“That’s Karen Galtz, the journalist. The one they picked up after Ray was hurt. She’s had a busy day today. Shaved, tattooed, branded and pierced. I’m told she’s as horny as hell after all that treatment. Looks good, the gag harness on a shaved head, doesn't it?”

Jessica didn’t comment, but conceded that there was something about the black leather dissecting Karen’s fair skin that was strangely compelling. So tightly bound, she was helpless except for the wiggling of her fingers, trying in vain to reach the rope knots. The fact that she was as ‘horny as hell’ whilst tied that way was something Jessica also found strangely compelling.

A man held up a pole, perhaps nine feet in length. With the patter of a stand-up comedian, he explained to the audience that this was the world’s longest dildo. Perfect, not only for the larger woman, but also for fucking her when you don’t want to get too close - if she has a cold for example.

He moved the pole into a horizontal position and inspected the tip. That end really was a dildo, the remaining eight feet length being just a black wooden pole. With a theatrical flourish he moved it towards Karen Galtz’s rear, into the inviting V shape created by her bent legs. Her pussy lips were perfectly aligned and inviting, two soft puffy doors waiting to be prized open.

Holding the pole at its far end he carefully guided the tip towards the spot between Karen’s labia, running it up and down her crack. She moaned, surprised by the sudden touch. A microphone had been fixed to the gurney just below her chin, so all her moans and whimpers were relayed over the P.A. As her keeper moved the pole moved vigorously in and out of her, Karen became more and more excited - until she was just a wet throbbing pussy on the end of his pole. It wouldn’t have matter if she was in the middle of Yankee Stadium by then; there was only one thing she desired, and that was to be forced to cum.

She might have known it wouldn’t be so simple. Her keeper withdrew the pole.

“Apparently we are running behind schedule,” the man announced. “We’ll need to come back in an hour to finish the little whore off.”

Accepting the applause of the audience, he took a bow and pulled the gurney (and its frustrated occupant) off the stage. Karen was frantic, her tearful protestations at being pulled back from the brink, providing yet another amusement for her audience.

“You need to stretch your legs.” Master Alex said to Jessica.

Jessica agreed, although half-dreaded how he intended to do it. Such a phrase could mean a couple of hours on the rack was planned for her. He reached for the gag strap that had lain loose around her neck. “Open wide!”

She did so. The familiar red ball filled her mouth. Then she bent her head downwards to allow him to buckle the strap. She lifted her chin so he could unclip the chain from her collar. With a firm grip under one of her armpits Alex helped Jessica to her feet. It was the first time he’d seen her standing in that blue dress. He could scarcely believe how nice she looked, but tried not to show his admiration too much. Secretly he wished her hands were not tied. He would have liked her to take his arm, just like a normal couple in a normal ballroom.

Master Alex led Jessica quietly to the other side of the ballroom, his hand loosely holding her by the rope around her bound wrists. While they walked Jessica’s eyes were transfixed on Debbie, looking so graceful as she danced.

It wasn’t just Debbie’s body that was spinning, so was Jessica’s mind. She was walking through the throng of party guests ostensibly as Master Alex’s partner. Her hands might have been tied but she was undoubtedly his ‘partner’. He took a glass of wine from a waiter’s tray as they squeezed past other guests, most of whom were heading for the dance floor.

Jessica was disturbed by something. Master Alex had unlocked her chain without having to tell her to behave. He had made an assumption that she had been ‘tamed’. What worried her was that he might be correct in his assumption. She had no thought of misbehaving.

“Master Alex, my old friend, how the devil are you?” A gregarious and mature English voice called out.

Alex smiled, and headed towards Sir Stanley. “Don’t look them in the eyes,” he whispered to Jessica as they approached the Englishman’s little group of drinkers. A dark and handsome man named Hector was introduced. He was an Argentinean. Master Alex didn’t know the beautiful woman at his side but Jessica did...It was Eva, her morning classmate. Hector and Eva made a very handsome couple.

Eva curtsied politely as Master Alex approached, her eyes cast downward. She was wearing an elegant red velvet dress that clung to her shapely figure. It had a scooped neckline that left her neck and upper chest bare and showed off her attractive cleavage.

Hector bade her to turn around, in order to show off the dress. It solved the mystery of where her arms had gone. They were squeezed together into a single sleeve at the back of the dress. The sleeve ended at the wrists, where a sparkling diamanté band fixed them tightly together.

Alex was impressed. He’d never seen such an elegant dress with bondage as an integral part of its design.

“It’s a lovely dress, isn’t it Eva?” Sir Stanley asked, having already suggested the answer to her.

Eva nodded. She wasn’t expected to speak; her red dress had been accessorized by a gag of the same color. The fabric was tight between her teeth and knotted at the back of her head. It was the gag of choice for smart nights out.

Alongside Eva, in the care of Sir Stanley, was a woman wearing a glittering silver sheath dress that encased her from neck to toe, leaving her barely able to hobble. Master Alex was stunned by her dusky beauty. It was Suchita, Jessica’s Indian classmate. Her dress was sleeveless, but that didn’t mean her arms were visible. Instead Suchita’s arms were encased within the front of the dress, with her hands positioned tantalizingly over her sex. Only her thumbs had been tied together, Sir Stanley explained. Like Eva, she wore a cleave gag that matched her dress.

“I’m thinking of buying this one,” Sir Stanley said, motioning towards Suchita. “I don’t usually like darkies, but I’ll make an exception in this case. They say she’s educated and well-mannered too!”

Rabbit Island was known to have some fine looking slaves. Even some of the ponygirls were quite attractive. Yet Alex had to admit that a woman of Suchita’s beauty was destined for only the finest and richest homes. Sir Stanley’s vast estate certainly qualified. He’d explained to her that there were already other Indians working on his estate; as if that would make Suchita feel better.

“So you think your ponygirls have a chance of catching mine tomorrow?” Sir Stanley asked Alex, clearly delighted with the showing of his own ponygirl in the competition. His tone indicated that he thought the English ponygirls’ lead was unassailable.

“I’m sure they’ll do their best.” Alex replied coolly. Jessica detected that Master Alex was not particularly interested in the outcome. Nor did he seem about to let on that Jessica was one of those Rabbit Island ponygirls.

“I had my ponies locked down early tonight, to make sure they’re in peak form tomorrow.” Sir Stanley confided.

That meant that all the other ponygirl competitors were locked in their stables, Jessica realized. She now felt like an interloper at the party, with Master Alex as her co-conspirator. She felt a surreptitious pride in sharing a secret with him.

For five or maybe ten minutes Jessica was in the midst of the most glamorous event she had ever known. Alex continued to hold her tightly around the waist as he laughed and joked with Sir Stanley, Hector, and any number of passers-by. It ended all to soon. Erik came to take her away. But tonight there was no doubt in Jessica’s mind that she was being led to Master Alex’s bedroom.

Jessica was standing against a tall bedpost at the foot of Master Alex’s four-poster bed - her arms raised and tied with soft white rope high up the post. She reached up her bound hands and was amazed to find a knot came within her fingertips. It was unlike Erik to be so careless with his tying-up, but he’d been drinking, and seemed preoccupied. The rumor was that he’d fallen in love.

There was a knife in Master Alex’s bedside drawer. Jessica remembered that because he’d used it on her once before - not to cut her, but rather to cut the ropes that were binding her too tightly on one occasion. She pulled out six inch blade from its embossed leather sheath. The reflected light from the blade dazzled her, portending its power, like a miniature excalibur.

Kicking off her high heels, Jessica went to the bedroom door. She put her ear against it and listened. The corridor on the other side seemed quiet. Opening the door just a crack, she peeked out. The corridor was empty. In one direction lay the main entrance and ballroom, in the other was a vast array of other routes, including back to the pony quarters. She had always been blindfolded when taken down these corridors. Now her memory would be tested. In theory, she could reach the back lawn in less than a minute, and from there into the blackness of night.

“Right at the bottom...twenty steps... then left... right after thirty steps... then left at the end...or was it right?” Jessica rehearsed the route in her mind, but everything had gotten confused. “No! It’s right at the end!” She said, as if arguing with herself. Having won the argument, she opened the door and prepared to run.

Whether it was good timing or bad, she didn’t know, but a man, slightly the worse for drink staggered into the corridor. It was Vince, one of the handlers. He wasn’t a bad man, despite his notorious firmness with the beach bunnies. She’d never seen him fight, but he was a big muscular guy, who could look after himself. Having had a few drinks wouldn’t change that fact.

Jessica eyed the six-inch knife in her hand, and considered doing something that she’d never before imagined. ‘Hard up under the ribs and turn it, pull it out and do it again’, someone told her once, or perhaps she’d just seen it in a movie?

She pushed the door closed, but not on the latch, in case it made a noise. She prepared herself to deal with him.

The door suddenly flung open. Vince had leant on it as he staggered past, not expecting it to give way. Confused at suddenly finding himself standing in the entrance of the bedroom, he paused. It was very unusual to find a room left unlocked.

He walked further into the darkened room, stumbling on Jessica’s discarded shoes. He heard a noise. “Anyone in here?”

There was no answer.

“Anyone here?”

This time he heard something - a rustling from the bed. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw a moving shape under the duvet. It was a woman. Although the duvet covered her body, he could see she was wearing a ballgag.

Jessica had her fingers linked together behind her back, and held her ankles together whilst pretending to kick out. It gave a good impression of being bound hand and foot. She mmpphh’d something. Vince was reassured. Everything seemed normal.

“Oh, Jessica. It’s you! The door was open. I er...” Vince stumbled over his explanation before realizing he had no need to explain himself to a ponygirl. He turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Jessica pulled the gag from her mouth, but continued to lay in Alex’s comfortable bed. She sat up, propping herself with the firm pillows that Master Alex favored. Whilst toying with the knife, she accidentally pricked her thumb with it. She was surprised at how sharp it was. The first blood she tasted was her own, but if she had to, she would kill somebody, Jessica told herself.

Armed with his valid excuse of an early departure in the morning, Master Alex bid a goodnight to his friends in the ballroom and made his way contentedly back to his room.

Long after Master Alex had left the ballroom he could hear the ongoing festivities. More specifically he could hear the squeals of bunnies as the whipping demonstration continued. He smiled to himself as he thought of their shapely asses on the stage, nervously writhing, but tied down and unable to evade the whipmaster’s blows.

It was a pity to leave the evening cabaret just as it was reaching its peak, but Alex still had to make some preparations for his trip and finish off a few administration tasks before his early morning departure from the island.

Knowing that one of his favored slaves, Jessica, was strung up and waiting in his bedroom was a consolation. Just a few measured strikes of a light switch on her rear would put him in the mood, and Jessica too, he laughed to himself. She was such a confused soul. That’s why he liked her.

Before retiring to his room Alex planned to collect something important from Dr. Schmidt. He crossed the main courtyard, glad to take in some fresh air, though the night-time temperature was still balmy and humid. On the way he bumped into Erik who was escorting pussygirl Kate back to her new lodgings in the medical suite. She was naked except for a white garter belt and tattered white stockings. Her hands were lashed together behind her with a thin leather cord.

“Good evening, Sir.” Kate called out with chirpy good humor, even before Erik had greeted him. Pussy-girls had to be obedient and cheerful, and whilst Kate struggled with the former, she had no problem with the latter.

As Alex was heading to the medical suite, he happily relieved Erik of his charge and gestured for the overworked handler to head back to the lodge.

Noticing Kate’s heavily whip-marked body, he had to admire both her body and her spirit. He also noticed thin twine knotted around the base of her nipples, with the loose ends dangling a couple of inches below them. The marble-sized teats looked very tweakable, Alex thought, but were obviously causing Kate pain. He resisted the temptation to pinch them.

“You’ve had a busy day I believe?”

“Yes, Sir. Very busy.” Kate confirmed, maintaining a submissive manner. “It started with Cervoix’s oral class then I had a few hours on first aid duty. In the afternoon, Sir, I was Master Riccardo’s passenger for a pony race. Then I was whipped in the torture garden... although that was my own fault I suppose. They bound my breasts and nipples, but the cords around the nipples were so tight that nobody could remove them. I do hope Dr Schmidt can help me.”

They entered the brightly-lit medical suite and found Dr. Schmidt busy working at his drug dispensing table. Alex untied the cord binding Kate’s wrists. She knelt down in front of the doctor, lovingly kissed each of his shiny black shoes, then rose and showed him her nipples. Her down-turned lips showing that she felt quite sorry for herself.

The doctor gave her a sympathetic look, that almost seemed sincere. “Bring me two sodas from the refrigerator,” he said.

She promptly retrieved them and offered one to each man.

“Hold them hard against your nipples,” the doctor instructed.

Kate winced at the sudden coldness on her breasts.

“You can have your soda when Kate’s done with them,” he joked with Alex as he prepared the forceps and scissors for taking out stitches. He beckoned Kate towards him and bent her over the rail at the end of a patient’s bed. She complied, still clutching the sodas to her increasingly chilled nipples.

The men admired Kate’s shapely buttocks, with the puffy lips of her sex gaping invitingly between them. The only distraction was the numerous welts from her stint in the Torture Garden, combined with the still-healing scabs from a week ago, when she shinned down into a ravine to rescue Ray the pony driver.

The doctor picked out the stitches at the back of her thigh. He smiled, still amused and impressed that she had managed to put in the stitches herself.

“I said to her, she’s a tough cookie!” the doctor recounted to Alex. The colloquialism was incongruous with his strong German accent. “Ja, a tough cookie!”

Kate’s smile remained unseen. A clever cookie too, she thought. The handcuff key she’d acquired from Ray’s keyring was now safely stitched within her flesh. One day when the time was right, she would use it.

“Up!” The doctor said, and gestured for Kate to remove the sodas from her breasts.

“Diet or regular?” Kate asked Alex. He chose the diet held to her left breast. She smiled like a kid, knowing the regular cola was hers. She knew the doctor never drank soda.

It took Dr Schmidt just a few seconds to cut through the twine that had been tight around her nipples for the last four hours. She would be in some pain as the blood flow started to return, but at least the coldness resulting from their contact with the sodas would make it more gradual.

The men looked over her heavily marked sexy body as Kate walked quickly into the bathroom. She started groaning softly as the feeling slowly and painfully returned to her nipples. As usual she left the bathroom door wide open while she toileted and showered.

The men hadn’t even begun to discuss Alex’s upcoming mission, when Kate emerged showered and dried; the scent of her soap-cleansed body invading their nostrils.

“Lay down here.” Dr Schmidt instructed, patting gently on a patient’s bed with the palm of his hand. Kate laid on her back and stretched her hands to the top of the bed, where leather cuffs were fixed and waiting. The doctor buckled them around her willing wrists, then did likewise to her ankles at the foot of the bed.

“Sore?” The doctor asked.

“Hurts like crazy. More than earlier.” Kate replied.

“Silly girl. You should have taken a cold shower. I thought you knew that!” The doctor poured some cream on his hands and started to rub it slowly, but firmly, into Kate’s breasts. She closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure at the hands moved expertly across her body.

While the doctor continued to sooth the skin of his wayward nurse, Alex examined the items the doctor had been preparing for him. He picked up a small glass tube.

“That vial should be put in her first drink.” The doctor commented, looking up at Alex only briefly. “Make sure she drinks it as soon as she arrives. It’s like a truth drug.”

“You mean sodium pentathol?”

The doctor scoffed. “Master Alex, we’ve come a long way since those days. Your patient will not feel drowsiness. In fact, it will be the opposite. She will converse as if you are an old and trusted friend. I’ve blended the liquid with dideuterium oxide so it stays at the bottom of the glass. Don’t stir it.”

“Bottom of the glass?”

“She will use a straw, ja?”

Alex gave a wry smile as he thought of the armless woman he was due to meet. “Yes, I suppose she will.” He was impressed, but not surprised, by Dr. Schmidt’s forethought.

“If you ask the right questions, this will confirm that she is amnesiac. The second vial will help you to unlock her mind - to discover if her amnesia is post-traumatic or retrograde.”

“In another glass of water?”

“Yes. After the first drink, your patient will develop a big thirst. She’ll gladly accept your offer of another drink.”

The doctor helped Kate to turn over onto her belly so he could soothe the marks on her back. She ground her belly into the bed as the doctor’s hand slipped between her thighs. As his fingers worked themselves into her moist opening, Kate’s thighs closed on his hand. Shamelessly, she began to hump his hand while the doctor continued his conversation with Alex.

“Little slut!” The doctor joked, but made no attempt to move his hand.

“Do you think it will work? Can it accomplish what the clinic has failed to do?” Master Alex probed.

The doctor smiled confidently. “I’m almost certain. It performed very well as an antidote to Retramnesiol in recent trials and may perform equally well with non-chemical amnesia. My colleagues in Dresden eagerly await your report.”

“Oh yes. Retramnesiol! I haven’t heard about it for a long time. How is it progressing?”

“Very well indeed, Master Alex. We lost valuable research time when a senior technician disappeared last year, but now we are back on track. Next year, if all goes to plan, Rabbit Island will have a powerful tool at its disposal. We can erase the memory of a subject to such an accurate degree that we are able to choose whether she remembers graduating from high school or college.”

The doctor unbuckled the cuffs from Kate’s wrists and ankles. Without further prompting she climbed off the bed and walked drowsily to a three-foot high steel post stood on the other side of the room. Trailing from the base of the post were two chains, each with a set of handcuffs at the end. Kate attached one set around her ankles, then placing her hands behind her back, clicked the other pair around her wrists.

Alex enjoyed watching Kate’s little self-bondage scene but was bemused by her expression, which was a mixture of shame and frustration. The doctor tossed a pillow to her, which she gripped between her teeth and moved it a position to rest her head on.

Master Alex gazed at Kate’s curvy body as it yielded happily to the doctor’s touch. “And they’ll have no memory of Rabbit Island. It will remain an empty gap in their lives?”

“Exactly! They won’t remember a thing about it. No traumas. No flashbacks. They simply get on with the rest of their lives.” Kate realized the men were talking about her... and Jessica... and the other bunnies on Rabbit Island.

Master Alex was cheered by the news. The ability to release their captives after several years was a long-held ambition of his. He looked at Kate, a young woman in her prime, and a credit to the Rabbit Island selection process. But where would she be in ten years? A burnt out, drug hazed whore at best, more likely she would be dead.

Retramnesiol changed everything. If the drug is successful Kate could one day be released from slavery and eventually become just like any other happy wife and mother, with a mysterious gap in her life. Meanwhile Rabbit Island would continue to thrive, replenished with fresh meat.

It wasn’t a case of conscience in seeking to improve the fate of his slaves, it was simply that Master Alex loved playing God.

“And the third vial. What’s that for?” Alex asked, keen to conclude matters and return to his room where a body every bit as good as Kate’s awaited him.

“If you use the antidote vial, there is a chance the armless girl may remember much more that anyone expects. It is possible that her knowledge could incriminate somebody in our organization. If there is any chance of this, you must use the third vial.” The doctor paused and looked intently into Alex’s eyes to ensure he understood. Alex nodded solemnly.

“She will show no symptoms for at least twelve hours. Then, soon after the symptoms occur, she will suffer a massive heart failure.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Alex acknowledged as Dr Schmidt handed him the vinyl case that carried truth, memory, and death.

As an afterthought, just as he was walking out the door, Alex asked the doctor for a sedative ‘to help an athlete get a good night’s sleep’. The doctor promptly obliged.

Viewing Kate’s naked body had piqued Alex’s libido and had him hurrying back to his bedroom. Unzipping Jessica’s firm ponygirl body from her tight blue dress was uppermost on his mind. He had a hunch that Jessica, bound and prepared by Erik to his usual specification, might feel the same way too.

He opened the door to his room, glad as always to enter his private sanctuary. Jessica was standing there to greet him, her arms raised.

Alex inspected her. She seemed nervous, almost breathless, as he inspected the ropes around her wrists. They were secured to the top of the tall bedpost as he expected, but Erik’s rope work was surprisingly poor. Jessica’s fingers played distractedly with the knots that bound her. If she wasn’t blindfolded, Alex thought, she would realize how easily she could escape.

His body pressed against Jessica’s as he reached upwards, tightening the ropes on her wrists and pulling out the slack so she was stretched fully upright. He offered a glass of water to her lips. She gladly took a few gulps.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” He said, expecting somehow that she should be comforted by being bound even tighter. Jessica nodded.

She could hear Master Alex rummaging around the room; packing his suitcase for the morning’s departure. Her mind was reeling. Ten minutes earlier, she was sobbing in his bed with a large knife in her hands. If she was going to escape she would have to kill him. For a moment she even pressed the knife to her own belly, thinking of how her bloodied corpse in Master Alex’s bed could be revenge for all his torments. She did neither.

Was it cowardice that made her return to the bedpost and re-tie her wrists just as Erik had left her? At that moment, tugging on the ropes that Master Alex had just made secure, Jessica felt pathetic and ashamed. She had just proved that she was only fit to be a slave and a ponygirl. She didn’t deserve to be free.

Without warning she felt Master Alex’s hands running teasingly over her body. He spun her around so her front was pressed against the bedpost. As sexy as her body might have looked in that tight dress, Alex still couldn’t wait to get it off her. He slowly pulled the zip down her back, revealing her flesh like a succulent fruit.

When the dress fell, laying pooled around her ankles, Jessica was left in a sheer black basque to which was attached the garters of her stockings. Alex continued to undress his bound prey until she stood naked except for the sturdy leather collar about her neck. A collar goes best with nakedness, and this one suited her well.

With his hands placed on Jessica’s hips he spun her around to face him again. He kissed her forcefully on the lips, but the real object of his desire was lower down.

When his hand found Jessica’s laced-up labia rings, Alex couldn’t figure out who’s desire was the greater. A red ribbon criss-crossed through the eight rings in Jessica’s labia, effectively barring the entrance. Jessica squirmed in anticipation shifting her weight from one foot to another. Alex knelt down to undo the bow and remove the ribbon from Jessica’s moistening sex. He was mildly surprised that the ribbon did not pull free. Straining his eyes in the dimly lit room he realised that the ribbon was tightly knotted at each ring. “Somebody’s idea of joke”, he muttered, before getting off his knees to retrieve his knife from the bedside drawer.

Jessica swallowed hard when she heard the drawer slam closed. “What the fuck did I do with that knife?” Alex asked himself, more mystified than angry. Jessica felt his hands on her hips again, and again he prompted her to turn around so her back was to him, and her belly hard against the post once more.

She heard the whoosh of the cane an instant before it came hard down on her buttocks. Five more blows followed in rapid succession. In her mind her cowardice deserved it. She very nearly almost begged Master Alex to hit her harder to obliterate her pervading sense of defeat.

Sometimes a spanking or caning was what passed as foreplay for Alex, and despite herself, Jessica too found she could become aroused by such treatment... especially at the hands of this man.

Alex had already decided his next move. He located a tube of lubricant and began to apply it. Jessica soon felt its coolness rubbing against her anus. It wasn’t at all what she had in mind. Being butt-plugged as a ponygirl was one thing, but being fucked in the ass was quite another, but Master Alex’s desire for her was not to be denied. She felt his body pressing urgently against hers.

“The knife...is in the bed...Master,” Jessica stuttered; grateful that her blindfold prevented Master Alex from looking into her eyes.

The momentary bulge in Jessica’s neck as she swallowed confirmed to Master Alex that it wasn’t a joke. He retrieved his knife which was nestled within the bedsheets as the bound slave had suggested. The room went deathly quiet for the next minute.

Alex took a step back and inspected the cuts he had made. With her wrists tied together high above her Jessica swayed unsteadily on her high heels, lost in her own thoughts, unaware of exactly what he had just done.

In Master Alex’s opinion there is nothing that shows off a woman’s lips better than a blindfold. Only when her eyes are covered can the lips be appreciated in all their sensuous beauty. Alex licked up the thin trail of blood on Jessica’s torso and kissed her.

Jessica gasped as she realized she was tasting her own blood mingled with Master Alex’s passionate kiss. She didn’t resist. She was still savouring the taste of the kiss when she felt the knife cutting through the ribbon which closed up her sex. Four delicate cuts later she felt a strange kind of freedom. Her hips swayed in anticipation.

Master Alex loosened his pants and let them fall to his feet. With Jessica blindfolded, his ungainly stance didn’t seem to matter. He soon had his straight and straining cock buried within her moist opening, his naked loins pressed firmly against hers. He pushed upwards, lifting her slightly.

“Why didn’t you kill me while you had the chance?” He asked with a slight grunt as he thrust again.

“Why didn’t... you kill me?” Jessica grunted back, avoiding the question she didn’t want to answer.

“Too val... uable.” Master Alex said, thrusting upwards as he said it. “Best... ponygirl... we’ve... got.” (It wasn’t true, but Jessica was flattered, despite herself.)

They didn’t usually talk when he fucked her as Jessica was invariably gagged. “You’re... going... tomorrow?” She managed to ask before groaning with evident pleasure as he thrust into her again.

“Early morning.”

“How long... oohh!.. how long for?” Jessica was struggling to hold up her end of the conversation. Alex was deliberately pushing whenever she started to speak.

“A week... maybe more.”

Jessica did something she’d never done before. She lifted her legs and wrapped her ankles around the back of Alex’s thighs. It was, she knew, a kind of embrace.

“The armless... woman?”

“Yep... Something strange about her... I gotta find out.”

With her hands tied together Jessica’s mind was flooded with all kinds of bizarre images - of being a harnessed ponygirl without arms, of Master Alex making love to her without needing to tie her hands... because she no longer had them.

She hated herself for climaxing with such an image in her mind, yet the power of the orgasm was so much greater than normal, almost painful. As was Alex’s, she thought.

Alex left Jessica dangling like a rag doll as he went to the bathroom. His ropes wrapped tightly around her wrists and tied off high up the bedpost were all that kept her from slumping to the floor.

He returned shortly afterwards, wiping her chest with a wet flannel, removing all traces of the blood. He applied a sticking plaster to the small capital A shape he had cut into her flesh with the knife.

Soon after, Jessica’s wrists and ankles were in leather cuffs that connected her to each end of Alex’s bed. She was drowsy and barely remembered him getting into the bed beside her. ‘He’s drugged me again’, she thought, just before sleep took her.

Jessica awoke with sunlight flooding in through the large window. She had slept like a log and felt rested and ready for the day. It was the final day of the ponygirl competition, the cross country event. She was looking forward to it.

She pulled against the bonds, even though they weren’t tight. It was just a way to stretch her muscles, and felt good. It didn’t matter that the leather cuffs prevented her hands from reaching her breasts or genitals, because she, or rather, her body belonged to somebody else. Someone that knew how to give her pleasure whilst taking his. Perhaps he would take his pleasure with her again this morning before their respective days started? She turned over, away from the window and expectantly towards her sleeping companion. She sighed with disappointment.

Master Alex’s day had started much earlier. He’d already gone.

At the starting line, the official timekeeper counted down for the first pony pair. Six miles of winding and hilly trails lay ahead of them. The narrow trails were not suitable for racing, so this event was a time-trial with ponygirls setting off at five-minute intervals.

Jessica and Debbie waited calmly for their turn, the second-to-last to go. When Jessica was being rigged up in her harness she slipped into what she half-jokingly called her ‘pony brain’. It was a simple empty-headed state of mind that helped her get through the day. In her pony brain she found it easier to accept the straps and reins that they forced upon her. Spending the day with a bit between her teeth, reins clipped to her nipple and labia rings, and a butt-tail locked into her rectum was just part and parcel of the job. A normal woman would find such things painful and degrading, but a fully trained ponygirl could take such things in her high stepping stride.

The ponygirl’s all-controlling bondage made her an exotic, beautiful and environmentally friendly means of transport, appealing to the artistic and sporting sensibilities of their masters. Some people assumed that ponygirls were rather dumb, as animals and women. Jessica knew different. It required concentration and intelligence as much as physical effort if they were to perform to their driver’s satisfaction and minimize their end-of-day punishments.

They needed a high degree of alertness, responding crisply to every stroke of the fiendishly effective electric whipper device. Unlike a manhandled whip this one never missed its target and always delivered the exact strength the driver selected.

Sometimes, when out running, in perfectly synchronized stride with Debbie beside her, Jessica had to admit it felt good. And when their driver pushed them down the long sections and they stretched to full stride, their pacing seemed to eat up the ground ahead of them. Even the whipper striking her buttocks could feel oddly stimulating on those occasions.

A driver and his ponygirls in perfect harmony; that was the objective. Earning the approval of their driver and avoiding his punishments was all that mattered to ponygirls.

Today Jessica had trouble clearing her mind. She often felt a certain anxiety when Master Alex was not present on the island. Although he’d never mentioned it, Jessica learned from elsewhere that he had twice intervened to prevent her being shipped from the island. ‘Being shipped’ was the great fear. Received wisdom for bunnies and ponygirls was that anywhere you were shipped would be far worse than Rabbit Island.

Another pony trap was approaching the start area. Jessica could easily identify them by the sound of their rhythmic stride picked out on the gravel path. Her harnessing and blinkers meant she could only see that which was directly in from of her, so she waited for them to come into her limited view. It was Cavallo’s blonde pair, just as she thought. Their long blonde hair was caught by the breeze and flowing behind them, not from their heads but from their butt-tails. The tail hair swished against the back of their high-stepping thighs as they trotted past.

They wore zebra costumes, a dramatic change from the shiny black fabric of yesterday. The skintight black and white patterned lycra showed off every athletic curve in their slim bodies. Collars, two-inches wide, of black patent leather were tight around their necks, purely for decoration. Their leather harnessing was lighter than Jessica’s and Debbie’s, more attractive perhaps, but less suited to the twists and turns of the Rabbit Island pathways, in Jessica’s opinion.

Debbie made a coughing noise which sounded not much like a pony or a girl. Jessica echoed it in agreement. Harnessed side by side yet unable to see or speak to each other, they had developed a repertoire of noises by which they communicated. This sound indicated their amusement at the zebrafied ponygirls. At such a time as this, with rewards and punishments at stake, they found it difficult to think of the zebra girls as fellow slaves. They were competitors.

“Go!” The starter shouted.

The driver of the zebra girls lashed out with his whip, connecting sweetly with their bare buttocks. They trotted down the track at full pelt as if their lives depended on it. Alongside the zebra girls’ driver on the narrow bench seat was Lucy with her hands lashed behind her to the backrest. She looked back over her shoulder, terror etched on her face, knowing how treacherous the island’s precipitous trails could be. Jessica and Debbie watched them disappearing into the distance, itching to get moving themselves, as were Riccardo and Kate, sitting on the trap behind them.

The starter approached Jessica and Debbie, grabbed the reins where they were attached to their nipple rings and led them to the start line. He explained the starting procedure to Riccardo.

While they waited for a starting signal, the island’s official photographer stepped in front of them. He took some photos with a digital camera; images destined for the computers of Rabbit Island associate members around the world. In recent times - since Jessica's arrival - these photographs were also turning up taped to a wall within the pony quarters. Jessica and the other ponygirls had acquired a curious obsession with their own pony images. When an envelope of photos was slipped into the ponygirl quarters, the pictures would engross the off-duty ponygirls for many hours, complementing each other on their physiques and pony poses. Little did they know that the Rabbit Island management was quietly encouraging their vanity in delivering the photos. It was yet another devious ploy from Master Alex.

The photographer departed but Jessica and Debbie continued to wait for a signal, though by then they were losing all hope of catching the zebra girls.

“Go!” The starter shouted.

Ponygirls Jessica and Debbie stood perfectly still and barely flinched. They had made the point that they took their commands from Riccardo not the starter.

Then they both felt a sharp sting of the electric whipper on their buttocks. In an instant they were trotting at a steady pace along the trail, with the polite applause and shouts of encouragement fading quickly into the distance behind them. Riccardo held back on the whipper, content to keep a steady pace in the early part of the race.

Alongside Riccardo sat pussygirl Kate. Despite her outbursts yesterday earning her a session in the Torture Garden, she was once again allocated as his unwilling passenger; although if the officials had known how much she enjoyed these rides, they would never have allowed her.

Kate was squeezed onto the narrow bench seat alongside Riccardo, her right hip pressed and grinding against his left. Having her hands tied and lashed firmly to the backrest gave her a feeling of safety - it prevented her from falling off on a tight bend. She was revelling in the rear view of her best friend Jessica, corseted, butt-plugged, tightly harnessed and trotting so beautifully. Kate was slightly ashamed that she harboured a lustful fantasy of making love to Jessica while she was wearing all her pony gear. Yet she knew it would remain a fantasy. Not even the men were permitted to fuck the ponies; at least not when they were in harness.

Jessica and Debbie were running very well; hoofs striking the ground in perfect synchronization, maintaining good posture, and responsive to Riccardo's commands. They felt good, in spite of their exertions. This was, after all, what their training and conditioning had prepared them for.

They were about halfway round the course when the zebra girls were spotted a few hundred yards ahead. Their driver was desperately lashing out at them, pushing the poor zebra girls to the limit, but it would never be enough to stop Riccardo’s team from reaching them.

It turned out the driver had pushed them beyond their limit, rounding a corner far too fast. Pussygirl Lucy screamed as she felt her side of the trap rise upwards as the wheel left the ground. As it toppled onto its side it took the zebra girls with it, flipping them into the air. The whole trap and its occupants crashed down on a rocky area alongside the gravel track.

The upended left wheel of the trap was still spinning slowly when Riccardo and his team reached them. If not quite a scene of carnage it was certainly one of anger, pain and frustration. Pussygirl Lucy’s landing had been cushioned by the driver, and her weight now pinned him to the ground. Tied as she was, she couldn’t lift herself off him, despite his urgent cries for her to do so. His right leg was sandwiched between the ground and the mangled wooden trap.

Jessica and Debbie continued past, ignoring Riccardo’s signal to stop until a urgent and painful tug on their nipple reins compelled them to. They carefully turned around and headed back to the crash site.

Riccardo leapt down to assist. The pony trap had also become driver trap. He looked at the groaning foursome, all laying on their sides in various states of distress.

“Untie me! I can help!” Kate yelled, bouncing up and down in her seat. Riccardo saw that Kate’s medical skills were needed.

The whimpering zebra-costumed girls were the priority. It was sickeningly obvious that the one underneath had a broken ankle. Riccardo managed to unbuckle the straps attaching the first zebra to the trap. He was having difficulty removing the steel bit from her mouth.

Eventually he saw the problem - a wing-nut in the center of the bit inside her mouth. He turned it, then spun it until it came off its thread.

Kate winced at the sight. “Eughh! It’s locked into her mouth!”

She was right. Riccardo saw the metalwork inside the girl’s mouth. A bar was bonded behind her lower back teeth while the vertical part of the T shaped device was skewered down and up through her tongue, ending in the screw-threading used to hold the bit in place.

“So that’s what they call the tongue bit!” Riccardo was appalled and yet fascinated. At one point Rabbit Island had considered fitting these to their ponygirls. It was said to give the driver better control of the ponygirl’s head. The proposal had been rejected on grounds of excessive cruelty.

Riccardo and Kate helped the first trembling zebra girl to her feet. Her arms were still locked behind her in a stylish cuff and harness. Kate dusted down the slim girl’s figure-hugging costume. It covered her from head to toe, except the lower part of her face, her buttocks and the cut-out openings for her nipples and labia. Her nipples were ringed and used for attaching reins, just like Jessica and Debbie. Her labia, neat, puffy and red with lip-gloss, were exposed for public show, and of course for her humiliation. A small padlock with its U passing through each labia lip ensured that her sex would not be breached, certainly not by a penis.

“Are you okay?” Kate asked her.

“Yehhhh!” replied the ponygirl, with a speech defect caused by her tongue bit. Even through the small eye holes of the girl’s skintight hood, Kate detected that she was agitated by seeing her partner laying down in obvious pain.

While Kate and Riccardo attended to her injured partner, the girl stood in front of Jessica - it felt natural to herd with other ponygirls. Jessica cursed the rubber bit in her mouth, she would have liked to talk to this ponygirl. (In fact she could have made some intelligible sounds but it had been a long time since she had attempted it.) The ponygirl turned slowly in a circle, trying to take in her surroundings through her small eye holes. Then, without warning, she bolted.

Debbie made a curious grunt as if to say ‘Now there’s something you don’t see every day’. Jessica agreed. They watched the bizarre sight of the zebra girl holding surprisingly good trotting form as she disappeared down the trail in the direction of the bunnies’ beach cabin.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Riccardo said as he looked up. There was no way the girl could be caught. Kate didn’t care. She was busy nursing, concerned only with the injuries to the other ponygirl and her driver.

Riccardo heard another pony pair approaching. They were Madame Cavallo’s other ponies - her elegant black girls. He blinked in utter disbelief as they trotted past, slowing down for a fraction, then speeding up. The sudden ferocity of their driver’s whipping had a lot to do with that. He’d seen that the competition title was his for the taking.

SOME EXPLAINING TO DO

At least the driver of Cavallo’s black girls had the decency to tell the officials at the finish line about the accident. Fifteen minutes later the crash site was descended on as various people arrived, transported of course by Rabbit Island’s ponygirls.

Diana and Melinda pulled up alongside Jessica. Though slightly out of her blinkered field of vision she knew it was them just by the sound of their boot bells. Sandra and Cathy were not far behind. Bruce and Frank, their respective drivers, came to Riccardo’s aid helping to lift the pony trap from the injured man.

Voices were raised, astonished and angry to learn of the assisted escape of one of Cavallo’s ponygirls. Kate kept her head down and busied herself with her nursing duties, leaving Riccardo to handle the awkward questions.

When Dr Schmidt arrived, Kate was relegated to pussygirl again. It surprised her that she was considered more to blame for the ponygirl’s escape than Riccardo, and worse was to follow.

They loaded the casualties onto the ponygirls’ trailers but there wasn’t space to take pussygirls Kate and Lucy back to The Lodge. Their offer to run behind the trailers was rejected with a laugh. Pussygirls might be blonde and willing, but they weren’t athletes. They would have to wait until somebody came back for them, Frank said. He already held long lengths of rope in his hand, which would help the pussygirls with their waiting.

Kate and Lucy were dressed in their normal pussygirl attire of long white corset dresses, although the white linen was badly soiled by recent events.

“Strip!” Frank commanded with a leering smile on his face.

Kate and Lucy unlaced the back of each other’s dresses, aware that all eyes were on them. Frank seemed determined to put on a show for the half a dozen visitors.

“Everything!” Frank said sharply, as the two pussygirls stood hopefully in their white basques, stockings and heels. They obeyed instantly. Pussygirls always obey - that was Rule 1 in the Pussygirl’s Code.

Frank, one of the island’s best rope masters, soon had each of them standing tightly tied at elbows, wrists, knees and ankles. They wobbled like two nervous poles, knowing that the gravel would provide a rough landing should they topple over.

Bruce held up two vibrators he kept in his toolkit.

“Something to keep them amused while they wait? I’ll take care of Lucy.”

Frank held the vibrator up to Kate. “Lick!”

She did better than that, putting her mouth onto it, swallowing up four inches. Her eyes making suggestive contact with Frank as she did so. A little flirting wouldn’t do any harm, she figured.

“Slut!” He joked, making a mental note to sample her oral talents at an early opportunity. Then he clicked the switch on the base of the vibrator. “Random setting, I think.”

He eased the vibrator into her pussy, steadying Kate at the shoulder to help her balance as his did so. Then he tied a rope around her waist and threaded it between her tightly bound thighs to make a crotch rope, ensuring the vibrator stayed in place.

“Okay. On the ground, sluts.” Frank commanded. With their arms and legs tightly bound and the vibrators now pulsing inside them, it was becoming increasingly difficult for Kate and Lucy to remain standing..

Kate bent her knees as much as the rope bindings would allow, then collapsed sideways onto the gravel track. She yelped as she landed on the coarse sharp stones. Lucy did likewise. Both rolled onto their bellies as Frank instructed with a imperious circular gesture of his finger. They yelped again as the sharp stones pricked into their breasts, bellies and thighs.

Having previously noticed the long loose ends of the ankle ropes, Kate wasn’t surprised to find herself drawn up into a tight hog-tie. A few feet away a close-to-tears Lucy got the same treatment. He dragged Lucy across the gravel so she was positioned side by side with Kate. He used a rope to thoroughly lash the two pussygirls together whilst ensuring that all knots were well away from inquisitive fingers.

“Ain’t you going to gag them?” Somebody asked.

Kate fumed as she saw Riccardo helpfully holding up two ball-gag harnesses. He tossed one of them to Frank who was attending to Lucy.

“Sorry about this, kate,” Riccardo said softly as he bent down beside her. “Now, open up like a good girl and let me fit this on you.”

She opened her mouth wide to accommodate the large red ball and obediently kept her head still is Riccardo fastened the straps about her head.

The hog-tied and squirming pussygirl duo proved an unexpected delight for the pony driver and the handful of visitors, but with an injured man and pony to take back to the lodge they soon quickly dispersed upon Frank’s promise that they could see the bundled duo later.

One by one the pony traps departed, Jessica and Debbie were the last to leave. Being hog-tied and ball-gagged was bad enough - although not an unusual predicament - but the infuriating vibrator, the sharp gravel beneath her, and being tied to Lucy alongside her, added to Kate’s irritation.

Lucy was furious, angrily pulling against her hog-tie as if she expected to break free, like the pussygirl equivalent of the Incredible Hulk. She especially hated having her elbows pinned together like that. The ropes held, and if anything became tighter because of her struggling. She soon descended into tears with a constant stream of dribble trailing from her ball-gag. Kate managed to take Lucy’s hand in hers to give what comfort she could, just as both of their vibrators sprung into life again.

Soon both pussygirls were panting and sweating, and concentrating only on the vibrators’ erratic activities within them. With their bodies abutted side by side each could feel the growing arousal of the other, which only served to increase her own. Lucy came first; emitting a strange growling stifled moan, the ropes and ball-gag suppressing the full expression of her orgasm like the wired-on cork of a champagne bottle.

By the time Lucy’s orgasm had subsided Kate was experiencing her own bitter tremors, cursing Riccardo as best she could with that infuriating rubber ball in her mouth.

ZEBRA ON THE LOOSE

The girl in the zebra costume continued trotting down the inclined track, not daring to look behind her. Each step was accompanied by an elegant high knee lift - the only way she knew how to move in her pony boots. It was perhaps fifteen minutes before she paused, turned around, and moved her head slowly in order to fully take in the view in her small circular eye holes. There was no sign that she was being followed. She could hear nothing but the pounding of her own heart. It seemed logical to keep following the track downhill, which she rightly deduced was away from The Lodge.

The track leveled and she slowed, catching the sound of running water, like a babbling stream. Stepping off the path she found it. A trickle of water fell from a large rock, like a waterfall or a shower. She stood under it, opening her mouth to let to cool water rush down her throat. It tasted like freedom!

Though feeling refreshed by the water, she knew she was still nothing more than a helpless ponygirl wondering in a hostile landscape. A helpless animal about to be hunted.

From the waterfall, she followed a track leading to a beach; a sandy beach so perfect she expected to see rich tourists lounging in the sun with five-star service waiting on their every whim. But the beach was eerily empty.

A cabin stood nearby, but she found it deserted; yet it was in immaculately kept order. The padded sleeping platforms in the cabin seemed to be luring her in, but she resisted the temptation to rest.

After more than a year as a human pony she had almost forgotten how to use her arms. Unless she was being groomed or having her costume changed her arms stayed firmed pinned behind her back. After the first few months as a ponygirl it no longer mattered. Somebody always took care of her feeding and her toilet for her. A ponygirl didn’t need hands, they kept telling her. Eventually she believed them.

Now, she realized she would have to look after herself. There was nobody to feed her or change her, or groom her, or remove her butt-tail so she could defecate.

She pulled and stretched her shoulders, fighting against the strap around her chest. The straps didn’t yield. They never did.

Looking hopefully around the cabin, she realized it contained nothing that could be used as a cutting tool. Her hands would remain locked behind her, but she was still optimistic. She’d soon be unlocked when somebody found her! She left the cabin and walked slowly along the beach.

Her attention switched to her butt-tail. She hated that big fat plug inside her. Knowing that it held her former crowning glory of long blonde hair it was a mental torment as well as a physical one. She squatted down so she could trap the hair between her ankles. Pressing her heels together, she tried to stand, but instead of pulling out the plug she just toppled over, getting a mouthful of sand for her trouble.

The butt plug with its wide insert and narrow neck, held its position. She needed to use more force. Squatting and gripping the hair between her heels again, she closed her eyes and braced herself. She counted out loud - three, two, one...

She stood up forcefully, crying with pain; a terrible pain so much worse that she expected. Something had torn inside her, though at least the plug was on the ground, soiled and bloody. She felt a warm trickle down one thigh. Her blood.

With a sorrowful glance at her long blonde hair laying discarded in the sand, the zebra girl moved on, unaware that she was leaving a speckled bloody trail behind her.

Further along the beach she came across some heavy wooden constructions. At first she though it might be an outdoor gymnasium but looking closer she noticed the heavy chains embedded into thick wooden pillars. These chains were designed for holding and punishing slavegirls, she was sure of it. With a cold shiver of fear she recalled a time when she was chained to a similar pillar for three straight days. Yet even that was preferable to being one of Cavallo’s ponygirls!

She caught sight of another wooden construction, similar to a door frame, but perhaps a little wider. Chains hung down from the top corners, perfect for holding up someone’s arms. But it was the structure at the bottom of the door frame that most attracted her attention. A phallic shape pointed upwards from the base. She looked upwards to the top of the door frame trying to figure out how it was used. A woman kneels there, has her hands chained above her, stretching towards the top corners of the doorframe, and as she sits, she is skewered by the steel phallus.

Not even the tingling pain of her anal tear could detract from the anticipation she felt at seeing that phallus. It had been nearly a year since anything larger than the tip of a finger had been in her vagina. Thoughts of her escape had been overtaken by thoughts of being fixed into that device. Having her arms held up in chains and feeling nine inches of thick knobbly steel inside her and pushing up against her cervix was all she could think about. It seemed like heaven.

There was a major obstacle to her pleasure - the small padlock used to keep her labia locked shut. It was only usually removed for cleaning and sanitary inspections. It never really bothered her, in fact she’d become used to its reassuring little weight between her legs. But now she was cursing that little padlock.

She knelt down to moisten the phallus with her mouth, but the T-bar piercing her tongue made it impossible for her to put her mouth fully around it. All she could do was dribble and use her lips on the phallus’s stainless steel dome. It tasted salty from the sea breeze.

She turned around, her pulse racing with sexual excitement. Then she backed up on her shins until she felt the phallus come into contact with her little padlock. Just the feel of something rubbing sensitively along her labia was an unspeakable joy. As her desperate masturbatory foreplay continued she pressed down harder and harder on the phallus, pretending that a lover was trying to force his way into her.

The labial padlock was now her worst enemy; proving highly effective at protecting her chastity. Her eyes welled with tears of frustration and misery as she repeatedly banged the padlock onto the phallus.

It was a long, exhausting and multi-orgasmic hour before Kate and Lucy were finally collected from their lonely outpost. Still comprehensively lashed together in their double hog-tie, they were lifted as one onto the pony trailer. A dark green cargo netting was thrown over them and secured to the edges of the trailer. Sometimes the handlers took a cruel pleasure in treating them as is they were nothing more than sacks of potatoes.

A half-hour journey brought them back to the courtyard of The Lodge. They were lifted down onto the block paved surface, still fixed in their double hog-tie. Activity was all around, pony boots trotting past in various directions, just inches away from their noses. They pleaded as sweetly as they could with whoever walked past, looking up with puppy-dog eyes and gently pleading into their ball-gags. Their efforts garnered no more than a few amused glances. Everybody, it seemed, had higher priorities.

Pussygirl Sara had a small table set up at the edge of the courtyard, and was busy serving glasses of iced lemonade from a large jug. Made with juicy lemons from the Island’s orchard, Kate and Lucy knew how refreshing it could be. Just the thought of it had them salivating. Sara had spotted them but could do nothing except flash a sympathetic frown in their direction, before quickly resuming her mandatory pussygirl smile. It seemed that everyone except the ponygirls were enjoying the refreshment, whilst Kate and Lucy had ‘lemonade denial’ added to their existing tortures.

One of the gardeners was watering the plant displays that lined the courtyard. He was just minding his own business dragging the long hose around the various displays, with only an occasional glance at the scenes of bondage and punishment surrounding him. Bruce went to him for a quiet word. He had a favour to ask and pointed to where Kate and Lucy lay. The gardener was happy to oblige and dragged the hose towards the hog-tied girls.

Kate and Lucy received the kind of soaking usually given to newly planted saplings. Chilly water splashed down their trussed-up bodies from head to toe until they were drenched like drowned rats. Both were left shivering from the shock of the water.

Surely everyone had had their amusement at her expense, Kate thought. She hoped that Bruce would now untie them, but watched dejectedly as he led ponygirls Diana and Melinda away.

He unlocked his ponies from the shaft’s securing points and led them to the whipping bar, occupying two of the six places on the worn wooden rail. Ponygirls Diana and Melinda bent forward so he could attach the bar’s retaining clips to their nipple and labia rings.

It was a routine punishment; the kind delivered every day for the ponygirls’ accumulated infringements. Today they earned five strokes of the cane each. No matter which one of the ponies was guilty of the errors, the punishment was delivered equally to both.

As routine as it may have been, the pain of each strike affirmed that it was most definitely a punishment. Bruce never rushed his delivery, particularly when there were guests watching in the courtyard. His slow delivery gave him adequate time to enjoy a cigarette or two as he worked. He was a strict adherent to the rule that if the lash didn’t connect well enough to reach the required pain threshold it should be repeated.

Having delivered the punishments, with only two retakes deemed necessary, Bruce unclipped his ponygirls from the bar. Ponygirl Diana looked at him with an expression of betrayal, not comprehending why her loyal and willing efforts should have earned such a callous beating. Ponygirl Melinda, generally considered the surliest of all the ponygirls, looked at Bruce with bitter resentment. He loved the way she performed so well as a ponygirl regardless of her apparent hatred of him. That was what ponygirl training was all about.

Only after Bruce had taken his ponygirls back to their quarters did he attend to Kate and Lucy. As pussygirls they were allowed a degree of freedom within the Lodge, so he had only to release them, and send them scurrying back to their respective quarters. Lucy had the humiliating task of cleaning up the implements that had tormented her and Kate for the last few hours. She disappeared into a back door of the Lodge, her arms loaded up with ropes, vibrators and ball-gags.

“What’s all the activity was for?” Kate enquired of pussygirl Sara, who was still busy at her lemonade stand.

“A hunting party,” Sara replied, unable to disguise her excitement. “Everybody’s going. The bitch Cavallo and other guests are leaving in the morning, and she wants her ponygirl found!”

After quickly downing a glass of lemonade Kate returned to the medical suite. She’d almost forgotten about the injured ponygirl and driver that would require her nursing skills. Doctor Schmidt was setting the driver’s broken arm just as Kate walked in.

“What kept you?” The doctor called out, without even glancing at her. “Get dressed for work.”

Kate breezed into the ward, bent down to kiss the Doctor’s shoes then went to the bathroom to get ready. There was no need to take a shower as she’d already had a thorough hose-down. After a quick blow with the hairdryer she applied makeup to her lips and eyes, then she plaited her straight blonde hair into a thick single tail, finally pinning on her starched nurse’s cap, just the way Doctor Schmidt liked it.

Minutes later Kate emerged in her uniform of white stockings and garters, and the tiniest white apron. Strappy high-heeled mules, also in white, gave her posture a sexy lift.

From the front view she was cute, the stocking tops and garter visible beneath the hem of the apron. And, of course, there was her smile.

From the side she was delicious with the roundness of her breasts pressing on the bib of the apron. Doctor Schmidt was sorry to observe their gradual diminishing now that Kate was off the lactation program.

Yet it was her rear view that received the most second glances. Her plaited ponytail swishing across her bare shoulder blades whilst the dangling ends of bow around her waist brushed provocatively from side to side over her peachy buttocks as she walked.

The doctor really liked his new nurse. Not only was she good-looking with an irrepressible smile and personality, she was also, to his surprise, a very good nurse.

Kate attended to the ponygirl laying out on the bed. Her arms had been unstrapped from her harness and laid at her sides, each connected to the bed frame with its built-in cuffs. The bit gag was still locked between her teeth. Her driver, sitting up on the other bed as the doctor plastered his arm, made it clear that that was how she must stay. He didn’t want the ponygirl running her mouth off to anyone.

The driver departed the medical suite with his plastered right arm in a sling. He had insisted on being treated before his ponygirl, which didn’t impress the Doctor.

While Dr Schmidt cut away the leather of the pony boot he allowed Kate to talk to the girl. It would distract her from the pain, he figured. The boot came off with a scream of pain from the girl, just as he predicted. Kate was holding the girl’s hand at the time but it didn’t return her squeeze.

“Now we can remove that bit.” The Doctor announced with a smile. Kate located the wing-nut in the girl’s mouth, turning it until it came off, thus allowing the bit’s removal.

The Doctor prodded around in the girl’s mouth with his fingers, inspecting the metal fixture. “Mien Gott! They remove two back teeth, screw the bar into the jaw, and then pierce the tongue with the other bar...

“It’s... it’s ingenious,” he proclaimed with admiration, “...but also rather cruel I think.”

Kate fingered the shiny black collar that made the ponygirl’s neck look so slim. It had to be constricting her, Kate thought. She lifted the girl’s head from the pillow and saw that zips on the hood and body suit terminated and locked together neatly under the back of the collar. Kate was disappointed. She wanted to see take the hood off to see what the girl’s face looked like. The doctor read Kate’s mind and passed her the cutters he’d used on the boot.

It took just a few moments to snip off the stretchy black and white hood. The girl was blonde haired, blue-eyed and beautiful. Though her hair was cut very short, there was no doubting that the long hair of the in-situ butt-tail had been the girl’s own. Kate learned something else too: The ponygirl’s arms were paralyzed by regular injections to render them flaccid and easy to manage, though the ponygirl conceded that it did make the harnessing less painful.

Doctor Schmidt said he’d be away ten minutes checking the X-rays and completing a couple of other tasks. All Kate had to do was keep the ponygirl company while he was gone. It wasn’t a difficult task. Her name was Amy, she said in answer to Kate’s first question.

“This is nice, Amy,” Kate said to the ponygirl, touching the gold labial padlock with genuine envy. She toyed with it, tugging gently, and realized that her actions were well-received by the ponygirl. “The bunnies here have to wear a little plastic chastity belt that covers the whole area, but with just a little padlock you can still have fun; you just can’t be penetrated. For example, I could put my finger inside you... like this.”

Kate started to do what every patient fantasizes a nurse doing. Just the lightest touch of her finger across Amy’s clitoris place the sexually deprived ponygirl at her mercy.

“Tell me when to stop.” Kate instructed her patient as she continued fingering the ever moistening folds. For the next ten minutes the girl cried out many things but stop wasn’t one of them.

AN IMPORTANT MEETING

“Don’t you have them fitted with trackers?”

“NO!” Madame Cavallo shouted back. “How the hell was I supposed to know you’d be releasing her into the wild? No slave has ever or will ever escape from my estate, so why should I fit them with tracking devices?”

The emergency meeting in the Lodge boardroom was getting nowhere. The ponygirl competition had become a fiasco. A driver with a broken arm, a ponygirl with a broken ankle, another ponygirl missing, all thanks to Riccardo and Kate. At least that was how Cavallo and a few other visitors saw it.

The meeting agreed to award the overall ponygirl winner’s prize to Cavallo’s black ponygirls, but that only went a small way to assuaging the woman’s anger. The fact that Riccardo stopped racing in order to aid her other pair was not viewed with great sympathy considering the mess-up that it had caused.

Other matters soon found themselves on the ever-widening agenda of the meeting. First there was the armless girl in Thailand, the one Master Alex had set off to interview. News of the girl had spread fast within the association. Everyone knew about her rabbit tattoo, and despite their denials, the Rabbit Island management could not shake off the insinuations.

And then there was the escapee - that troublesome bunny Nancy. Everybody assumed she had reached the safety of the American consulate, and had set in chain a sequence of events that would bring major problems to Rabbit Island.

There was Karen Galtz also, the journalist who had inadvertently provided Nancy’s means of escape. She was safely locked in the cells now, but how many people did she tell before reaching the island? Rabbit Island’s identity had been blown open. They were increasingly convinced of it.

Madame Cavallo and two other estate owners tabled a motion that Rabbit Island be temporarily shut down to protect the integrity of the wider association. It was due for a refurbishment in six months anyway, it was simply a matter of bringing forward the date. While other association members are here, they argued, why not reallocate the Rabbit Island slaves and let them leave with the temporary owners?

Without Alex to defend their corner, the other Rabbit Island board members felt powerless against the majority view of the association. It was suggested a vote be taken the following morning - a vote to determine whether Rabbit Island should be shut down with immediate effect.

DOUBLE HARNESSING

There was one thing all ponygirls hated, that was being harnessed-up twice in the same day. Two sessions of strapping, binding, locking and being threaded with reins; two sets of cleaning, and two sets of routine punishments. It was enough to take the spring out of a ponygirl’s stride, except that she dared not, for fear of further punishment.

Late in the afternoon, and long after the disastrous cross-country race had finished, Jessica and Debbie were relaxing in the pony quarters. Having already bathed, they sat in unashamed nakedness at the large table, polishing their leather harnesses and boots and chatting about the events of the day; the escaped ponygirl, theirs and Kate’s subsequent, totally unjustified, punishment.

They heard the call on the tannoy, “Ten minutes to harness!” Both cursed loudly.

The Masters had decided to organize a posse to round up Cavallo’s missing ponygirl. Every available ponygirl was required for duty, buckled and clipped to the shafts of their traps. Soon three pairs of Rabbit Island ponygirls were trotting away from the Lodge to the far corners of the island.

Somehow, despite their tiredness, Jessica and Debbie managed to pull their trap with their usual well-drilled and highly regulated trot. It helped that their bodies were controlled not by their own minds but by Riccardo, their driver. With his expert use of the reins and judicious application of the whipper he knew how to squeeze every last drop of effort from them. Never was the sporting cliché of giving 110% more apt.

Jessica’s leather-bound body was aching as she puffed her way up another long slope. Any slacking on her part would bring punishment, not just for her but equally to Debbie, harnessed at her left hand side. Jessica’s teeth clamped down hard onto the bridle’s rubber bit as the whipper continued its stinging assault on her red-raw buttocks.

Alongside Riccardo sat Vince, rifle in hand, his eagle-eyes scanning the horizon in search of his prey. He cared little for the view six feet ahead of him, Jessica and Debbie’s delectable strapped up bodies. After two years on Rabbit Island the sight had become over-familiar.

Vince would just as soon be riding an all-terrain quad bike, while Riccardo much preferred the eco-friendly alternative. He was happy to have left the ugly roar of engines behind him for the gentle rhythm sound of bells on the ponygirls’ boots. To him, that epitomized Rabbit Island.

He liked how his ponygirls puffed and panted and strained every sinew for him. Even though the ponygirls endured the strict bondage of their harnesses and received the constant attention of the whip, it still felt like he and the ponies were a team, loyal and committed, sharing success and failure alike.

Sometimes, particularly when he was the only rider on the pony-trap’s bench seat it seemed that Jessica and Debbie actually enjoyed their running; driven on, not just his whipping but by their own need to expend their pent-up energy. (Dr. Schmidt’s steroid and stimulant regime had much to do with that.) But at this moment it was very different, pulling two men and a heavily laden trap at the end of a long day. Jessica and Debbie wouldn’t be making any progress without Riccardo’s insistent driving. There was no willingness on their part, but neither was there any rebellion. Riccardo whipped, and somehow they responded, even though at that moment they hated him for his cruelty.

Things improved as they descended the winding trail leading to one of the beach cabins. The whipping finally ceased.as they coasted home, halting when the gravel trail turned abruptly to beach sand. Jessica and Debbie were trying to get their breath back, panting and groaning, bending forward as much as their connecting straps permitted.

The ponygirls had mixed feelings about what Riccardo did next. He unlocked the small padlocks attaching the reins to their nipple rings, and began to unthread them from the steel rings in their labia. They were staying a while, that much was obvious, and the sights and sounds of other people intimated that some were staying the night.

Clipping a chain to Jessica’s left and Debbie’s right nipple rings Riccardo led his ponygirls onto the beach. It was hard to walk in the sand wearing their thick heel-less pony-boots, so their progress was cautious and stumbling. They rounded the wooden cabin where Jessica had lived when she first came to the island.

Four other ponygirls were already corraled around a palm tree; joined by a thin chain that passed loosely through each of their nipple rings. Jessica and Debbie joined their erotic chain gang, gratefully falling to their knees amongst the exposed roots of the palm. Nods and grunts passed between them. A bit-gag doesn’t actually do much to prevent conversation, but it wasn’t permitted, as as a matter of habit they seldom bothered, knowing they could talk freely back at the pony quarters. For now they were glad to sit down and rest their tired legs.

Jessica gazed out at the warm blue sea; so inviting, the shish sound of the tide on the sand bringing back pleasant memories. She became nostalgic for those first few months on the island, when she was called a bunny; a general-purpose sex-slave and plaything. When she wasn’t required at the Lodge the so-called bunnies spent their days by themselves in the demi-paradise of this beach. They lived with hands behind them in handcuffs, and a chain connecting the cuffs to the back of a leather collar. Despite the muscle aching and sheer inconvenience of the semi-permanent bondage, that era still seemed like luxury. It was amazing, the fun that she and seven other chained girls could have when left to their own devices. Jessica learned a lot!

While the ponygirls rested, some falling asleep on top of others, activities continued around the beach cabin. A large fire was lit, and food prepared. Hunter’s Rabbit was the appropriate supper dish, everything sourced locally. Pussygirl Kate skinned the rabbits while pussygirl Lucy prepared the tomatoes, mushrooms and onions.

Both pussygirls wielded sharp kitchen knives, glinting in the late afternoon sun as they cut and chopped. It scarcely occured to them the knives could be used against their captors. There were just too many men, and most of them carried firearms; so there could only be one outcome of a pussygirl rebellion. It wouldn’t happen; they knew it and the men knew it.

The was a murmur of excitement as the news spread. Even the chained ring of ponygirls had picked up on it The missing ponygirl’s tail had been found nearby. Spots of blood had laid a trail that some hunters were currently following. They were optimistic that the escapee would soon be recaptured, trussed up in a suitably humiliating fashion, to become the focal point of the evening’s festivities. It wouldn’t just be a punishment for the escapee but would serve as a strong warning for the other ponygirls.

Darkness fell quickly, as it always did in these tropical climes. The hunters returned empty-handed and mystified. The trail of blood and her hoof prints led to the water’s edge then disappeared as if she had swam off. Despite their scouring of the coast, no further sign could be found.

The dejected hunters set to work on the six ponygirls, unlocking their circle and arranging them side-by-side. They were made to kneel, bent over a primitive low wooden bench on which their bellies rested. Pony-booted ankles were lashed to the ankles of the pony either side of her, keeping knees well apart. Their tails, still firmly plugged in their asses brushed the sand between their knees. The chain threaded through all their nipple rings was still connecting them, obliging each to stay leaning forward, least she tug on her neighbors. Jessica found the clinking, jarring movements as the small chain links passed through her nipple rings both comforting and stimulating, knowing that her sister ponygirls were the cause of the sensation. It’s good to feel... connected.

Supper was served by the light of flaming torches and several small fires. Kate and Lucy performed their waitress functions diligently, trying not to attract attention to themselves. Pretty and blonde, and the only females that weren’t bound up, it was an impossible task. Ten irritable and frustrated men ate their food, disappointed not to have captured the runaway ponygirl. On Rabbit Island there was always a woman to take out your frustrations on. Kate and Lucy, in their sexy white corset dresses, whilst serving the food, were beginning to attract lingering and lustful glances.

A distraction came when people were spotted approaching along the beach; half a dozen dark silhouettes shuffling through the sand.

“That must be dessert.” One of the men joked.

He was right, in a way. Erik, the Lodge’s slave coordinator, arrived with five naked females in tow. Each had her wrists locked behind her. A long chain to their side connected them, keeping them in an orderly line. Each woman wore a small backpack, which contained the implements of her upcoming torments.

“Did someone order five bunnies?” Erik enquired, feigning innocence.

“Mine’s the pepperoni!” Vince joked.

“Everything you need is in their back packs,” Erik explained. “A hammer and wooden stakes, clothespins, beanbags, clamps, whips, various gags, vibrators, plugs, lubricant, and lots of rope.”

He started removing the chains from his naked slaves, whilst others were already opening the backpacks, disgorging their contents onto the sand with the eagerness of kids at Christmas.

Kate and Lucy cleared away the plastic plates and cutlery, glancing across to where the newly arrived bunnies were being divested of the chains and backpacks. Each found herself in the strong grip of a man. One cuff was removed from a wrist, the backpack slipped off her shoulders, then the cuff was clicked down on her wrist again.

The bunnies were never given a moment’s freedom from bondage. It was a badge of honor to be considered a security risk; unlike the pussygirls, who had relinquished all self-respect in consorting with their captors. Weak-willed, treacherous blondes! Kate couldn’t argue with her former friends’ assessment, she felt guilty about it. However, always the pragmatist, she was happy with her role as a pussygirl and especially happy with her nursing responsibilities.

Two men were at work in a flat area of sand. The heavy clop of mallets against wooden stakes sounded like a row of tents were being laid out. To the long-suffering bunnies, that familiar sound had a different meaning; it signified they would soon be feeling the strain of outstretched limbs.

One by one the five naked bunnies were uncuffed and rearranged on the sand. First up was Rachel, the leggy, blonde Texan. Vince and another man knotted ropes around each slim wrist and ankle. Then, with a man escorting her at each elbow, she was led to the campsite-that-wasn’t.

“You know the routine, babe.” Vince said.

Rachel dropped sullenly to the sand within a rectangle of wooden stakes. Without prompting, she laid back and pointed her hands and feet towards the four corners, stretching her fingers to within six inches of the stakes. Vince and Tony fixed Rachel’s limbs to the four stakes; first tying her wrists, then pulling a leg each, towards its respective stake, hauling on the rope as if securing cargo, to leave Rachel as taut as a bowstring and struggling for breath within her flattened rib cage.

The unfairness of her treatment over the last week was eating into her soul. Why couldn’t they just treat her like the other bunnies, she lamented. If only she could be treated like an ordinary bunny it wouldn’t be so bad.

Three other bunnies soon joined Rachel and Karen in the sand. Those on either side of Rachel were fixed on the opposite direction, so their ankles tied to the same stakes as Rachel’s wrists.

Being spread-eagled between four points was not enough for what the men had in mind. Additional ropes were tied between the adjacent elbows and knees of neighboring bunnies. Any movement or struggle by one would transmit to her neighbors.

Rachel was grinding her ass into the coarse sand, unable to keep from writhing, as she acclimatized to her stretched-out limbs. There was something primeval and animalistic about being tied like this, like an insect trapped in a giant spider’s web.

In common with other residents on Rabbit Island, Rachel had a predilection for bondage and masochism long before her arrival, in fact for all her sexually-active life. Her husband, a crook masquerading as a businessman, didn’t share her tastes. He wanted a beautiful blonde trophy wife. She wanted a man to call Master; she wanted to be lashed to the bedposts and brutally taken; she wanted a leather collar. He thought she was sick in the head and resolved to be rid of her. It came as a pleasant surprise to discover how easy it was to exchange her for $150,000 in negotiable bonds. The kidnappers took care of everything after just one phone call! As the buyer requested he prepared a list of her sexual preferences (or perversions as he saw them).

Though Rachel was a slave, to be used for the gratification of others, the Rabbit Island administration ensured that a woman’s own needs (as detailed on Rachel’s list) would not be neglected. On Rabbit Island it’s amazing how often the latter coincides with the former.

Standing at the far end of the row of spread-eagled bunnies, a player lobbed his first beanbag. It traveled the full length of the pitch, and landed heavily onto Rachel’s belly. She squealed at the shock of the impact, its suddenness was far worse than the pain. The blindfold was an unnecessary cruelty. Butt unnecessary cruelties are much more fun than necessary cruelties!

Further throws followed as each player tried for a full-house - a beanbag on each of five nervous straining bellies. Once all the beanbags were thrown the players move between the bunnies, inspecting the positions. If you’ve landed on a bunny then you’re entitled to clip a clothespin onto one of her nipples.

The players moved to the other end of the row and threw again with the same objective. It resulted in clothespins being attached onto the bunny’s other nipple.

Rachel’s swollen nipples each sported a clothespin, ready for the second (and much harsher) part of the game. This time a player has to dislodge his opponent’s clothespins for the bunnies’ nipples by aiming the beanbag straight at the breast. Unlike the careful underarm lobs employed in the first stage of the game, this dislodging stage required a much more vigorous technique.

Rachel yelped as she felt a sudden and painful hit of a beanbag on the side of her breast. It missed the clothespin completely. That was bad news, as she would have to endure another attempt.

The next throw was a hit, sending the clothespin flying off another bunny’s nipple, clicking in the air. The bunny cried out with pain while the thrower gave a juvenile whoop of triumph.

For the likes of Rachel, blindfolded, nipples clamped with clothespins and stretched out on the sand, it wasn’t such a bad way of spending a couple of hours.

KATE’S EMBARRASSMENT

While further games of bunny bags took place, the non-players continued drinking beer and enjoying the view, not of the setting sun over a tropical blue sea, but of the ponygirls, six of them kneeling in a row, with their bellies resting across a low wooden bench. Riccardo attended to the campfire, toasting marshmallows, heating up the brands and regaling the visitors with interesting tales of Rabbit Island life.

“The ponies are getting restless,” someone observed. That much was true. They’d been worked hard all day, and were distressed (actually very annoyed!) to find themselves still in harness and a long way from the comfort of their pony quarters.

The row of muscular yet still feminine asses, each accessorized with their pony tail-plugs, was exercising the thoughts of several men.

“Riccardo. These ponygirls...” An Australian visitor commented, pointing towards them with a beer-bottle wielding hand, “Is it right, we’re not allowed to fuck ‘em?”

“That’s right. Not just the visitors, the same applies to all the staff. When they’re not dressed as ponies, the girls are fair game, but never when in harness. They live by rules and discipline, we don’t want to confuse the poor things, do we?”

Riccardo made the men laugh, just as he intended, though the interest of a couple of men was more physical than intellectual. That wasn’t surprising, the visual eroticism of the ponygirls was expressly designed to stimulate their desire, whilst the don’t-fuck-the-ponygirls rule ensured that there was always a sexual tension as befitted such a place as Rabbit Island.

“And what about you Riccardo? You mean you’ve never dipped into them when they’re all strapped up?” the Australian asked.

Riccardo’s pride was unmistakeable. Kate listened intently, almost jealously, as she kept a watch on the foil-covered baked potatoes in the fire. Riccardo’s descriptions made the ponygirl sound like a noble calling, unlike her own role, as a semi-consensual slut with a sideline in nursing.

“I remember you, blondie,” said the Australian. It took a moment before Kate realized he was talking to her; all pussygirls were blonde. Kate looked up from the fire into his blue eyes. Yes, it was definitely her he was talking to. Remembered her from where, she wondered? She’d hardly managed to keep a low profile in the last week. Everything she did seem to attract attention, usually of the wrong kind.

“It was that game where you had to wear the strap-on dildo,” he explained.

Kate wilted with embarrassment. Why did people have to constantly mention that!

“Yeah, that’s right. You had your hands tied behind your back and had to use the strap-on dildo on the row of girls who were bent over a rail.”

“Oh yes, I remember,” said Kate, as if she had almost forgotten one of the most embarrassing moments of her life.

“You can to redeem yourself tonight,” the Aussie guest said, with a gesture towards the conveniently presented asses of the ponygirls. He looked over towards Riccardo for approval.

Riccardo gave a latin shrug. He wasn’t aware the pussygirls were forbidden for interfering with the ponygirls. Men yes, but not pussygirls. Besides, it may provide a little amusement for the guests. They pay a lot of money to be here, after all. He consulted with Frank, who was normally a stickler for rules, and he was in favor. Before Kate knew what was happening, somebody had retrieved a strap-on dildo harness.

“Strip, bitch!” commanded Frank.

Pussygirl Lucy helped to unlace the back of Kate’s dress.

Refusal was not an option for Kate. She’d be slapped in permanent cuffs, severely punished, and dispatched to the cells in an instant. Her white dress fell slipped down her slim and tanned frame to the sand, leaving her clad in white stockings and basque, the lick of flame from the camp fire providing a seductive red and gold illumination.

Frank handed Lucy the dildo harness to be fitted around Kate’s belly. She fixed the black straps tightly around her colleague’s waist, pulling the retaining strap up between her legs, pulling tightly up the crack between Kate’s buttocks, then buckled it in the small of Kate’s back. The men meanwhile were chuckling into their beer. It was difficult to imagine a less butch woman than Kate. Nor could they imagine anyone who could look so cute with a nine inch erection protruding from her sex. “Now that’s what I call penis envy!” the Aussie joked.

Kate’s eyes flicked nervously between the men, looking for an ally. “You want me to...”

“Yep. Take your pick. You’ve six ponygirls to choose from.”

“No. Wait!” Riccardo interjected, holding up a pack of playing cards. “Let’s make this more interesting. We can each draw a card in turn. If it’s between an ace and a six, then that determines which ponygirl gets kate’s attention. The cute-ass on at the far left is the ace. Then two, there, four and so on, he said pointing a finger at each ponygirl.

“If the card drawn is red, pussygirl kate has to fuck her with the dildo. If it is a black card she spanks her. Oh, and I’m also putting some forfeit cards in the deck, just for a little fun. If you draw one of those you must do what the card says. Gentlemen. Does everyone agree?”

They cheerfully assented, chuckling and clapping their hands at the possibilities. Riccardo quickly scrawled some forfeits on a few of the cards and shuffled the deck.

He handed the deck to one of the visitors. The man turned it over and gleefully showed the card to the others. “Three of Spades!”

“OK, kate. that’s ten hits of the paddle for ponygirl debbie.” Riccardo instructed. “Off you go!”

Debbie was gasping even before the first slap. Kneeling with her ankles lashed to Jessica on one side and Diana on the other, she could do nothing to avoid Kate’s surprisingly hard strokes. The rubber bit between her teeth couldn’t silence Debbie’s angry expletives. Riccardo made a mental note to punish her ‘vocalizing’ in the morning.

The next visitor drew a card. He was the young man who’d worked on Kate in the Torture Garden. She recognized him. He was a good looking guy she thought at the time, with his neatly cut fair hair, and a nice intelligent face.

He seemed shocked. After cajoling from the other men, he read the card out loud. “Kneel down. Someone will tie your hands. You will suck somebody’s cock.”

He threw down the card, and managed a smile, even though horrified by the prospect of his impending humiliation. He knelt, and allowed his hands to be bound with a short length of leather cord. It was a derisory, escapable tie compared to the strict bondage inflicted on the bunnies. Men are such wimps, Kate thought, what’s the big deal about having your hands tied and giving someone a blow-job?

“So! Who’s it to be?” he asked nervously, waiting for one of his male companions to stand up.

Kate stepped towards him, her virile strapped-on erection leading the way. The man looked up at the vision coming towards him, dressed only in her white stockings and a sexy basque. Even her inelegant shuffle through the sand didn’t detract from the beguiling image.

“Open wide!” Kate teased, as the head of her cock bobbed towards his nervously licking lips. She liked this; a good-looking guy kneeling in the sand in front of her. It was unusual, this role reversal. She felt a delicious rush of power, particularly on noticing the nervous gulp in his throat as he gazed up at her with a mixture of adoration and fear.

Just a couple of days earlier this same man had delighted in tormenting Kate’s strung-up body in the Torture Garden. Now he adoration took an entirely different form. When his lips encircled the dildo, Kate pulled the back of his head onto it. He coughed as it struck the back of his throat.

“Suck it hard boy!” Kate commanded, before realizing her performance was putting her on dangerous ground. The base of the dildo banged insistently against her sex as the man showed a surprising degree of passion. His lips pushed hopelessly towards the unattainable goal - her sweet, shaved pussy.

Another card was drawn the pack, even while Kate’s reverse fellatio continued.

“The four of hearts,” the man announced, holding up the card for all to see. It was exactly what the men were waiting for, the reason for Kate’s strap-on dildo.

“Kate!” Riccardo said, calling her performance to the end. “Number four. Fuck her!”

Kate turned around to face the row of ponygirls’ asses and counted along from the left. Melinda, Diana, Debbie...Jessica!

Riccardo beamed. This would be fun, he thought. “Well, get on with it, kate!” He called out impatiently as the pussygirl studied her best friend’s harnessed-up body, planning her assault.

Jessica’s ass swayed and circled as Kate approached. She knelt down in the V created by Jessica’s kneeling legs, and prepared to impale her. Always a secret admirer of ponygirl harnessing, Kate ran her hands over Jessica’s body, her fingertips slipping beneath the straps and Jessica’s hot skin. The ponygirl’s hands, strapped, buckled and locked fast to the waist belt behind her, formed into useless fists by the laced up suede covers, were a particular fascination for Kate. They made a good gripping point as well, like the horn of a saddle. Kate leant fully forward so her body was in contact with Jessica’s.

“Um, sorry about this Jessi,” Kate whispered into her friend’s ear. Jessica nodded, just like ponies do, and made a sound from behind her rubber bit. Giving consent perhaps?

Kate dug her fingernails into Jessica’s buttocks, knowing how she liked it. She clawed harder, almost viciously, as if trying to draw blood. Her hands explored further, found Jessica’s breasts and squeezed with the same claw-like action. Jessica moaned; then moaned louder as Kate’s fingers played with the nipple rings. Kate pulled hard on the chain threaded through them, forgetting that it was also threaded through the neighboring ponygirls’ nipples. A chorus of irritation went up around her, much to the amusement of the rapt audience of men behind her.

Jessica wanted it, Kate was sure of that. She pulled her hips back, lifted Jessica’s tale with one hand, held the dildo with the other, then thrust it fully into Jessica’s sex. The ponygirl yelled into her bit as the top of the dildo contacted with her cervix. With her ankles tied to the ponygirl on either side of her and her nipple rings threaded with a securing chain, Jessica was powerless to resist being raped by her best friend. Her only mercy was facing into the darkness of the forest, the leather blinkers on her eyes providing a physical and emotional privacy. She could feel Kate’s warm body on her back and kisses on her shoulder and sensed her passion.

Jessica fought against her straps, frustrated that with her hands bound closed into fists, she could not even return Kate’s affection with so much as a fingertip. All she could offer was a crude and rhythm grunt every time Kate thrusted into her.

Two men suddenly stood up. They could take no more, so they ran over to join the game of bunny bags. Each quickly chose a spread-eagled bunny, dropped their shorts, and fell on top of her. The two players stood back and chuckled at the pitch invasion. Judging by the invaders’ urgency, they sensed their game wouldn’t be held up for very long.

Rachel was one of those two targets, her long cascading blonde hair, spread out on the sand, and her maternal breasts pulling one of the desperate men onto her like a magnet.

For Rachel, who’s predilection for the tug and stretch of a spread-eagle tie, there was something that made it even better still. The man duly obliged, slipping his erection slowly into her, and letting her body take the full weight of his muscular torso. When he thrusted, Rachel’s body was jolted up the sand until it was halted by the bands of rope around her ankles. She was in the middle of a tug-of-war, the man’s penis pushing, her ankles ropes restraining and resisting.

The man ejaculated. Rachel cursed him for coming to soon, leaving her hopelessly worked up, just a dozen thrusts away from her own pleasure. The game of bunny bags continued, with two highly agitated bunnies among the targets.

Kate, meanwhile, thought Jessica was responding well to her love-making, hoping also that all parties would be satisfied with her performance. Someone pulled her backwards; a hand grabbing the back of her belt. “I haven’t made her cum yet,” Kate protested, while Jessica cried out in frustration when she felt the dildo vacating her hot pussy. With her face unseen by the men, Jessica sobbed bitterly at the last-minute denial of her small pleasure.

More cards were drawn and Kate was required to paddle another ponygirl.

Caught in the middle between the victim and the perpetrator, she was trapped and bewildered, becoming her tormentors’ tool and plaything. A protest would only bring punishment more harsh than ponygirls or bunnies were likely to receive. That’s what happens when, on becoming a pussygirl, you sell your soul to the devil. Kate could tell that the ponygirls despised her; perhaps even Jessica did too, and now she despised herself.

Ponygirl Sandra’s buttocks seemed to shift nervously in anticipation, bracing herself for the first strike of the paddle. Kate dutifully delivered the blows, each producing a hollow wop and an equivalent ponygirl bit-mouthed grunt, but by then it was hurting Kate more than the ponygirl.

Another card was drawn. The man read it aloud. “Remove one of the ponygirls’ tail-plugs and lick it!” He fell backwards from his seated position onto the sand, his eyes tightly closed in horror. “No. You can’t be serious!”

“Cheer up. You get to choose which one!” said Riccardo.

The man flicked the card back to Riccardo, stood up and walked purposefully towards the row of ponygirls. Each of the ponies’ knees were spread and secured so their tails sprouted from their asses, dropping straight to the sand. They seemed so natural, like real tails, a impression reinforced by the ponygirls never being seen in public without them.

It was a tough decision, those six rumps, some reddened from the paddle, all seemed to be calling him, but he settled for number two. Diana. He liked the little wiggle of her butt, which was slimmer, and a little more delicate than the other ponies; but would that make it taste any better?

He couldn’t resist running his hands over the soft curves of her buttocks, before gripping the tail hair near the base. He gave a little tug but the tail was as firmly attached to the pony’s body as if it were her own.

Riccardo explained about the tail locking system. “There’s an air valve inside her rectum. You’ll have to deflate that first. Press your thumb on the bulb hidden at the base of the tail.”

The man did as instructed.

“Now pull it out slowly.”

The tail’s plug emerged slowly at first, then suddenly plopped free from between Diana’s trim buttocks. The other men edged closer for a better look. Diana’s fecal matter had never had so much attention.

He held up the butt-plug, three inches long, narrow and ivory in colour except for a smear of her faeces. Not wanting to dwell on it, the visitor gave it a single tentative lick with a look of undisguised disgust writ across his face. Riccardo instructed him to replace it, and still with his face contorted like a gargoyle, he screwed it back into Diana’s ass as if replacing the cork in a wine bottle. He yelled out for a beer, which he thought his bravery richly deserved.

Diana felt the reassuring touch of Bruce, her driver. He’d come over to check her tail was properly inserted. He squeezed the little bulb-pump between thumb and forefinger and shea felt its slow expansion within her rectum as it locked into place. She felt properly dressed again. After giving a paternal slap on her butt Bruce left to return to his beer and the camp fire. Diana swayed her hips and felt the familiar tickle of the ponytail hair brushing against her inner thighs. She liked the sensual feel of it, and even the buttplug itself she really didn’t mind. It’s amazing what a ponygirl can come to accept given the correct training.

Kate was tired of being the instrument of men’s sadism; beating and raping other women, while men laughed, drunk their beer and toasted their marshmallows. Being a figure of ridicule was worse than being sexually used. Her angry glare at them, hands on hips and obscenely large dildo pointing forward, merely amused them further. She glanced across to the five bunnies spread-eagled on the sand, and envied them. At least they still had some dignity!

Her ordeal ended when Doctor Schmidt, her boss, arrived on the scene. The brands in the fire were hot and ready

RABBIT BRANDING

Jessica believed Master Alex when he told her she would never be branded. When she was tied up in his bedroom for his leisurely bondage sessions, he’d said exactly that on several occasions. Piercings? yes. Tattoos? Yes, though not to large; but NOT the permanence of branding. It now seems he lied, or perhaps was not as influential as he thought, and she hoped, he was.

Vince stood up to address the gathering.

“In accordance with this morning’s committee resolution, all ponygirls on the Island are to be branded to bring them into line with other parts of our association,” he announced. “Now you can witness and participate in the rare spectacle of a complete stable of ponygirls receiving the Rabbit Island brand.”

“No!” Came a shout from one of the ponygirls. The bit in her mouth was no obstacle to basic speech. Protests from the others soon followed together with a token struggle and shake of their heads.

“I didn’t know ponies could speak.” One of the visitors joked.

“They’ll wish they hadn’t!” Bruce replied with a growl.

Melinda and Diana were first to have the small rabbit symbol seared onto the lower part of the left buttock. The acrid smell of seared flesh wafted in the air. It left them subdued and tearful, more than fifty harsh strokes would have done.

Debbie required the weight of a man standing on the back of each calf whilst another gripped her head before she would hold still enough to receive her brand.

Seeing Debbie’s protests and struggles amounting to nothing left Jessica feeling defeated even before the brander had reached her. She felt the bare knees of a man pressing hard against both ears, clamping her head as if in a vice.

“Keep still!” A man yelled, infuriated with Jessica’s last gasp resistance. There was a tense pause as the brand was reheated to its red hot state, with Jessica’s despairing whimper the only sound heard. Then she felt a scalding, searing pain in her left buttock, which turned her whimper to a muffled scream. Though she had suffered countless painful moments on Rabbit Island, no other pain carried with it such significance. Only cattle are branded, she thought, not people! Not women who have any hope or expectation of freedom.

The branding session was soon completed, though the smell of the burning and the cries of the ponygirls seemed to linger in the air. A tot of fine cognac suited the moment perfectly The branding iron was cooled, cleaned and replaced in its teak box, while six kneeling women, trussed in leather, contemplated their new status. For Jessica, Master Alex’s promises were shown to be hollow and worthless. He said that in two years she would be free, and she believed him! The burning of the brand was nothing compared to the despair that had risen within her.

There wasn’t much fun to be had from sobbing self-pitying ponygirls, so the men relocated the few yards along the beach to watch the final of the bunny bags competition.

Any sense of the erotic in a ponygirl is dissipated when one of them has to spend the night in harness. The ponygirls were eventually freed from their kneeling positions, in which they received the brand. They were moved into a circle around the same tree as earlier, and the long chain passing through all their nipple rings had its ends locked together. One small mercy was that their wrists were released from behind their backs, though they remained laced within their suede confines holding them into fists, good for sparring, but nothing else. Their bits and bridles were also removed, then blankets were laid out so the ponygirls could sleep with a degree of comfort. There was a rule stating that ponygirls were to sleep laying flat, hands free and without gags/bits etc. These conditions had thus been met.

Jessica stared forlornly at her nipples, pawing at them with her suede-mitted hands. No longer were they the sensual pleasure receptors of her youth, these had grown large, strong and supple, able to withstand being skewered by a thick metal ring without pain. She wondered how anyone could find such protrusions remotely erotic. For a ponygirl they were regarded primarily as securing and controlling points. That night her chained nipple rings were all that stood between her and freedom, yet it was enough.

The band-aid Master Alex put on her breast yesterday was starting to itch. She pawed at it with her suede-bound fist trying without success to dislodge it.

“You want me to take it off?” Debbie asked.

“Please, Debs.”

Debbie’s hands were no more able to remove the band-aid than Jessica’s. Smiling coyly, Debbie leant forward and placed her mouth over the band-aid. WIth her mouth wide open but clamped to Jessica’s breast like a limpit Debbie’s teeth gradually found a purchase into Jessica’s breast flesh. After much biting, her teeth were beneath the edge of the band-aid. Gripping an edge between her teeth Debbie pulled, taking pleasure in ripping of the band-aid. The simple pleasures of life never change, such as ripping off somebody elses band-aid!

“It’s an A,” Debbie observed, slightly surprised, “definitely an A.”

They both knew what it signified. Jessica’s eyes welled with tears. A man had carved his initial in her flesh! It was personal, just as the brand, was cruelly impersonal.

“The cut will fade, but this brand will scar me forever. We’re just cattle now.” Jessica stated morosely.

“It hasn’t changed a thing,” Debbie whispered to her.

“I know you’re right Debs, but I hate the thought of it.” Jessica whispered back. “This brand seems so final. We’ve stepped down a rung on the evolutionary ladder. I’ve kept on believing that one day I’d be free again, but this brand says that I’m wrong.” Jessica was despondent as if all hope was now lost.

It was easier for Debbie to cope. She never expected to be free. She’d seen first hand how easily sex-slaves can be transported all over the world with no chance of detection or escape. She’d long ago settled for mere survival. Working as a ponygirl on Rabbit Island had been a big improvement on her previous slave location. Two years in quite literally a dungeon in an east European castle. On Rabbit Island there were better treatment, better food, better sex, and better weather too! If she could perform well as a ponygirl, and in a man’s bed on occasions too, then she figured on being safe on Rabbit Island for the next few years. Beyond that, she tried not to contemplate. She’s only a ponygirl after all, and ponies don’t think too deeply, do they?

The six ponygirls slept in their enforced circle around the palm tree, using blankets and each other for their bedding.

Kate wasn’t sleeping so well. They’d tied her left wrist to left ankle, and right wrist to right ankle, to leave her in a kind of sitting position. The relative freedom of being tied thus, presented her as a flexible plaything, one that could be dragged, rolled, upended, and taken in any number of positions. When most of those positions had been exhausted, the men headed for the padded bedding of the adjacent beach cabin.

With the meat cooked and ready, Kate saw the men returning, though still a long way in the distance. Just enough time to cook the eggs!

Riccardo watched the gradual approach of half a dozen men, as they turned from hazy specks half a mile away, into distinct outlines. He saw they were carrying something, then realized it was a somebody. A wooden pole was supported between two men’s shoulders, one man six feet in front of the other. Slung belly-down between them with her hands and feet tied to the pole was the unmistakeable figure of the zebra-costumed ponygirl.

She didn't have much fight in her, Riccardo observed, as they came within fifty yards of the came. The men who carried and accompanied her walked in ominous silence. They lowered her body to the sand about twenty yards away from the campsite.

“We found her at the water’s edge,” Vince said to Riccardo. “She must have drowned. She didn’t stand a chance with her arms pinned behind her like that.

Kate’s nursing instinct took over as she ran to the body, but there was nothing to be done. “She’s been dead for hours.” Kate informed Lucy, who had gone pale with shock.

Nobody had an appetite for breakfast; they just drank coffee, and muttered about whether it had been suicide or an accident. Riccardo and Kate, the ones who freed her from the pony trap the previous day, took it particularly badly, finding comfort in each other in a sad embrace.

It was decided to bury the girl deep within the tropical palms. She was cut from all her bondage, the humiliating zebra suit having to be sliced carefully away from her cold flesh, so that she could rest; finally free. Only her labial padlock remained. Its staple passing through her nether lips would forever to guard her sex from penetration.

Vince untied Rachel and the other bunnies who’d spent the whole night and much of the morning staked out on the beach. He carefully tied each one’s hands behind her back, then with another rope linked the five together in a line for the long walk home. It was just a freak accident, he explained hoping to put their minds at rest; just one of those things that can happen anywhere.

Pussygirls Kate and Lucy were spared the long walk back because of vacant passenger seats on the pony traps. She was glad to be with Jessica, Kate thought, watching the rear view of her friend and Debbie straining to climb the steep track leading away from the beach. She was actually grateful that Riccardo lashed her hands to the backrest. There was a definite benefit in being tied up sometimes. It was like being granted permission not to think.

If Rabbit Island could be described in a sound, it would not be the screams of female torture, nor even the wop of a paddle on raw buttocks. No; it would be the sound that Kate was listening to as the three pairs of ponygirls trotted back to the lodge. The festive jingle of bells on the pony-boots, the crush of gravel beneath the fast-turning wheels and the ambiguous grunting of the ponygirls, which left their passengers unsure whether their groans were from pleasure and pain.

Reassuring as the sound of ponygirls was after the morning’s traumas, Riccardo and Kate knew that it was only the beginning. How could things be the same? After the discovery of armless girl and her suspected link to Rabbit Island, then Nancy’s successful escape, surely she would already have notified the relevant authorities, and now with a fatality, it all pointed to Rabbit Island’s exposed position.

“What’s going to happen now?” Kate asked Riccardo, as the ponygirls made steady pace along the scenic central plateau of the island.

He saw no reason to lie. “I don’t know. Something will happen, I’m sure of it. Who knows, you could be a free woman within a week!”

She laughed. Although not usually given to pessimism, freedom had become a distant concept to her. She stared out at the horizon, trying to remember what freedom was like. Free like those hovering birds in the distance!

To their surprise, those birds came closer, far sooner than they expected.

The deep throbbing warble of two helicopters assaulted their senses, as they flew low over the convoy of the three pony traps as if to take a closer look.

Jessica and Debbie continued to trot, not even breaking stride at the frightful mechanized cacophony of the helicopters. ‘I knew Nancy wouldn’t let us down,’ Jessica thought, ecstatic at her imminent prospects. She wanted to shout it aloud, so that Kate and Debbie could hear, but with the bit between her teeth, literally and metaphorically, she joyfully trotted towards the Lodge. And towards freedom.

BACK TO THE LODGE

The vast front lawns of The Lodge were unrecognizable, no longer the immaculate oasis of calm and order, admired equally by slaves and masters. The whole population of Rabbit Island, residents, visitors and domestic workers, were gathered there.

Men with broad shoulders and rippling biceps marshalled the assembled crowd. Clad in tight white tee-shirts and camouflage pants, and with cropped short hair, they looked like extras from low budget Hollywood action movie. The PA system, most recently used to commentate on the ponygirl events, was now being used to give out a barrage of orders from a deep, growling voice.

Jessica and the other ponygirls trotted across the front grounds towards their normal destination, the cobbled courtyard. Running at pace, with her sight lines blinkered, Jessica comprehended little of the scene all around her except sensing there was something important happening; an event with more urgency than celebration.

As soon as they halted by their hitching post Riccardo jumped down from the seat. “Holy shit. Wait here, I’ll go see what’s happening,” he said, addressing Jessica and Debbie. Things had to be serious if Riccardo was talking to his ponygirls! He and Frank walked purposefully back to the front of the Lodge, but were met and blocked by two strong-armed men who spun them around and steered them back to their pony traps.

“Get them unhitched, remove their locks and bring them around to the front,” one of them barked, talking over Riccardo’s request for answers. These guys didn’t do conversations. The men moved towards Kate and Lucy, releasing their hands from the back rails of their respective seat backs. Kate’s man, muscular and handsome and in his mid twenties, placed firm hands on her hips and helped Kate jumped down from the trap. He made no move to separate her leather-tied wrists.

Kate had once seen a TV program about SAS rescue missions; where she learned that everyone, including hostages, is treated as potentially hostile until the whole place is fully under control. Perhaps this was similar, she thought, as the charmless hunk of a man briskly escorted her to the front lawns, his vice-like fingers gripping her elbow tight enough to bruise.

Her heart sank as she began to comprehend what was really happening. The Rabbit Island handlers like Erik and Kurt were no longer in charge of events, that much was clear, but nor did it seem they were ‘under arrest’. Bunnies and slavegirls, meanwhile, remained as securely bound as ever.

Two men carried the Lucy’s helpless body to the end of the line - a line consisting of more than thirty similarly bound bodies.

Then it was Kate’s turn. They finally removed the leather cords from her wrists but she was powerless as three men surrounded her, undressing her, but showing little interest in her white corset, or the delights of her flesh that the corset’s removal had revealed. They bound her hands behind her back with strong plastic ties like those used by the U.S. army, one on each wrist, interlinked together. She heard a zipping sound as the plastic ratcheted down on each wrists; then two snips as they clipped off their trailing ends. The efficiency of it chilled her.

“Sixty-nine!” One of her captors called out, having located Kate’s Rabbit Island ID number at the top of her thigh. Another man noted it on a clipboard, while the third man unwrapped a length of clear, thin tubing which was coiled inside a hygienic plastic wrapper.

“What’s that for?” Kate asked nervously. The item looked familiar. They didn’t bother to answer, and nor did she ask any more questions. A three inch wide strip of white surgical tape was plastered across her face. Large hands pressed hard on both her cheeks, pushing her head backwards, to ensure the tape was bonded fully with her skin.

When the tube was taken from the plain packaging, Kate recognized it in an instant: A Foley catheter. Though the plain packaging suggested to her that this one was an inferior far-eastern imitation.

The man standing behind her kicked her feet apart, using his boots to keep them spread wide, while another man knelt down in front of her. His latex-gloved fingers probed the folds of her labia, exposing the opening of her urethra. With little regard for her pain, and none at all for her modesty, he eased the tube up into the small opening for several inches. She looked downwards, silent and wide-eyed, as he syringed a little water into the retaining valve that held the tube within her bladder. When that was done he tugged gently on the tube to test it. The balloon valve in her bladder held the tube securely and watertight within her.

Kate saw her urine trickling through the long flexible tube, emptying onto the grass between her feet. The catheter man taped the tube into place using one-inch surgical tape, encircling the top of her left thigh. A similar wrap of tape was applied just below her knee, and again at the ankle, just like fixing a drainpipe in place. Although the procedure lacked the hygiene standards that Kate had been taught, she could not fault the man’s efficiency. When she glanced over at the row of thirty cocooned bodies she realized he’d had a lot of practice.

The man swabbed the tears from Kate’s eyes. “Don’t cry,” he said, but not to comfort her; it was a direct command. He pushed her to the ground onto a white sheet, placed one of her ankles onto the other and linked them with two plastic ties. She heard that noise again: Zip, zip, clip, clip. So impersonal, so efficient! Her ankles were secured, and as with her wrists, would surely stay that way until someone decided to cut her free.

They finished by wrapping the white sheet around her, then banded her body in six places with strong silver-grey tape. Each band preceeded by a loud rip as the tape was peeled from its roll. There was no farewell to or from Rabbit Island as the white pillow slip was placed over her head.

Kate was lifted and carried to the end of the line. Dumped on the bermuda grass lawn, she found herself rubbing shoulders with similarly bound and anonymous victims. She had become a commodity. Livestock to be shipped. No name, no uniqueness, just another helpless female body, listed on someone’s clipboard only by her serial number: 69.

Back in the courtyard, it was a further ten minutes before Jessica and Debbie were divested of all their pony accoutrements. They were naked and barefoot, free at last from all bondage, stretching and rotating their arms in the air in triumph, savouring their first taste of freedom. They hugged and smiled at each other, unable to believe the sudden turn of events. Two muscular men led them out of the courtyard towards the front of the Lodge. Only when they turned the corner to face the front lawns was the horror fully revealed to them.

This was not freedom, Jessica and Debbie realized. The ex-ponygirls though free from harness had the same instinctive reaction at the same moment: Flee!

They both shrugged themselves clear of their surprised escorts, and sprinted away, heading towards the shortcut to the beach. They were confident they could outrun any man.

The men didn’t even try to keep up. They didn’t need to. A hundred yards away Jessica and Debbie were staring down a rifle barrel five yards ahead of them. It was Vince, who was walking up from the beach with his five bunnies in tow.

“Don’t make me shoot.” He said calmly, the gun barrel’s aim alternating confidently between their chests. “This baby can make a real big hole in you. I suggest you turn around and return to the nice men.”

They stared at him with burning contempt, drilling their eyes into his, displaying their sense of betrayal. Vince was amused by their reaction. He’d never been anything other than their captor’s employee, and was never particularly kind to them. But for Jessica and Debbie, he was the devil they knew, which suddenly seemed a hell of a lot better than these new devils they didn’t know.

“Eighty-four!” The man called out after locating the Rabbit Island ID on Jessica’s thigh. She felt powerless, numb, like being trapped in a living nightmare, as they packaged her in the same brusque manner as Kate and all the others. Plastic-tied, tape-gagged, catheter-tubed, and bedsheet-wrapped, her processed body was laid out at the end of the ever-growing line.

All Jessica could see was a sunlit white through the pillow slip which had probably been on somebody’s bed last night. It certainly smelled that way. Her shoulders rubbed those of her neighbours to each side. On the left she was comforted to feel Debbie’s presence. She knew instinctively it was Debbie, just from her familiar grunts and sighs.

Jessica listened to the sounds around her. The feeble cries of protesting bunnies, and the ripping of tape ceased after Vince’s five had been processed. She heard men milling around their captives, smoking cigarettes and discussing who was going where, and when, and with whom. She listened closely for number 84. Her number felt as much her identity as her own name. She never really liked Orwell’s book 1984 but on Rabbit Island, having received her tattooed number, she developed a peculiar attachment to it. Sometimes, when tied up for long periods, she would fight the mind-numbing tedium by trying to remember scenes from the book. Eventually she had written her own version of it.

Suddenly she realized Debbie was not longer beside her. Her pony partner had disappeared; snatched from her side without her even noticing. Jessica feared they had been separated, perhaps forever. One thing she had grown to appreciate about ponygirl life was never being lonely, but now Jessica felt utterly alone, utterly helpless and fearful in a way she had never known before in her year on Rabbit Island.

Then it was her turn. Helicopters were landing nearby, the strong breeze of its rotors flapping the white hood against her face, which at least protect her from the dust storm.

Unseen hands lifted her, and to Jessica’s surprise she was set down on top of another body. It was facing the other direction so Jessica’s face rested on the woman’s ankles. Webbed straps were fastened around them to hold the pair firmly together. Those straps were hooked on to the helicopter’s winch. Her body jerked and Jessica knew she and her unknown companion were suspended in mid-air. She felt a cool sea breeze filtering through her thin wrapping and tried not to think of how high above the ground she was.

They were flying, suspended beneath the helicopter. Had she been able to see, Jessica would have had a spectacular birds-eye view of Rabbit Island behind her and a luxurious hundred-foot cruise ship ahead of her. Its sleek black hull was too large to dock at Rabbit Island’s modest jetty so it was anchored a short distance out to sea.

The airlift took barely a minute. Unseen hands released the straps separating Jessica from her trembling companion. The all-pervading thrum of the helicopter faded away as it headed back to shore for its next load. When she heard the sound of water lapping against the boat, Jessica knew for sure that she was at sea. Rabbit Island didn’t do day cruises for ponygirls last she heard. She, and indeed all the ponygirls, talked sometimes of their terror of being ‘shipped’. Now it had happened, and so far it was everything she feared it would be.

The two men grabbed hold of her, one at the ankles the other by the tape wrappings just below her shoulders. For a moment she was in an upright position as they manhandled her down two flights of ladder-like steps.

“She goes in bunk six,” a gruff Canadian voice said. He was definitely not from Rabbit Island, Jessica knew that much for certain.

After an audible heave from the two men, Jessica landed face-down onto a firmly padded surface. Retaining straps were fastened across her back and calves. Soon after, they returned with Jessica’s recent travel companion, fixing her in the same manner into the bunk below.

A knife started cutting near Jessica’s neck, at the collar of strong tape which sealed on her white cotton hood. The hood was pulled clear.

“Hey sweetie!” The man said cheerfully as he rearranged her messed-up hair. Jessica craned her neck upwards in response, her eyes meeting his sooner than she hoped. She’d forgotten to prepare her angry expression and instead her eyes conveyed only fear and submission. The broad swathe of white tape masked the lower half of her face, but the man clearly liked what he did see: Jessica’s thick brunette hair and soulful dark eyes.

“Ponygirl?”

“Uh-hmmm,” Jessica confirmed, and not without a small amount of pride. She would have liked to know why he asked, but as Master Alex would often remind her: ‘the gagged one doesn’t ask the questions’.

The man moved his attention to the girl in the bunk below Jessica, cutting away her white hood too. “Cute!” he said with a smile. Jessica could see her captor’s face, but not her companion strapped into the bunk immediately below her.

Twenty minutes later the below-decks storage area was fully occupied. Jessica was on the topmost of three bunks. Across the narrow aisle were three other bunks. Jessica didn’t recognize the occupants - they must be visitors, she guessed incorrectly. It was she who was now the visitor.

The same man started to cut away at the fabric near Jessica’s wrists. Her optimism at being released was short-lived. He made no attempt to remove or alter the plastic ties around her wrists, he just wanted access to her hands. He attached metal clamps to the thumb and fingers of each hand. Her toes got the same treatment. They didn’t hurt, but she was constantly aware of nip of steel crocodile teeth in her various digits. She turned her head to observe the woman on the opposite bunk treated similarly. She could see that the clamps had wires trailing from them. Wires not strong enough to restrain anyone but strong enough to transmits an electric current.

Soon all six hapless roommates were identically bound and clamped: Wrists and ankles fixed with plastic ties, wrapped in a white sheet and tape-bound and, like Jessica, they all sported a wide strip of white tape across the mouth.

Having completed the clamping of fingers and toes, the man stood at the end of the aisle in sight of all his passengers. Six pairs of helpless female eyes looked up at him.

“Listen up ladies,” he said, savouring the irony of his salutation, “Soon we’ll be setting sail, and we expect choppy seas for part of the journey. Enough to cause sea sickness.”

Their eyes widened at the dreadful implication of sickness to someone who was gagged.

“So, if you agree to remain quiet throughout the journey, we will remove your gags shortly after we heave anchor.”

They all nodded and quietly mmmphed their agreement. Yes, we’ll be as quiet as church mice, they would have said.

“Remember! Not a sound after your gags are removed. This bunk space is wired-up for sound and we’ll be listening for any noise. To the side of your face you’ll see a straw sticking up? That’s water. Drink plenty throughout the journey. No need to worry about peeing, we’ve plumbed your catheter tubes into our waste system. If you need a shit, let me know... but I’m hoping you’ll manage three days without going.”

He gazed with evident satisfaction at the six captives, then he left, climbing the steps to the middle deck.

Shortly afterwards two massive Volvo diesel engines fired into life, gurgling with latent power. The ship imperceptibly started its journey as the engines’ throaty revs increased.

RICCARDO

Riccardo stood on the deck watching the rounded green hills of Rabbit Island receding into the horizon. Someone handed him another glass of champagne. He’d downed the first as if it were medicine; a bitter tasting medicine.

“Wait till you see Isla de la Plata. It’s spectacular.” Said the man alongside him.

“So I’m told,” Riccardo said coolly, his gaze still fixed on the ever-decreasing mass of Rabbit Island. Was he foolish to accept this assignment? He didn’t know. He was curious to see La Plata for himself. To find out how they did things like ponygirl training, and how it compared to Rabbit Island; but primarily he was going there out of a sense of responsibility. He despised himself for his weakness.

“Darling. We’ve prepared some delicious snacks for lunch.”

Riccardo turned around to see the boat’s owner. He had to smile. Her leather and high heels had been replaced by a casual cotton shirt, navy shorts and boat shoes. She looked almost normal.

“Argenta!” she interrupted, a practiced smile assembling itself on her face. “Please call me Argenta.”

“Thank you... Argenta.”

He followed Argenta into the lavish stateroom, resplendently decorated, and with the familiar scent of freshly-picked Rabbit Island orchids. The buffet lunch was delicious as promised. After lunch, also as promised, came his visit to the ship’s bridge.

The Captain stood, legs planted firmly at shoulder width, in the centre of the bridge, casting an eye over the vast array of electronic displays and radars, whilst gazing contentedly at the open sea ahead like an old sea dog. Yet she was neither old, and certainly no dog. She greeted Riccardo warmly, having finally noticed his cautious entry into her domain. His couldn’t hide his admiration of her equipment, though she was clearly used to such compliments.

Riccardo had always liked a woman in uniform, particularly a tight-fitting one like the captain’s. Whilst her white uniform jacket and pants were normal for her rank (if somewhat formal compared to the rest of the ship’s crew), the cut of them might be called ‘exceedingly fine’, hugging the perfect curves of her breasts and buttocks. He sensed that if one of the brass buttons on her jacket popped free, the whole thing would burst open with the repressed power of her stunning breasts. Yes, he liked that, and envied the man who would undress her at night. He wondered fancifully whether he may in fact be that man at some time during the next three days.

“Belinda?” The captain called out softly to the slim young woman who had been leaning over the charts with protractor and ruler. Belinda looked up and smiled politely.

“This is Belinda, Silver Lady’s first officer and my lover.” The captain informed Riccardo. That final detail perhaps given to save Riccardo from making an awkward and pointless advance on either of them. He made a brave effort to conceal his disappointment. He shook hands heartily with Belinda who was every bit as handsome, in a pretty-female-in-tightly-buttoned-uniform kind of way, as her lover. They spent a half hour giving Riccardo the grand tour of the radar systems, the satellite navigation, and the auto pilot. Lesbian lovers they might be, but they seemed to enjoy his company.

“Come up and visit us any time.” They said cheerily as Riccardo thanked them and made his exit. He liked them, but cursed God that they were lesbians. Notwithstanding that, he was fairly sure he would take them up on their hospitality. Riccardo mused on the possibility of converting them. Bedding a lifelong lesbian was even better than bedding a virgin.

THE SIAMESE TWINS

Lovers they might be, but the Captain and First Officer Belinda didn’t seem likely to provide any erotic thrills for the casual visitor while they were on duty. Riccardo was nonetheless confident he wouldn’t have to look far for such things. He’d been promised.

He returned to the main lounge and dining area to find out if the cute Thai serving maids he’d seen at lunch had any free time. He spotted them, sat on the parquet floor at the feet of Argenta.

She saw him enter. “Darling! Do sit down and talk to us. You’ll feel seasick if you keep walking around.”

Riccardo feared she was right, and sat a respectful distance along the plush salon seating from Argenta and her Thai maids.

“You haven’t introduced me,” Riccardo said, gesturing with his handsome latin eyes towards the maids.

“Oh yes, of course. These are my Siamese twins. I’m sure they have other names, but why bother with names? I can’t tell them apart anyway.” Argenta laughed at her own joke, even though she’d told it many times before.

Riccardo made a small wave at the smiling twins. They were truly beautiful; petite, but with big expressive eyes and devastating smiles. “Hi twins!”

Argenta was right, they really couldn’t be told apart. They waved back charmingly, though Riccardo sensed they only had eyes for Argenta, their Mistress.

“I was just explaining to the twins about keel-hauling.” Argenta said, bringing Riccardo into the conversation. “Any more misbehavior from them and they’ll learn about it first-hand. Apparently if the sharks don’t get you it’s quite refreshing.”

She laughed at her own joke again. Argenta’s mantle was starting to slip. She leaned towards Riccardo, and lowered her voice as if to confide in him.“The little darlings are fun to have around, but when I’m bored of them I’ll have them tied up, sealed in a weighted sack and dropped into the ocean.”

The Thai maids giggled, having overheard the comment.

Riccardo expected to see a smile or perhaps a sly wink, but Argenta’s face remained deadpan.

“I’ve already told them, but they think I’m joking!” Argenta added with a shrug. She indulged the giggling maids with a maternal pat on their heads. They adored her, worshipped her, and seemed to tingle with sexual excitement just from being sat at her feet.

Riccardo had a couple of questions for her. The first one, ‘are there any females on board that aren’t lesbians?’ he decided would have to wait. He opted for a simpler question: Could he visit the Rabbit Island girls in the storage bay?

“Steerage, we call it.” Argenta joked. “Of course you may. Peter will take you down there later.”

He knew Peter. A fellow pony driver, though he kept himself to himself. There would be plenty of time in the next few days to get to know each other, Riccardo thought. The other pony driver, Paul, was altogether more distant, and Riccardo doubted they would ever be friends. Rabbit Island pony drivers had a genuine camaraderie, which Riccardo assumed was shared by all pony drivers. Apparently it was not so.

IN STEERAGE, THE ELECTROCIZER

Peter was as good as his word, removing the tape from their faces once they had set sail. Jessica slurped thirstily from the conveniently placed straw. The water was cool and refreshing, though its taste hinted of something more than just water. That wasn’t unusual. She’d become resigned to being fed all manner of drugs on Rabbit Island; they were mostly beneficial she conceded, judging by her own assessment of her health. The drug she cursed most was the one that so dramatically affected her libido. It constantly undermined her resistance to the teasing and torments they inflicted on her. Sometimes even when running as a ponygirl, she had moments where she felt horny beyond belief, desperate to feel a man’s dick pumping into her whilst she tugged violently against her strapping. She’d never actually had an orgasm while rigged up as a ponygirl. Debbie, her erstwhile partner, coyly admitted to it on several occasions. Now, cocooned and strapped face-down on a bunk, an orgasm, whether self-induced, assisted or enforced, seemed an impossible dream.

Peter left them, and for a while the six occupants kept silent as they promised. Two or three days with only the constant drum of the marine engines would drive her crazy, Jessica thought. She remembered similar situations before where she wasn’t gagged but was forbidden to speak. In the company of good friends such as Kate to stay silent was immensely difficult. It was easier to be gagged and not have the temptation.

The bunk area was small, consisting of little more than the two stacks of three narrow bunks and a two-foot aisle in between. It was just front of centre within the boat, and had a small frosted skylight that perfectly illuminated the room.

Jessica looked across at the woman on the opposite bunk, hoping to utilize her lip-reading talent. The woman was undeniably pretty, though her blonde hair was cut ultra short as if it had recently been shaved off. There was something wrong with her. Instead of relaxing, which was all one could really do when cocooned in the present fashion, this woman seemed to be tensing, grimacing, struggling with a fierce intensity. Her eyes bulged with panic.

“Oh my god! She’s having a seizure!” Jessica blurted out. She raised her voice. “Someone help us. There’s a girl down here having a fit!” Jessica fully expected to see Peter dashing down the steps into the storage bay a moment later. Surely the microphones must have picked up her cries for help.

“It’s okay. Amy’s fine,” said the black girl in the opposite middle bunk. “It’s just the Electrocizer.”

“The what?” Jessica asked.

“The Electrocizer. It sends pulses through the body to stimulate muscle activity. You know the clamps on your fingers and toes? That’s how you’re connected to it. Don’t worry, it looks worse than it really is. You’ll see.”

“Jessi?” A voice inquired timidly from the bunk below her.

Jessica squealed with joy. “Katie? Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me. Oh God, I’m so glad you’re here Jessi!” Kate’s emotion overtook her as she wept, unable to speak another word for the next minute. Jessica soothed her with gentle words. There was barely a foot of space between them, yet they could neither touch nor even see each other.

“Who’s on the bottom bunk?” Jessica called out, hoping against all hope that it would be Debbie.

“It's me. Karen. Karen Galtz!” Came the exasperated response. “There’s been a mistake. I shouldn’t be here!”

Jessica tried not to laugh. “Me neither, Karen.” Jessica had had little contact with the journalist since her stealthy arrival on Rabbit Island. Although she hadn’t pieced everything together, she knew enough to deduce that Karen Galtz was partially responsible for their current plight. Karen’s ill-fated journalistic snooping visit hadn’t earned her any friends on Rabbit Island; not among the Masters or the slaves. Despite it all, Jessica felt sorry for her. (She had ceased feeling sorry for herself a long time ago.)

The Electrocizer was running on a preset sequence, giving the the top bunk’s occupant around ten minutes of its stimulating shocks. Then, without warning, its attention, or rather its current, switched to the black girl in the middle bunk. Her reaction to the Electrocizer, Jessica noticed, was strikingly similar to that of the blonde woman. Amy was her name, she said, exchanging pleasantries with Jessica, whilst recovering her breath. Though exhausted, as if she’d had a good workout, she didn’t seem any worse for her shock treatment.

When the girl in the bottom bunk was receiving her dose from the Electrocizer, Jessica trembled and braced herself for the inevitable. Then it hit her, like somebody yanking on her legs, trying to dislocate her thighs from her pelvis. She felt a powerful uncontrollable twitching in her muscles as if an electric force was taking control of her body. If she were not so well cocooned and strapped down she imagined her arms and legs would be flailing around in all directions. Soon her heart was pounding, sending more blood to her muscles. The devilish machine had a varied repertoire, warming her up, stretching her, aerobically pacing her, and even massaging her, or so it felt. It was providing quite a work-out.

Riccardo arrived just in time to witness Jessica’s electrically-induced exercise routine.

“Don’t touch her!” Amy in the opposite bunk called out, having seen Riccardo’s hand move towards Jessica’s face. “You’ll get a shock.”

Riccardo stood back. “I've just had one. What the hell is happening to her?”

Shona, the black girl below Amy, explained about the Electrocizer again. Jessica looked up at Riccardo, her eyes bulbous, popping out alarmingly, her mouth open like a hungry fish, trying and failing to form words or engaged her vocal cords.

“Jesus Christ!” He exclaimed, suffering a different kind of shock to Jessica. He could barely stand to look at her. He spotted Kate in the bunk below and bent down to to stroke her head. “Hey sweetie!” he said, perhaps too tenderly.

“You’d better not touch me. I’ll get the same thing any moment now,” Kate warned him. “Damn it! I’m not a ponygirl, I don’t need to exercise like Jessica does. I never...”

Kate was right. It was nearly her turn. While she jerked and jolted in her bunk, Jessica collapsed in groans of relief.

“How are you?” Riccardo asked his ponygirl, leaving a jerking, bug-eyed palpitating Kate to get on with her exercizes. It didn’t seem right to watch.

“Exhausted, Sir,” Jessica replied. “Completely exhausted by that thing. Oh my god, that was unbelievable.”

After sipping water through her straw, Jessica said, “Riccardo, Sir, can I ask what is happening? Why are we on this boat? Where are they taking us?”

“We’re going to La Plata.” Riccardo replied, “It’s a sex colony similar to Rabbit Island. We’ll be there until all this fuss dies down. Rabbit Island was attracting too much attention so they’ve shut it down for a while. With any luck we’ll be back home in three months.”

His choice of the word home gave Jessica mixed feelings, but she understood what he meant. “We’re on Madame Cavallo’s boat, aren’t we?” she stated, almost answering her own question. She needed only a straight answer as confirmation.

Riccardo sighed. “Yes we are. You’ve been transferred into her custody while Rabbit Island is closed... and so have I. But I’m still be in charge of you, so don’t go thinking you’re on holiday!”

His black humour coaxed a equally sardonic chuckle from Jessica. If all she had to worry about was obeying and pleasing Riccardo the next three months would be tolerable. Yet she harboured an unsettling feeling it would not be that easy.

Riccardo felt awkward witnessing Kate’s convulsions, as if intruding on something personal. He bade a quick goodbye with a promise to return in the morning.

“You like your driver don’t you?” Amy stated.

“I respect him,” Jessica corrected her. “He is a firm driver, but fair.”

“Peter is my driver.” Amy said. “He’s a bastard.”

Jessica’s heart skipped a beat as she fitted the pieces of the story together: Peter was driving the pony trap that crashed. Amy was the ponygirl with a broken ankle that they took to the medical suite. It has to be her, because the other ponygirl was dead.

“How’s the ankle?” Jessica asked.

“It’s swollen and it aches a little,” Amy said stoicly, “but I received good treatment in your medical suite. Kate’s a good nurse.”

It was all the confirmation Jessica needed. She knew she’d have to break the sad news to Amy.

“I wonder what happened to my partner.” Amy mused, just as Jessica expected she would.

Jessica sighed. “Amy, she’s dead. They found her body on the beach. They didn’t kill her, she drowned.”

Amy went silent with shock. Jessica watched as tears gathered on Amy’s lower eyelids before they spilled down her cheeks.

Jessica cursed her bondage for preventing her from giving Amy a consoling hug. “I’m cuddling you,” she said softly.

Amy nodded, and sniffed. “I know you are.”

“They buried her in a beautiful place, and removed all her bonds. She’s free now.”

“She said she’d rather die than go back to La Plata,” Amy said with bitterness. “It looks like she kept her word.”

RICCARDO GETS A SURPRISE

“Riccardo dear, I meant to tell you earlier, there’s something waiting in the room next to yours.” Argenta teased.

He went to investigate, opening the door to find two cocooned bodies squirming alongside each other on the single bed. They were still hooded, having received no attention in the many hours since their transfer to the boat. He dragged one, then the other, onto the open bow deck.

“You can unwrap them, but don’t untie them. We don’t want to lose them overboard!” Argenta instructed.

Using his pen knife he started hacking through the copious tape binding their bodies. With their Rabbit Island numbers written in black marker-pen on the white sheet he already knew which bunnies he was unwrapping.

Rachel was desperate to get out of her cocoon, writhing so much that Riccardo feared he would cut her with the blade. Only when she was fully unwrapped and propped up in a sitting position did he pull the tape off her face. With her wavy blonde hair cascading down to her breasts she looked as attractive as ever, apparently unharmed by her ordeal.

She studied the catheter tube fixed to the full length of the inside of her leg. It was fitted with a small clamp at mid thigh.

“Can you remove my clamp please Sir, I’m bursting!”

Riccardo’s eyes followed the tube from her slim plastic-tied ankles up to her knees and thighs. Seeing the tube disappearing between her pussy lips made his dick stir into life.. He pulled the little clamp from the tube on her thigh and watched the pale yellow urine flow through the tube and into the deck’s gutter. Rachel, in blissful relief, closed her eyes and half-opened her mouth which only further aroused Riccardo’s lust.

The other bundle was wriggling and mmmphing for attention, having heard Rachel’s and Riccardo’s conversation. He was amused, joking with Rachel about Mandy’s excellent impersonation of an overgrown maggot. He’d never found Mandy to his taste, but totally covered, bound up and making a delightful squirming movement she looked rather sexy. Reluctantly he cut her free of her wrappings and propped her up alongside Rachel, leaning against the white uPVC wall of the cabin, with their legs extended in front. Their ankles were still held together by plastic ties.

Not wishing to disturb the peace with Mandy’s notoriously inane chatter Riccardo left her mouth taped up. Rachel, in contrast, knew how to shut up. For a Texan, she was pretty good at keeping quiet; she seldom said more than was necessary.

“What are you going to do with them,” A voice enquired from behind Riccardo. He didn’t turn around. He knew it was Cavallo, or Argenta as her ‘friends’ called her.

“I thought I’d feed them and make sure they’re comfortable.”

She handed him two small cartons of juice. “This will do them.”

Riccardo tore the small straws off side of the packets, popped them through the holes and offered them to the mouths of his girls. Not inclined to peel off Mandy’s gag, lest she said the wrong thing to Argenta, he pierced the tape between her lips with the straw. They sipped urgently knowing that Riccardo could move the cartons away from them at any time.

Argenta noticed Rachel’s large breasts; it was hard not to. “Oh good, a milkmaid!” she exclaimed, smiling broadly. The little steel hats fitted over Rachel’s nipples confirmed it, though the size and shape of the breasts were also a strong indicator. She bent down and toyed with Rachel’s nipple covers, pulling and twisting until Rachel winced with pain. “How much per day?”

“Just over a litre, Ma’am.” Rachel responded in her soft Texan drawl.

“Ever had children?”

“I had a child at sixteen.”

“Healthy?”

“Yes. I gave him up for adoption.”

Argenta seemed pleased as she looked at Riccardo. “This one can go into the breeding unit with sixty nine.”

Then Argenta gave a cursory glance at Mandy, who looked rather plain alongside Rachel. “The Domestic unit will have this one,” she pronounced with a desultory wave.

It didn’t take long before the six occupants of the storage room were exchanging tales about their respective island homes. Kate and Jessica were the most forthcoming, prompted by Amy’s constant questions.

“I remember when I first arrived at the bunny cabin.” Jessica said. It was paradise in some respects. Days on end messing around on a fantastic sandy beach! The eight of us got on very well, and Kate became my closest friend. At first it was hard, living every day in a collar and cuffs, but I soon got used to it. Sometimes it was fun, like the soccer games, and meal-times at the trough usually with a little wine in the evenings, and flirting with the pony drivers. Then of course there were the night time games!”

“Ah Jessi,” Kate interrupted, “but remember, after you left to be a ponygirl they made us wear chastity belts!”

“I didn’t leave!” Jessica corrected her. “If you remember we escaped, but got recaptured. I didn’t really have a choice about becoming a ponygirl. It was either become a ponygirl or get shipped to some dreadful place.”

Amy kept quiet. La Plata, her abode for the last two years, was probably one the dreadful places Jessica was refering to.

Kate laughed as she thought of something. “Jessi, do you remember the hunting game where we had to run and hide in the hills? They locked gags on us and made us wear dark goggles so it was difficult to see where we were going.”

Jessica laughed. “Yeah, but we outwitted them. We removed each other’s goggles so we could see what was happening.” She explained to Amy.

“And you kicked that man in the balls, just when they thought they’d trapped us. Oh my god, Jessi you really hurt him! Anyhow, Amy, the end result was that Jessica won their stupid game, and she was rewarded later that evening. That was when Jessica first met Master Alex.”

“That’s not true,” Jessica corrected her. “He had me on the beach one evening a few days before that.”

“And because you won the hunting game you got the princess treatment that evening!”

Jessica became defensive. “I was kneeling in chains next to somebody’s chair all evening. That’s hardly the way to treat a princess!”

“Who’s chair?” Kate asked.

“Master Alex’s, as you well know!”

“And when they made me into a puppy recently, they took me to Master Alex’s bedroom, and who did I find snuggled up under the duvet?”

“I was not snuggled up, as you put it. I was very tightly hog-tied and gagged, which is how that.pervert likes me!”

“He likes you any way he can get you!” Kate laughed.

Kate’s persistent teasing had touched on a sore point. There was a rumour that Master Alex had one favourite out of all the beauties they kept on Rabbit Island - a ponygirl named Jessica.

“So what’s your point, Katie?” Jessica asked irritably. She hated to be teased.

“My point, Jessi, is that he’ll want you back. I’ll bet you anything.”

Jessica gave out a grunting, straining sound, pretending to struggle. “I’ve just checked my pockets and I don’t have any money, all I have is my nipple and labia rings.”

“All right then.” Kate said decisively. “ I’ll bet you two nipple rings.”

THE BOWSPRIT

Everybody had come onto the bow to watch as Rachel was secured to a sturdy aluminium pole. Its shape and built-in fixing points indicated that it was made for a specific purpose. Pulley wires were clipped to the ends of Rachel’s pole. A motor winch whirred and the slack wire disappeared through a hole in the deck. The men lifted Rachel and held her over the bowsprit until she was dangling beneath it, several feet above the ocean’s gentle swell. The wires continued to disappear down their respective channels until Rachel’s naked body was fixed to the boat’s prow like a figurehead, the ocean swelling onto her body, sometimes dousing her face in salty water. Above her, men, including Riccardo, swigged beer whilst savouring her watery terror.

Mandy did not escape their attention either, at least not a first. She was bent over the railing at the stern, her ankles secured a stride apart, her wrists remained plastic-tied behind her back. Her life had never been so simple; for the rest of the day she was nothing but a receptacle for men’s sperm. To be used if they wished, to be ignored otherwise. With only three men on board she was ignored for hours at a time.

Meanwhile, one-hundred feet away at the front of the boat, Rachel had noticed small fins breaking the surface of the water in the distance. They seemed to be making rapidly towards her. The pitching of the bow was making her physically sick, the kind of sickness that makes you just want to curl up and die... except she couldn’t, not unless the sharks got her. Pale grey shapes appeared beneath the water, moving rapidly, one on each side of her. With startling speed they broke the surface in perfect synchronization, their bodies forming a graceful arch either side of Rachel’s shoulders.

She screamed with delight as the dolphins did it again, looking her in the eye as they hit the zenith of their leaps. They surfed the ship’s bow wave, sometimes racing ahead, often criss-crossing each other’s path, or gliding effortlessly on their backs as if showing off. They even nuzzled the soles of Rachel’s feet, perhaps to comfort her, she thought. If only they could bite through the straps fixing her body to the ship, she would gladly swim away and live with them forever!

When darkness fell they hauled Rachel onto the deck, detaching her from the metal frame. They left her, still bound hand and foot with the plastic ties she’d worn since Rabbit Island.

“I don’t want that smelly wet thing brought inside!” Argenta stated, wrinkling her nose up at the bedraggled blonde dripping sea water onto her shining white deck.

That suited Rachel just fine. She slept on the bow deck, dreaming of dolphins.

The story so far:
(Ch. 13) The posse camp overnight at the beach - the ponygirls are branded - a tragic discovery.
(Ch. 14) Rabbit Island is evacuated - bundled and shipped.

DOUBLE TROUBLE

The math wasn’t difficult. Riccardo calculated that three days at sea at a constant eighteen knots meant that La Isla de la Plata was a thousand miles from Rabbit Island. That four-figure distance made it seem a long way away. On the final morning on board it wasn’t the only cause of Riccardo’s depression.

The night before, their third night at sea, he received an unexpected and truly delicious bonus. Waiting for him in his single-berthed room were the Siamese twins. Throughout the journey Riccardo was often to be found leaning on the top deck’s balustrade staring out to the horizon, a bottle of beer held loosely in his hand. It seemed that Madame Cavallo felt sorry for him, or was it that she felt he was getting too close to Rachel and Mandy, his former charges from Rabbit Island? Whatever the reason for her gift, Riccardo wasn’t complaining.

The Siamese twins were naked, standing side-by-side, backs to the wall. Each was fixed in handcuffs clipped to securing rings high up on the bulkhead. Their ankles were also restrained, slim enough to sport regular handcuffs. Around their delicate necks each wore a thin silver chain threaded with a handcuff key nestled perfectly between their breasts. Those perfect mounds of flesh were conspicuous for being the only part of their bodies that were not skinny. They had been surgically enhanced, that much was obvious, but it didn’t detract from Riccardo’s lustful admiration for the gifts attached to his bedroom wall.

Riccardo cast his eyes slowly up and down their identical bodies on the pretext of looking for any difference between them, but no matter how closely he looked no difference could be found. They were perfect - if you like petite Asian girls with unnaturally large breasts, with smiles that can melt a heart at ten paces.

During his inspection those seductive smiles didn’t desert them for a moment. Riccardo had amused himself with the notion that these twins were not really women at all; they were living sex toys. A few decades from now, when Sony or Honda or whoever produces household robots, this is what some of them will look like... or at least the ones owned by single men. In the future, when women view men as obsolete in terms of reproduction, men with toys like these might view women as obsolete in everything but reproduction. But Riccardo, if he lived that long, would still prefer a real blonde with a real character.

“Who chained you up?” Riccardo asked them, curious to know who else had been in his room.

“We did, Sir. Our Mistress told us to spend the night in your room. That’s if you want us, Sir?” they said with eyes cast downward in what appeared to be genuine humility. They’d done a good job of self-bondage; their hands fixed so high their bare feet could only just stay flat upon the parquet floor. There was no doubting the tightness of the cuffs either. Had a lot of practice, Riccardo suspected.

“It would be impolite to refuse your Mistress’s gift.” Riccardo conceded graciously. The girls giggled, as they habitually did at anything resembling a joke. They’d noticed the way he’d been staring at them for the last couple of days. The Silver Lady was more likely to strike an iceberg than Riccardo was to turf them out of his room.

One of many good things about these slim five-foot-nothing Asian girls is how little space they take up, excepting their breasts jutting out into the small room. If it wasn’t for the pleasant sensation of a building hard-on filling his pants, Riccardo could have happily left them like that as ornaments like erotic walling hangings. But after two days of seasickness and celibacy is wasn’t likely.

He lifted the key chain from around the neck of one of them. It seemed unfair, but he was thinking of taking one of them bed and leaving the other chained to the wall for the night. That was often the problem with having a slave-girl for the night - you want to feel the heady power of having her chained to the wall while you sleep, yet you also want her warm squirming body cuddled up in bed with you. Tonight would be the best of both worlds, Riccardo thought.

He tried to unlock the first set of handcuffs. With his body pressed against the girl’s as he tried to unlock her, she was squirming in pleasure, her handcuffed ankles twisting and tugging against their metal bracelets seeking to relieve the delicious itch between her thighs.

Alas, the simple handcuff lock proved surprisingly stubborn. Riccardo assumed that it was the wrong key; they’d obviously got their keys mixed up. He tried the key in the other twin’s handcuffs. It turned and released as easily as he would expect. Riccardo took that girl’s key chain from around her neck, expecting the key to reciprocate with the other’s handcuffs… It didn’t! However it did fit her ankles’ cuffs.

That left him with one twin left standing chained to the wall and the other free, except that she had to hop around with her ankles cuffed together. “You don’t have any more keys?” Riccardo asked more in hope than expectation. They shook their heads, as disappointed as he was. It was no accident. He was the victim of more game playing, yet this would prove only a mild inconvenience to his night of lust.

“Warm up your sister for me,” Riccardo commanded the free girl as he disappeared into his compact bathroom to undress and brush his teeth. “Lots of tongue!” he added.

When he emerged five minutes later, naked, refreshed and ready for love, the wall-chained twin was well on her way to orgasm, eyes closed, mouth open, her head swishing from side to side in reaction to her sister’s The biggest challenge for the kneeling sister was how to keep her in a heightened state of readiness for their Master’s arrival. Her mouth switched greedily from pussy to penis as soon as Riccardo was within her reach. While the kneeling twin attended to his penis, he pressed his mouth to the standing twin, grabbing her softball-sized breasts. She liked that, just as Riccardo loved what her kneeling sister’s mouth was doing to his cock.

He’d seldom ever moaned out load during foreplay, but this was one of those times. In spite of the immense fellatial pleasure he was receiving he still preferred to climax within the tight folds of a woman’s sex, at least for the first ejaculation of the night. Having to arch his back just to kiss the girl, he realized their height differential needed resolving. The solution was kneeling right in front of him.

“Lie flat on the floor,” he instructed her breathlessly. “Under your sister’s feet.”

With the problem solved, Riccardo rammed his cock into the standing twin. Thanks to her sister’s body beneath her, she was perfectly positioned to enjoy Riccardo’s violent thrusts that brought him to a climax.

Sated, Riccardo crashed out onto the bed instructing the twins to stay as they were. The one lying belly-down on the floor was receiving a spine-cracking foot massage from her sister. Each crack of her spine made him wince yet it was undeniably sexy too. When there were no further cracks to be had he instructed the kneeling one to lick her sister clean, having noticed his cum trickling down her thigh.

The free one (except for her cuffed ankles) stood up, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and hopped to a small shelf to retrieve a bottle of wine for Riccardo. The ship was well stocked with the small plastic bottles usually found on airlines. She poured a glass for him.

Snuggling up against him while he sat legs outstretched on the bed, she soon had Riccardo perked up enough to consider another round. So far this evening she’d merely been a service provider for her sister and Riccardo, first with her mouth, then by acting as a human footstool to assist Riccardo and her sister to fuck against the wall. It wasn’t that she was jealous; simply a matter of equality, and now it was her turn! She moved to the foot of the bed crossed her handcuffed ankles and spread her knees to create a wide opening between her legs. Then she lifted Riccardo’s ankles between them. Riccardo sipped his wine as she shuffled up the bed; his legs encircled by hers, her tight pussy moving closer and closer to his cock. It was a mutually delightful ensnarement. She wanted him badly, using every trick to get his cock to the desired size and rigidity. Witnessing the astonishing lust on this sweet girl’s face as he squeezed her breasts brought Riccardo’s cock to prompt attention. Quite assertive for a petite Asian girl, Riccardo observed, perhaps she doesn’t get a real man’s cock very often!.

A MORNING STIFFY

Riccardo awoke from a heavy sleep. His cabin was bright, even though lit only by a small porthole. The twins were gone as he expected they would be, knowing they had breakfast service to attend to. He turned over in bed for a luxurious final five minutes, enough time to savour the memory of previous night’s fun with the twins.

Those sexy thoughts soon brought on the start of a pleasant morning erection. He reached a hand under the duvet towards his cock. It made contact with something harder that he imagined. Hard, like thick plastic. He threw off the light duvet cover; confused and curious.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His semi-flaccid penis was encased in a similarly shaped device made of a clear acrylic. A ring of the same material encircled the root of his cock behind his scrotal sac. The two pieces were joined at the top of his penis with a neat padlock. A few exploratory tugs and twists confirmed his suspicion: It wasn’t a toy. Any kind of erection was impossible. Despite its secure fixing, it was fairly comfortable except for a slight pinching behind his balls. That’s what worried him; it was comfortable enough for long-term use.

Not knowing whether to be laugh or cry, he got up, went to the bathroom and pissed. It was easy enough, and thanks to the various holes in the plastic, sanitary as well. The only thing it prevented was erections.

He pulled on his pants and headed for breakfast, wondering what forfeit he would shortly be performing in order to have the chastity device removed. Perhaps he might be required to give cunnilingus on the captain, he mused rather hopefully.

Madame Cavallo looked up from her fresh fruit salad. Her smile said it all - superior and smug, almost laughing through those thin lips of hers.

“Welcome to your first day in my employment, Riccardo. You might have noticed we have some special rules of our own.”

Riccardo remained nonchalant. He wasn’t going to lower himself to ask or beg for the device’s removal knowing that the padlock would yield to a hacksaw in seconds.

“You’re upset because Rabbit Island insisted you were chained to your bed every night?” Riccardo suggested. The rule affected all female visitor and residents on the island, with absolutely no exceptions.

“Upset doesn’t begin to describe that insult!” She spat out, bitter at the memory of her humiliating bondage. “But to answer your question, no it’s not because of that. It’s our policy. Same applies to Peter and Paul here.”

Peter and Paul looked up sheepishly from their breakfast. Peter gave a resigned shrug. “Rules are rules,” he stated with unarguable logic as he scooped up another spoonful of cornflakes.

ARRIVAL AT LA PLATA

The dramatic yet peculiarly ugly peaks of Isla de la Plata loomed on the horizon whilst Riccardo sat down to breakfast, served by two embarrassed twins who dared not look at him. They even served him at a cautious long arm’s length. He’d figured it out. They must have spiked his wine and fitted the chastity device on him themselves. That’s what you call giving something to remember them by!

Below decks Jessica, Kate, Karen and the three others in steerage hadn’t moved or been fed for three days. The last twenty-four hours had passed by in a half-conscious stupor, interrupted only by the insistent muscle toning sessions of the Electrocizer. Voices from the deck above, and the general busyness of footsteps, caused them to sense that their destination was at hand.

Riccardo leant on the hardwood balustrade and stared at the imposing island getting ever closer. He was surprised to find something so grey and misty on a bright sunny morning in a tropical sea.

“The mist usually burns off by mid-day,” Peter explained. He pointed out the harbour where they were heading - a small assemblage of industrial buildings and loading cranes that looked minuscule compared to the precipitous grey mountains looming behind them.

Jessica and Kate said hurried goodbyes as they heard two pairs of feet heading down the steps into their storeroom. Nearly three days tied belly-down on a bunk with nothing to eat, wasn’t fun but the company was very fine indeed. They’d made new friends and learned a lot about each other, and perhaps too much about La Plata. None of it was good.

While Paul taped up her mouth, Peter removed the clips from Jessica’s fingers and toes. Though the shocks from the Electrocizer were not exactly enjoyable they created a routine to the day, and she had to admit that the treatment really did stimulate the muscles. She was curious to see how she felt when they finally got around to freeing her from the unyielding plastic ties on her wrists and ankles.

Just as Jessica was first into the boat, they were preparing her to be the first out. Jessica remembered how the two men struggled to carry her down the steps into the bowels of Cavallo’s boat and worried about how they would ever manage to lift her out. The answer came from above. Literally.

Peter levered open the small skylight that provided the room’s source of daylight. It was just about wide enough for a man’s shoulders. A monstrous iron hook and winching block descended slowly and silently into the opening. Peter strapped a padded leather band around Jessica’s ankles. It had a couple of heavy iron rings built into it, one in front, and one in back. He slipped the iron hook into the front ring.

Without any apparent signal, the hook rose smoothly and silently upwards, lifting Jessica with it. Peter guided her body through the opening, careful to avoid damaging the living merchandise.

Jessica’s first glimpse of La Plata was like that of most new arrivals - upside down. The crane’s stevedore, who had been standing outside next to the opening (his hand signals guiding the crane’s movements) wished her a sarcastic welcome as she rose up above him and clear of the Silver Lady.

Thirty feet in the air, suspended by her well-secured ankles, Jessica thought this must have been how Houdini felt as he did his notorious escapes, except for her there was no escape.

She was gliding towards a loading bay on the second floor of an old brick-built warehouse, a relic from a different age. The age of mining. A heavily built man was there to grab her as she hung above ledge of the loading bay. She was lifted off the crane's hook but straight onto another one. This one was attached to an overhead rail bolted to the high ceiling. The man pushed against her body, moving her along the rail like a carcass in an abattoir. Still wrapped and taped in a white sheet there was little about Jessica for him to admire. Naked bodies were much more interesting... like those of Mandy and Rachel who were already hanging from the rail when Jessica joined them. As she viewed their red blotchy skin Jessica realized they’d had a far more eventfully couple of days on the boat than she.

The three acknowledged each other as best they could with taped up mouths, until the miserable man turned around and yelled “shut up, bitches!” He was looking out of the loading hatch waiting for the other five items on listed on his clipboard (Jessica’s recent roommates) and didn’t care for the noise of incomprehensible conversation from the tape-gagged consignment.

Mandy was crying, which was not unusual, whilst Rachel was silent though visibly trembling, her long blonde hair trailing forlornly on the floor. Kate arrived next in the room next, looking absolutely terrified. Jessica remembered how Kate hated heights. Dangling upside-down twenty-feet off the ground whilst being transported between a ship and a warehouse, compounded with a journey to an unknown and fearsome future had filled her eyes with a mad panic Jessica had never seen in her friend before.

Though shoulder-to-shoulder there was no comfort to give each other either physically or emotionally. Despite Amy’s earlier attempts to explain what would happen to them, it still felt like their world was about to end. For Jessica the feeling of being an animal in an abattoir persisted. If men wearing heavily bloodstained white coats entered the room she would not have been in the least surprised.

Next to arrive from the ship was the instantly recognisable bald head of Karen Galtz followed by La Plata’s returning ponygirls, Amy, Terri and Shona. The warehouseman inspected the inventory one by one, his bulging crotch at the same level as their taped-up mouths. With his inventory complete and in good order the man pulled up the standing flap of the loading door, cutting them off from the outside world. He left the room muttering something about ‘lunch-time’.

***

More than an hour elapsed before anyone attended to the eight silent upside-down figures swaying gently on the rail. The only sound to be heard was their heavy nasal breathing.

Finally somebody arrived. It was Madame Cavallo and two assistants. They were in jovial mood, and appeared well fed and refreshed.

Amy, Terri and Shona were dispatched to their stables. One of the assistants pulled them along the overhead rail system, and one by one, with a motor whirring loudly, they disappeared out of a loading door.

“These are the five bunnies loaned to us while Rabbit Island is closed.” Cavallo explained to her assistants. “Of course we have to return them when Rabbit Island reopens, though I seriously doubt it will happen for quite a while, perhaps not ever!”

Her snippet of information was aimed as much at the five bunnies as it was her sidekicks. Cavallo didn’t seem particularly sad at the thought of Rabbit Island’s demise, but Jessica did.

“You! Stop snivelling!” Cavallo shouted at Mandy, who was bringing attention to herself with her constant sobs. Cavallo consulted a clipboard and announced the respective fates awaiting her guests.

“These two,” she announced, pointing to Rachel and Kate, “are going to the Breeding unit.”

“The cry baby and baldy,” she said, referring to Mandy and Karen Galtz, “will be put to work in the Domestic unit.”

“And finally, having suffered a careless loss of a ponygirl on Rabbit Island, which was entirely due to their negligence, we have this one as a replacement. She’s not up to the standard of our own ponygirls but she’ll do.”

Jessica mmmphed at them from behind her taped mouth, angry at Cavallo’s low opinion of her, as well as the blatant lie concerning the cause of the ponygirl’s death.

“She’s a brunette,” one of the assistants said, pointing out the patently obvious. “We can’t have a dark tail with the blonde ponygirls.”

The other assistant agreed. It was, after all, Cavallo’s ruling that the ponygirl teams should be strictly segregated by race and hair colour. She looked at Rachel’s long blonde hair, notable for being the only one of the five upside-down captives whose hair reached all the way to the floor.

“Perhaps this one would be kind enough to donate hers?” she suggested with a smug grin, bunching Rachel’s loose hair in her hand and pulling upwards until she had tilted Rachel’s head. “Get the scissors, Brenda!”

It must have been Jessica’s upside-down viewpoint, but until then she thought Brenda, with her short blonde hair, her overweight frame stuffed into denim dungarees and white tee-sheet, was a man. The other assistant, though similarly attired, at least had the approximate shape of a woman.

Brenda promptly obliged Cavallo’s request, pulling a large pair scissors from one of her many pockets. She knelt down and started crudely cutting away at Rachel’s glorious blonde locks. It’s easy task when your client is hanging upside-down, and barely half a minute later Rachel’s crude haircut was complete. Brenda knotted the eighteen-inch hank of hair and handed it to her boss.

“Thank you Brenda,” Cavallo said, swishing the hair across Rachel’s tape-gagged face, tickling her nostrils in giving her a chance to say a final goodbye to her crowning glory.

Then it was Jessica’s turn. Brenda knelt down, bunched Jessica’s hair in her fist and pulled down hard, as if trying to yank the hair from Jessica’s scalp. Jessica whimpered as she felt the tension gradually ease as her hair was cut off.

Brenda showed Cavallo the hank of Jessica’s hair in her fist, unsure whether it was long enough to make a good ponytail. They reluctantly admitted it was better than nothing. After all she wouldn’t be joining the blonde team until she’d completed her trials.

Kate was not so fortunate. Her blonde hair, being rather fine and barely shoulder length was discarded onto the floor, to be swept up and thown out with the garbage. Neither did Mandy’s hair make the grade. Cavallo detected her visitors were a little upset with their new hairstyles. The fifth, Karen Galtz, having had her head shaved on Rabbit Island a few days previously seemed unperturbed; glad that she would not look so conspicuous from now on.

The scissors were immediately back in use, this time Brenda was cutting through the tape and white sheets which had cocooned Jessica, Kate and Karen for the last three days. Jessica was sorry to see her travelling outfit cut from her. Helpless and covered seemed less vulnerable than helpless and naked. Cavallo screwed up her nose as the unpleasant odor coming from the unwrapped bodies.

“What about their catheter tubes?” Brenda asked. Her scissors were poised to cut the tape encircling Jessica’s left thigh which held the tube in place. She took a few moments to run her fingers up and down the inside of Jessica’s legs, whilst waiting for Cavallo’s answer.

The lean well-defined quadriceps of Jessica’s thighs did not escape Brenda’s notice and admiration; nor did the eight rings pierced through Jessica’s thick and inviting labia.

“Leave the tubes in. It won’t hurt them for a couple more hours.” Cavallo answered, not that it would worry her if it did.

A machine whirred to life, the wire on the overhead rail went taut, and with a sudden jolt Karen and Mandy were gliding out of the room, their bodies swung slightly in recoil, heading towards their new lives of domestic servitude.

Kate and Rachel were also despatched along a rail which disappeared through a door in a different direction. They would soon be installed in the Breeding Unit.

Only Jessica remained; alone with Madame Cavallo. It was almost as if the woman had planned it that way. Yes, there was butch Brenda and her mean-spirited junior, but they seemed to disappear into the walls, as Cavallo confronted Jessica from two yards away. Her eyes were level with Jessica’s sex, but she much preferred looking down towards Jessica’s upside-down face.

“How do you like my island so far?” Cavallo enquired with a sneer. Jessica’s mouth was still taped, so she shook her head, closing her eyes as she breathed rapidly through her slightly blocked nose.

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” Cavallo said with obvious pleasure. “Is it because you’ve nobody to protect you now?”

Jessica hung motionless, not moving her head nor opening her eyes. Cavallo was content to continue her monologue.

“All you have to do is be a good hard-working pony. Stay out of trouble, and you and I will get along fine. You can forget about dressing up for fancy evenings in a ballroom, like on Rabbit Island. Here we treat ponies like ponies. It’s simpler that way. Don’t you agree? We won’t confuse your poor little ponygirl brain, like Master Alex did. He’s a wicked man you know, playing with your emotions in the way he did.”

Jessica wondered if Cavallo was right. How foolish it was to have an emotional attachment to a man who had enslaved her! Cavallo had upset her but she reined in her emotions. She promised herself she would cry later that night, when the lights were out and everybody was sleeping.

Cavallo’s pause indicated she’d said what she wanted to say. It was the most she’d said to a ponygirl for a long time! “I could stay and talk to you all day, but we’ve both so much to do, you and me. It’s time for you to join our stables, but not before our staff carry out a few necessary modifications. Bye-bye Jessica!”

Cavallo nodded towards butch Brenda who was stood by a wall-mounted control panel. On Cavallo’s command she pressed a big green safety button. The overhead rail juddered, causing Jessica’s upside-down body to swing as she was sent on her way. Cavallo immediately turned her back, leaving the dispatch room even before Jessica had reached her own exit point.

Suddenly Jessica emerged into bright sunlight, suspended ten metres off the ground by a wire that led towards a dark shadowy hole in an adjacent building. It was an old brick-built warehouse similar the one she had just exited. About half-way across, Jessica heard a noise, a distinctive clatter of hooves coming from below her. Passing directly beneath her along a paved road was a ponygirl foursome pulling a trailer laden with large boxes. Jessica strained for a final look at the two-by-two arrangement of ponygirls as she entered the dark hole of her next destination. Perhaps that’s my fate too, she thought desparingly, just an anonymous rubber-helmeted ponygirl spending each day hauling stuff around an unfriendly island!

DENTAL WORK

Jessica’s overhead cable soon brought her into a brightly-lit white-tiled toom. It was a disturbing hybrid, part operating theatre part torture chamber. A man and woman were laughing at a shared joke as Jessica glided up to them.

Having not quite recovered from whatever it was they found so funny, they unhooked their latest arrival from her overhead wire. Between the two of them they carried her to a reclining examination chair. As Jessica sat with her hands still fixed behind her back the nurse fastened a heavy leather strap across her chest, holding her perspiring skin firmly against the leather padding of the chair.

Her bound legs were resting between two gyno stirrups, so Jessica knew that the plastic ties which had connected her ankles for the last three days would soon be removed. The doctor, or so the man appeared to be in his white smock, used a curved-edge wire cutters to snip easily through the plastic around her ankles. How annoying that something as flimsy as those plastic ties could contain her so absolutely! He placed her lifeless legs in the stirrups, pulling leathers straps around each ankle.

Jessica’s dark eyes flitted between the doctor and the nurse looking for some kind of communication. They didn’t return her gaze, but nor did they avoid looking at her. She was of no importance to them; they had work to do - and her body was it. The doctor and the nurse divided their tasks, she attending to the top half, and he to Jessica’s lower half. How appropriate, Jessica thought cynically.

A high pitched buzz filled the air behind Jessica’s head. At first she thought it sounded like a vibrator, but it was the nurse holding it, not the doctor. The nurse ran the electric hair clippers over Jessica’s scalp as if she were a new army recruit. A minute later Jessica’s hair was everywhere but on her scalp. Scattered clippings of Jessica’s dark hair rested lightly tickling on her breasts.

Meanwhile the doctor attended to her catheter, lubricating and cleaning the moist area between Jessica’s labia in preparation for its removal. He syringed the small amount of water from the retaining bulb then gently... very slowly... began pulling it from her bladder. Jessica cried into her taped gag, but the nurse’s hands held her head steady. Jessica sighed with genuine relief, almost gratitude, as the tube came free.

The doctor lobbed the tube in a wastebin, discarding his latex gloves with it. He looked up at Jessica’s bald head and smiled at his nurse, complementing her on a good job. The nurse ran her palms and fingertips over Jessica’s scalp, almost like a shiatsu massage. She liked the feel of a freshly shorn scalp, feeling the tiny prickles of hair on her fingertips, mingled with the fresh indignity of her unwilling customer.

The doctor regloved and watched as the nurse carefully ran a razor over Jessica’s scalp. He cast a mock-sympathetic glance at his patient. He smiled. Jessica didn’t know it, but the smile carried a degree of admiration. Some women looked ugly with their head shaved, but Jessica, with shapely eyebrows and passionate dark eyes still looked quite sexy, the doctor thought.

Jessica watched the doctor warily as her shaving continued. He held pliers, more like bolt cutters, in one hand while his other hand rested near her pussy. He grimaced slightly each time he squeezed the pliers. One by one he clipped off and removed Jessica’s labia rings, placing them carefully in a small bowl. They were gold, he informed his nurse. He’d melt them down later that evening.

The nurse spotted the doctor’s expression. “Are you gonna give it to her?” she asked coyly, whilst rubbing a lotion into Jessica’s scalp.

The doctor’s gaze was fixed on Jessica’s invitingly open sex. “Yes, I think I will. It would be a shame to pass up the opportunity. As his finger tips brushed her inner thighs he noticed an unvoluntary squirming from his tightly restrained patient. Whether it was fear or arousal on Jessica’s part, the effect was the same for the doctor, his erect penis straining in his pants just inches away from its ultimate goal.

The nurse leaned forward to place her hands onto Jessica’s breasts, causing her own breasts to press against Jessica’s head. She fingered Jessica’s nipple rings, while the doctor dropped his pants. Jessica’s eyes widened, her pupils dilating as she realized what was coming.

“You look like you’ve never seen a penis before!” the doctor joked as he pressed his erect member against her. “Enjoy it baby, this’ll be the last cock inside you for a long while!” After watching him don and discard two pairs of latex gloves it came as no surprise to Jessica that he should sheath his cock in a condom.

He pushed easily into her. Jessica’s inclined chair proving as suitable for sex as it was for medical procedures. The tape gag on Jessica’s face barely stifled her moans as the man fucked her. The nurse leant over, her smock pressing against Jessica’s bald scalp as she massaged her breasts, giggling all the while. All Jessica could do was take comfort from her rapist doctor’s comment that it would be her last fuck for a while.

PONY DENTAL WORK

All Jessica could remember was the nurse placing a gas mask over her face, like the one time when she had dental work as a child. When she came to, her mouth was numb and swollen, the pain was barely repressed by the remains of the anathesthetic.

The doctor seemed happy as he cleared away his implements. Putting a patient under and removing two back teeth needed effort and concentration. He’d done it before, many times, but never took the operation lightly. Bonding the steel bit across the mouth, where the teeth had been, was a simple procedure, though the double piercing of Jessica’s tongue had been messy.

A human tongue was a remarkably good healer, so he wasn’t overly concerned about a bit of swelling and bruising. With a screw-threaded protrusion rising up through the center of her tongue, Jessica’s mouth and its tongue-bit would be ready for use in a few days, though on La Plata they seldom worried about healing times.

At least her labial didn’t require any modification. The two central piercings were mature and well situated in her flesh. The doctor pulled and stretched out her flaps of flesh between his finger and pushed the U-shaped staple of a padlock through one labia and then the other. The padlock closed with a firm click. Jessica groggily looked down to see what had caused the coolness against her tender flesh. Compared to the pain in her mouth, her locked-up pussy didn’t worry her. It had been a long time since she had thought of it as her own.

Jessica’s feet were fixed together with the familiar hoisting straps. The doctor and nurse wheeled her chair towards the overhead pulley system which had earlier delivered her to them. The doctor heaved on a pulley and Jessica’s feet lifted high into the air until she was dangling upside-down yet again, but this was to be her final journey.

Her new home and her new ponygirl life were waiting at the end of the line.

THE STABLES

On this final cableway journey, Jessica didn’t even notice the teams of ponygirls passing twenty feet beneath her, dutifully pulling their laden wagons across time worn cobble stones. Nor did she notice the long low shed with its corrugated plastic roof. This crude building, almost a hundred metres in length, was to be her new home. She gradually descending into that building, gliding into a narrow vertical slit in the clapboard wall barely the height and width of her suspended body.

Two men were there to greet her. All she could see was their hairy legs right in front of her nose. Stall 42, they agreed was her destination. With a jolting movement the owners of those hairy legs, hauled her onto another overhead pulley. This one ran the length of the building. Jessica glided past identical stalls. Each had a low single bed and an equal width of floor space beside it. Looking down at the floor just a foot below her shaven head so saw the stall numbers painted in large numerals onto the concrete. she passed smoothly over them counting down 45,44,43 and 42. She stopped with a jolt, causing her body to sway like a pendulum until she settled. In front of her was her new home, a prison cell but for the lack of a front wall.

One man hugged her dangling body lifting her an inch or two so the other man could pull her ankle cuffs free of the cableway’s hook. They dropped her face-down onto the bed with no more care than a sack of potatoes was entitled to. Not that Jessica minded. Still weak and drowsy from the anaesthetic she had ceased caring about anything. With her head laying on a thin pillow Jessica was sure that sleep would claim her in seconds.

She heard a ‘clip-clip’, then her hands fell like dead weights onto the mattress, free of the plasticuffs that had secured them for three days. “Sit up!” one of the men said. Reluctantly, with weak aching arms she did as she was told, sitting on the side of the bed watching a man fix a long chain to the wall on the side away from the bed. Holding the loose end of the chain and a small padlock, he indicated with a brief touch that she should open her knees for him. He clipped the chain to the padlock in her labia.

“Go to sleep. We’ll bring you some food in an hour or two,” one of the men said. Then, just as he walked away, “My name’s Jack, but you must call me Sir.”

Jessica nodded to show she understood, but Jack had already gone. She noticed a folded freshly laundered cotton sheet laying on the bed. She unfolded it, laid down and covered herself. She was asleep in seconds.

Jessica wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep. The building was illuminated by daylight coming through the semi-opaque panels of roof. At first she thought it was morning, but the general noise around her sounded like arrivals, not departures. She sat up in bed, leaning against the brick wall, hugging her knees. A ponygirl walked past. Then another one went by a few minutes later. Jessica thought it strange that they should be unaccompanied and walking purposefully past without so much as a sideways glance in her direction. Then, when the third one walked past, she saw the reason: The cableway, which had carried her into this building, was also used to guide the ponygirls. A chain leash between it and the ponygirl’s collar connected them to it. No wonder they walked with such purpose! It they stopped or slowed down they would fall and choke.

Jack was as good as his word, returning with a tray of food, and answered Jessica’s question of how long she’d slept - ‘an hour or two’, the time he said he’d be gone for. It eased her disorientation a little, knowing that it was the same day. She hoped a night of unbroken rest still lay ahead of her.

He placed the tray on the floor. “You’re allowed to use your hands,” he informed her, making it sound like a special privilege. Jessica said ‘thank you, Sir’, or rather she tried to, but her pierced and bruised tongue couldn’t form the ‘th’ sound. It came out a rasping ‘hank koo her.’ Jack gave her sympathetic, slightly condescending, look and walked off.

She knelt down on the floor beside the bowls, constantly aware of the heavy chain attached to her labia. She acquired a habit of holding the chain at a point a foot away from her sex in order to relieve its weight, horrified at the thought of what might happen should she absentmindedly forget about it. At five-feet in length the chain was designed to give her the run of her stall but nothing more. It also asked the question: As the only restraint that kept her in the cell would she be prepared to rip her most tender flesh for a futile escape bid? The answer was no. At least for the moment.

After three days without solid food, Jessica’s empty stomach heaved upon sight of the two bowls. She was at once drawn to yet repulsed by the contents. The toxic green colour of the mush in one bowl didn’t help. She ate the stuff with her fingers. It was plain boiled vegetables, peas, cabbage, broccoli, courgettes and such. It wasn’t bad, and Jessica figured it was designed as a safe reintroduction to solid food.

The other bowl contained what looked like dog biscuits; thick ovals in a rainbow of colours. A closer inspection revealed the brand name deeply impressed into them. It was a poignant taste of home. Her father’s black labrador, many years dead now, loved these biscuits. Jessica picked up a red one together with the large paper cup which, with its plastic straw and lid, reminded her of something from a fast food restaurant.

She resumed her position on the bed taking the water and a biscuit with her. She sucked the cool water through a straw, idly meditating on the biscuit, until it could not be seen through her tear-filled eyes. The sudden memory of home triggered the deep sobbing that she had been promising herself all day.

After five minutes giving vent to her pent-up emotions her mind cleared, like air after a rainstorm. At last she felt awake enough to attempt to make sense of her predicament. She placed a finger into her mouth, trying to ascertain exactly what they had done. Her fingertip felt a screwed thread of steel rising up through her tongue. Further probing revealed that her lower back teeth had been removed and a steel bridge bonded between them. It was a miracle that she was able to eat anything, yet in providing her with food they clearly expected that should would be able.

In a subconscious gesture she ran her fingers through her hair, forgetting that it had been shaved off. It would not truly register until she could see herself. With absurd optimism she looked up at the walls, hoping there would be a mirror. Like most other women Jessica felt her identity was closely allied to her physical appearance. She was desperate to know who she was, what she had become. Had she been able to look into a mirror she would have seen that the ugly bruising on her cheeks from the dental work was far more alarming than her bald head.

The evening passed, punctuated by more of her new stablemates returning home. They and the male stable hands strode past her narrow view of the corridor with barely a glance in her direction. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or disturbed that her appearance was not deemed worthy of a second glance.

Unlike the liberal regime within Rabbit Island’s pony quarters, there was laughter here, only the occasionally sighs or quiet groans. The sound of subdued ponygirls and handlers going about their business.

Later that evening when the daylight had been replaced by gloom the familiar outline of Jack appeared in the corridor in front of Jessica’s stall. She was already in bed curled up under the sheet, her left hand gripping her labia chain. It held her, but it was also something to hold on to.

“Give me your hands,” Jack instructed.

Jessica did as she was told, fully compliant as he fastened her wrists inot handcuffs which were connected by a chain to the top of the iron bed-frame.

“In future, when you are ready to sleep you can fix the cuffs on yourself, you don’t need to wait for me.” He explained helpfully.

Her hands, although cuffed and chained could assume their normal prayerful position just as she always slept on Rabbit Island. She drifted off to sleep with one consolation. Tomorrow she would be a ponygirl again.

(Bestiality code warning: This chapter contains a brief Dog/f scene)

THE LEATHERBODY

Jessica was awakened by the morning sunlight and the stirring of her as-yet-unseen neighbours in adjacent stalls. A man appeared and she was slightly disappointed it wasn’t Jack. She felt she knew where she was with Jack. This other guy was similar to Jack in age and demeanour. His alternating shift partner, Jessica supposed, as he released her hands from the bed cuffs.

“You need the toilet?” he asked gruffly.

She nodded, feeling strangely ashamed at such an admission. A galvanised steel bucket, with a very worn wooden seat atop, was in the far corner of her cell. She’d noticed it the previous evening, but had no need for it, except for a moment when she was eating and thought she might be about to retch.

The man watched expectantly, his forearms folded, accentuating his biceps, as Jessica shyly took up a position on the low potty. “Three minutes!” he warned as he walked away.

That was the best technique for encouraging ponygirls to finish their business promptly. Jessica evacuated her bowels without difficulty while her left hand continued to hold her labia chain out of habit. Though her mature piercings didn’t cause any pain, she was aware of her stretching labia if she allowed the padlock and chain their full weight.

She noticed a small pail of water on the left side of the primitive commode on which she sat. Having spent a year on Rabbit Island toilet paper had become a distant memory to Jessica. She’d become pretty good at keeping herself clean just with her fingers. Her business was concluded well within three minutes, she stood up and instinctively bowed her head, awaiting the man’s return.

There was something about the very fabric of the building that compelled her to obedience - the place reeked of fear. Until she could find out more about this place she resolved not to put so much as a toe out of line.

The man returned, standing at the faded yellow line on the floor that demarked the boundary of her stall. “Kneel down here with your back to me,” he instructed.

She did so, shins on the flagstone flooring, her butt resting on her heels inches away from the man’s legs. “Hands held together behind your back,” came his further instructions.

“This is how you must wait for me in the mornings. Do you think you can manage that?”

Jessica had a momentary urge to give a sarcastic response to his condescending question, but she held her tongue. In fact she became aware that the metal construction in her mouth literally held her tongue and would have rendered her riposte into a humiliating garble.

“Yehh,” she replied, unable to form the S sound. As a qualified speech therapist Jessica knew exactly what the problem was - her tongue’s lack of mobility.

Suddenly he slapped her on the side of her head. “No talking! Just ‘Um’ for yes, ‘uh-uh’ for no! Understand?” he said harshly.

“Um.” Jessica replied, using the correct form. This new language would not take long to learn.

“Good pony,” he said, softening a little. From under the foot of her bed he pulled out a plastic crate containing pony equipment. Jessica hadn’t realized she’d been sleeping right on top of her tack.

She stayed motionless and upright as he dropped a heavy leather harness over her shoulders and began strapping it around her. As with Rabbit Island’s harness her arms were crossed behind her so her wrists could be secured into padded leather cuffs in the small of her back. As he buckled them Jessica squirmed. She was responding to a familiar feeling; the position of her arms, the embrace of the leather straps banding her torso. Soon she would out in the open, running in harness, but free in spirit. She could hardly wait to feel her thighs pumping, the ground moving rapidly beneath her, her lungs filling with so much air that it felt like she could almost burst out of her straps. She wanted to tell him to hurry up with her dressing.

He still had a lot to do. “Keep your head still,” he instructed as he stretched a black neoprene hood over her shaven skull. It made a distinctive crinkly plasticky sound as he carefully peeled the hood down her face. First she was blinded, then her hearing became dulled as it covered her ears. His hands pushed against her bruised cheekbones until the hood snapped into place under her chin. Some final adjustments were needed. He pulled and pinched the hood until it was lined up correctly: Holes were positioned beneath her nostrils and in front of her eyes. Jessica’s panic eased. She could see two circles of brickwork at the end of her cell, barely overlapping, as if looking through binoculars. The tiny holes in the hood negated for the need for pony blinkers. The man stretched the bottom of the hood until Jessica felt it constricting the middle of her neck.

“Open up!” said the man, “nice and wide.”

Jessica hesitated for a moment, slightly confused. Did he mean her legs? A fingertip brushed her lips, indicating that he meant her mouth, which was fully exposed through an oval hole in the hood. She opened her mouth, gasping at the sharp pain caused by the invasive metalwork fixed within. He pushed a one-inch wooden bit into her mouth, lodging it at the back of her bite. Whilst fitting it, the hole in the centre of the bit was penetrated by the threaded protrusion that skewered Jessica’s tongue. Standing above and behind her kneeling body, the man gripped Jessica under the chin with one hand, and spun a wing nut onto the thread until it tightened against the wooden bit, leaving Jessica profoundly bitted. All but the tip of her tongue was locked down in the bowl of her mouth. Her jaw was locked open at the prescribed angle.

Then the man pulled a leather jacket around the front of Jessica’s torso. It had no sleeves or armholes, and was shaped to fit the contours of a ponygirl with her arms bound behind her.

“It’s called a leatherbody”, he informed Jessica, whilst tugging on the heavy zipper at the back. It reminded Jessica of her biker jacket, a gift from a motorcycle-riding former boyfriend. She loved wearing the jacket more than being on the back of the motorcycle - which frankly scared the life out of her. She particularly enjoyed it when her boyfriend pulled up the heavy zipper for her, causing the tight leather to squeeze her breasts within its corset-like embrace. Even now, in circumstances that could hardly be more different, Jessica felt a strange tingle of pleasure at the resurfaced memory. The leatherbody was zipped all the way up to her neck, fully overlapping the hem of the hood.

“Good pony,” the man muttered as he moved on to the next item. “Chin up.”

The heavy moulded posture collar was easy to fit. Hinged open at the front and snapping together at the back. Its elegant curvy shape fitted her from chin to shoulders, leaving Jessica’s head immobile but for a little upward movement.

“Lean forward, knees apart.”

With one hand leaning on Jessica’s back to steady himself, he knelt down and offered up the tail plug to her ass crack. Jessica felt its cool lubricated tip rubbing up and down over her anus. She responded as she was trained to, relaxing her muscles. ‘Empty and yielding, don’t fight it,’ Ray used to say. She felt the plug slip into her. It could hardly be said that she enjoyed wearing a tail plug all day, though she derived a moment of shameful pleasure from its penetration. Its proximity to her sex was just too apparent. She sensed this tail-plug was slightly longer and thinner than the Rabbit Island one. It was metallic too, she deduced by its coolness.

As with the other stages of her pony dressing she was unable to keep herself from making comparisons at each point. What else did she know these days, but ponygirl bondage, how to trot, and how to respond to whips and reins. In such things she was an expert.

Her regular Rabbit Island butt-plug used an internal inflatable bulb that was pumped up after insertion, so it needed no other means to secure it. Being made of metal, this one didn’t pump.

From the bottom front of the leatherbody a long flat leather leash hung down. The man threaded it firstly through her labial padlock, and then pulled it between her legs and through a slot at the base of the butt-plug. It was drawn tightly up her spine to her neck.

The peremptory click of a padlock at the back of her collar signalled the conclusion of Jessica’s new style of harnessing. This padlock, she noted, was the only lock used on her garment. Nothing, not the hood, not the harness, nor the leather body, the neck-brace, or the tail plug could be removed while that padlock remained shut. Even with the leatherbody between it and her skin, she could feel the padlock’s weight against the top of her spine, teasing and taunting her.

“Sit on the bed,” the handler said, in a tone neither harsh nor kind. Jessica rose easily to her feet, aided by him grabbing the handle sewn into the back of the leatherbody. She’d forgotten her labia padlock was still chained to the wall. It tugged slightly as she made a quarter turn and sat on the bed. It felt funny, her legs and feet naked whilst above her hips she was utterly encased in leather and latex.

With her knees open, Jessica looked downwards and saw the pony tail spilling onto the bed between them. It was her own hair, bound in a thick plait. Meanwhile the handler hung a long blonde plait on a hook on the wall directly in front of her. It was Rachel’s, sheared off just in case Jessica needed a blonde tail. She ached for Rachel, her glorious flowing locks cruelly shorn just so she could have a blonde tail! Jessica knew she would treasure it and keep it safe for her, even though it could never be restored.

“When you make the grade, you’ll get the blonde tail.” The man explained, as if a ponygirl could wish for nothing finer in life.

Jessica’s squawky outburst surprised the handler as he tried to put on the ponyboots. She’d recognised they were her own pair from Rabbit Island. (Nobody appreciates a comfortable pair of boots as much as a ponygirl!) It was as if her quality of life had improved in an instant. The handler smiled as he realized the sound was not distress but was sheer delight and relief. Putting them on her he noticed they fitted her as well as any boots he’d ever seen. Her feet and those boots seemed to belong together, he thought, as he tightly laced to them to mid-calf.

The final item of Jessica’s new outfit was a bright steel chain - a ‘Y chain’ they called it. The carabiner-style clips at each end were snapped to Jessica’s nipple rings and to her labia padlock to create a Y of chain on the front of her leather-clad torso.

“Up!” the handler commanded with a tug on the chain. She rose to her feet. With the added inches of the sole and the hoof angle of the boots, she was now taller than he was. “Nice teeth,” he casually commented. The design of the hood and the bit between her teeth served to accentuate the beauty of a ponygirl’s mouth.

He led Jessica by her Y chain, thereby demonstrating its primary purpose, towards the overhead cableway that ran along the length of the stable block. He positioned her beneath the cableway and stood in front of her. Even with her limited sight Jessica could see he was watching and waiting for something to arrive from behind her. He made a sudden grab and took hold of a dangling leash. In a quick and fluent move he clipped the connector to a large D ring at the front of Jessica’s collar and moved swiftly to the side just as she felt an imperative tug.

All Jessica could do was concentrate on walking and not falling as she was pulled along by the cableway’s leash. The boots were fine of course, but the ponygirl bondage was different to Rabbit Island’s strict yet sensual strapping. The leatherbody, the tight neoprene hood and the neck brace combined to contain and control her utterly. Though she was curious to see who or what was in her neighbouring stalls, she simply couldn’t. The rigid collar and the tunnel-vision eyesight granted by the hood kept her eyes on what was ahead of her.

Ten yards ahead was another ponygirl, leashed to the cableway, and attired like Jessica, right down to the plaited tail swishing between her thighs. This ponygirl walked with a distinctive high-stepping clip. Jessica attempted to do the same, raising her knees higher and increasing the pace while shortening her stride. Whether it was a requirement or not, Jessica knew it would warm her up better than strolling in pace with her leash. It felt good to be moving her legs again. Still with Rabbit Island’s performance enhancing drugs within her system she craved exercise almost as much as, usually more than, sex.

As the mechanised leash continued leading her at a medium trot Jessica sensed that something was very different. It was her boots - they were silent! The bells that had jingled to every step she’d ever taken as a ponygirl had been removed. Only the dull thud of her rubber soles on the concrete floor remained. It wasn’t so much the sound of her own bells she missed but the reassuring sound of the other ponygirls. She could recognize each of them by the unique cadence of the bells alone.

She emerged into the bright outdoors and into a new regime. A man unhooked her leash from the overhead cableway and led her to the training and evaluation ring.

RACING THE CLOCK

Jessica was clipped onto a frame, which felt similar to being harnessed to a ponytrap. It was what they called a rotator - a large revolving frame with braced ten-metre long arms with harness attachments at the ends. Normally it was equipped with four arms to hold four ponygirls for pace training. Today it was set in clock racing mode. That is to say there were just two arms, which could rotate independently around the axis like the hands of a clock. The ten-metre radius of the arm provided the ponygirl with a lap of just over sixty metres.

Another ponygirl was being attached to the other arm on the opposite side of the frame though Jessica with her tunnel vision and unyielding neck brace was not yet aware of her fellow pony. She was however aware of being attached to the frame by multiple attachment points at the back of her leatherbody. Then there were meddling hands around her buttocks and tail. Her handler had connected an electrical wire from the rotator to her butt plug.

Suddenly Jessica felt a sharp pain deep within her rectum.

“When you feel that, you walk,” her handler shouted like a drill sergeant. “Always right hoof first!”

Jessica walked at the steady purposeful pace she knew well - slightly more than three miles an hour.

“Good!” the handler shouted encouragingly as Jessica completed a couple of circuits. She could tell by the fading of his voice that he stood in the same place waiting for her to complete each circuit. Halfway around the circuit another man stood, although he barely acknowledged her. The vocal affirmations of Jessica’s handler did not prevent his application of his whip on her buttocks each time she passed him. Jessica became aware of somebody else, another ponygirl slightly affecting her rhythm, but it was company of sorts and she was glad of it.

“When you feel two jolts you trot!” he explained slowly and loudly after Jessica’s second circuit, making quite certain he would only say it once.

Seconds later, Jessica felt two painful contractions like sharp cramps deep within her. She trotted as required, a formal high stepping trot, but it seemed so lifeless without the jingling of boot bells, and harder to maintain a rhythm. Then Jessica felt something change. Up until then the two hands of the monstrous rotating frame were fixed opposite each other forcing the ponygirls to run at the same pace. Then the occasional jolts transmitted from the ponygirl on the other side of the circle ceased. The two rotating arms had been unlocked and could turn at their own pace like hands on a very large clock.

The whip lashed her buttocks again. “Move it! The race has started!” her handler yelled. A race? Jessica was confused for a moment, but she understood the word race well enough.She shifted her pace up a gear.

Jessica was beginning to adapt to the tightness of the leatherbody and the collar. The rigidity of her posture and the way the leatherbody sheltered her from the breeze seemed to concentrate her mind on the task in hand - pumping her thighs and moving with her unique little jiggle that pony drivers had often commented on. It felt good to be running again, her lungs filling her chest, which pushed against the leather bands encircling it.

The two hands of this bizarre clock had moved from the opposite positions they occupied earlier. The whip hit Jessica’s buttocks yet again. “Faster. She’s gaining on you!” her handler yelled urgently. Why didn’t he say so earlier? Jessica thought to herself as she stepped up another gear, gladly trading grace for pace.

Five more circuits brought five more swipes of the whip, but the handler’s accompanying tone of voice seemed more optimistic, until on one pass the whip was coupled with a shout of “atta girl!” His encouragement helped, but Jessica knew she could have run much faster if only Debbie was at her side and the commanding reassuring presence of Riccardo was behind her.

After another five circuits seeing nothing but the repetition of two handlers coming in and out of her sight, something else entered her field of vision. It was her opponent, clad in a leatherbody, hooded and neck-braced just like she was. The girl was beginning to struggle. Her running was losing form, not helped by the angry ranting of her handler. Jessica’s handler wasn’t even using the whip now. She could even see his smile as she ran past him.

Jessica was gaining rapidly on the girl, like a hunter about to pounce on her prey. When she was four yards behind the girl and closing with each stride, the ponygirl collapsed. Jessica ran into her, unable to stop in time. The beaten ponygirl slumped, but harnessed to the steel arm she could not fall to the ground. Jessica bent forward panting for breath, sensing heat and perspiration building within her leatherbody as she fought to recover. The handlers detached the defeated ponygirl from her harnessing points and let her slump lifelessly to the ground.

“Give her a beating and send her to the mines,” Jessica’s handler instructed the other. He seemed to take a certain pleasure at those words. “I told you this new one was quality but you didn’t believe me!”

At such a triumphant moment on Rabbit Island Jessica would have expected a condescending yet oddly pleasurable petting and sweet-talking session from her driver. Things were very different here. The handler took hold of Jessica’s Y chain and led her from the training circuit.

Fifty yards along the track a team of ponygirls was waiting. There were three of them, two in front and one behind, with space for another beside her. They were all identically attired in their black hoods and leatherbodies. Jessica figured that was exactly how she looked too or she wouldn’t be joining their team.

The three ponygirls were standing between a pair of railway tracks, hitched to a four-seat open wagon with a flatbed area behind. Unable to look downwards, Jessica’s toes kicked then stumbled over the rail. The handler snapped a series of metal fastenings to the D rings of her leatherbody. She felt her head pulled back as the rings at the sides of her built-in bit were connected to unseen reins. Something was happening to her butt tail, Jessica could feel somebody connecting something. ‘Wiring her up’ she heard the handler say. She felt an excruciating pain in her belly, an electrical discharge from the anal insert.

“Working fine,” the handler called out, chuckling to the driver. Their fun wasn’t for sharing with ponygirls.

Then Jessica felt smaller jolt in her belly. Immediately her fellow ponygirls leant forward, gradually hauling the carriage into motion. Jessica instinctively joined in, imitating the ponygirl four feet in front of her. The railway track descended a slope causing the ponygirls to reach full pace almost at once. A ton of wagon rolling behind them was all the incentive the ponygirls needed to keep running.

Suddenly, after five minutes of steady running along a flat route the rails began to slope upward. Jessica strained with effort, feeling her lack of fitness and unsure if she could pull any harder.

THE PONYGIRL EXPRESS
(Riccardo and Jessica)

Witnessing the team of four ponygirls stamping energetically towards them, Riccardo was impressed. The slight incline of the track immediately before the halt was designed to take the speed out of the ponygirls’ gait, yet if their pace dropped too early they would falter halfway and their carriage would roll backwards down the slope, taking four humiliated ponygirls with it. This time the ponygirls came to a halt directly in front of Riccardo and Peter. Two men jumped down from the carriage, exchanging a chummy greeting with Peter and a welcome to Riccardo.

Riccardo looked the ponygirls up and down. Covered in leather and latex, all but their thighs and buttocks, there was little for his eyes to appreciate apart from the sleek and strict bondage they endured. They were impressive without doubt, but he missed the intimate, almost teasing, strapping of a naked body that was such an essential part of the Rabbit Island ponygirls. Hooded in black latex, these ponygirls lacked the appealing individuality which Rabbit Island ponygirls retained even after their thorough training. They look so anonymous, he commented to Peter. That was the whole point, Peter explained, the suppression of individuality so that these females are just faceless parts of a machine.

Peter and Riccardo stepped up into the carriage. They had the four seats to themselves.

“No driver?” Riccardo asked.

“Not required!” Peter answered. “We just give them the signal to start.” He pressed a green button on the simple dashboard control panel. The four ponygirls seemed to judder in unison before leaning forward and pulling the carriage into motion. A few yards along the track they were on a downward slope and building up the speed needed to reach the next destination.

“The green button sends a little shock into the ponygirls’ asses. That’s their signal to go. The one at the front right hand side is the leader, the others keep in step with her. They have to maintain a fast pace so they have enough momentum to make it up the slope at the next station,” said Peter as they glided along. “If they fail to make it up the slope they’ll be punished, but that seldom happens.”

The journey along the tracks was fast and smooth. Riccardo could readily see how efficient this arrangement was. It answered one of his questions - why there was such a high proportion of ponygirls to drivers on the island. The statistic had confused him when it was first mentioned. Now he understood. Here were four ponygirls working the whole day long without the aid of a driver.

The track-borne ride was so very different to the twisting undulating trails of Rabbit Island, the jogging of the ponygirls didn’t transmit to the carriage like the two-pony configuration he was used to. Out of pony driver habit he studied the buttocks and thighs of the ponygirl immediately in front of him checking for rhythm and form. Then he realized they were more than just familiar, it was Jessica’s distinctive wiggle that he knew so well! The recently applied brand in the centre of her left buttock left no doubt in his mind. The satisfaction of discovering her whereabouts was tempered by the realization of what day-to-day life would be like for her.

Jessica had recognized Riccardo long before then. He’d been standing next to her, talking to Peter, for a couple of minutes before they set off. To avoid mutual embarrassment she had made no attempt to make her presence known to him. She knew he would figure it out soon enough.

They were approaching a cluster of buildings. It was a much smarter quarter of the Island than Riccardo had seen before. Without any prompting, the ponygirls began to speed up a little in anticipation of the halt’s incline fifty yards ahead of them. Once again their approach speed, their deceleration and gentle stop were faultless, even allowing for one new ponygirl in their quartet.

THE BITCH FRAME
(Kate)

After Riccardo and Peter dismounted from the carriage, Peter leaned over to push the green button. After the pony team had received the customary jolt, the Ponygirl Express trotted off, unattended and unladen, towards its next stop.

Riccardo heard dogs yapping, not just one or two, but a whole pack. On Rabbit Island there were only a couple of hounds in the orchard, friendly mutts that scarcely made a sound.

Peter led him to a sprawling complex of single story units opening onto a large area of lawn with mature trees forming its border.

“Do you have bitch-dog training on Rabbit Island?” Peter asked as they walked.

“No we don’t, just puppy-girl training. Nothing with animals.” Riccardo replied. He knew exactly what Peter meant by bitch-dog training, the incessant yapping of the dogs in the near distance confirmed it.

They turned the corner of a building and came upon the bitches - four of them sitting on padded mats alongside a long wall, about two metres apart. The naked women wore heavy studded leather collars, by which they were chained to the wall. Their hands and feet were leather mitted in the same fashion as Rabbit Island's puppygirl regime. Hands were held in a useless fist shape. Feet were subjected to the pressure pad devices in the soles of the mittens that emitted a painful shock if the bitch attempted to stand. These new ones, said Peter, were dual punishment models utilising sharp needles AND electric shocks.

The four bitches, seeing the two men approach, dutifully assumed their doggy-style hands and knees position, looking up at the men, with their mouths wide open as if awaiting a treat. Their upward curving tails, emanating from their butt plugs, wagged gently to indicate their apparent pleasure at the men’s arrival. Thin black leather crotch belts held the plugs in position.

Peter grabbed the short hair of one of the bitches tilting her head up to Riccardo. She grimaced at the strain on her hair but was otherwise a model of obedience.

“Ever used these gags before?” Peter asked.

Riccardo peered into the gaping mouth and noticed a metallic framework within. Ingenious, he thought.

“It holds the mouth open but they can still eat. Close your mouth!” he commanded the bitch. She did so, but very slowly, and with obvious effort. After a couple of seconds her mouth was wide open again.

“You see? Spring loaded!” Peter delighted in explaining. “They can eat, but speech is very difficult. They can’t close their mouths quick enough.”

Peter let go of the bitch’s hair and moved to the second one. He took another gag from the shelf above her, one unique to the bitches. It was a real animal bone with leather cords tied to each end. He pushed the bone into the bitch’s mouth like a bit gag and fastened the cords at the back of her head. This bitch had copper-red hair, obviously dyed, cut in a short, shaggy style which seemed perfectly suited her status. Closer inspection showed her face was made up - lips a deep red, eyes shadowed in black and brows accentuated. Riccardo was quite taken with a nervous looking russet-haired bitch looking at him. She appeared familiar to him, as well she might. The hair and make up couldn’t disguise that it was Kate.

Riccardo recalled how delicious Kate looked and acted as a puppy girl on Rabbit Island so he wasn’t at all sorry to see her resuming a canine role. He especially liked how her ass was plugged with a curved dog tail and split by a neat crotchbelt - liked in the sense of feeling his penis growing to fill its restrictive tube. The perspex restraint curtailed his erection, making him strangely glad not to be adding another bone to the scene. It was, after all, his first day on the job!

Peter unhooked Kate’s leash from the wall and led her crawling onto the lawn. Riccardo walked on Kate’s other side as they made towards a shady area beneath some large trees.

Kate stopped, digging in her front paws and tensing her limbs until her leash pulled taught. Peter laughed, moved his grip to her collar and dragged her the remaining two metres to the wrought iron bitch-frame.

“Grab her arm and put the shackle on it!” Peter told Riccardo, as he hauled the reluctant Kate onto the frame. He often met with this kind of rebellion. Kate’s struggles were feeble compared to others who, fittingly, fought like dogs to avoid being fixed to the bitch-frame.

Once her wrists were locked into the front shackles Kate’s resistance was reduced to gestures. Her knees and ankles were soon buckled into the frame. Two straps dangling from its underside fastened across her back, leaving her immobile and exposed in the doggy position. A chin holder with a protruding spike was adjusted to keep her head facing forward rather than downwards.

“We’ll take out the butt plug,” Peter said, “just to provide more options. Can you pass me the dog skin from that bag?”

Riccardo pulled out the bristly Alsatian hide and draped it across Kate’s back. The velcro straps at its corners fastened under Kate’s armpits and around the tops of her thighs holding the hide in place like a coat.

“Dog claws can be pretty sharp but the hide should protect her back from the worst of it.” Peter said as the two men looked down at Kate’s trembling body. “Could you get the lube please?”

Riccardo reached into the bag again to retrieve a small, pump-handled oil can, like one he used as a kid for maintaining his pushbike. He squirted it liberally onto Kate’s exposed sex then poked the nozzle between her pussy lips and squeezed again. He rubbed in the light oil with the palm of his hand, a finger slipping between her labia into her moistening folds. His gentle but insistent rubbing was soon rewarded. Kate couldn’t help herself. She rattled the frame in response. The ironwork was designed to clang and rattle a bit, Peter explained, the videos were much more interesting with a little noise and movement from the bitch’s struggles.

“Nice looking bitch. Cute ass.” Peter commented casually as he moved towards the surrounding trees. “One of yours?”

“Not exactly mine,” Riccardo chuckled, with a hint of regret in his voice, “but yes, she’s from Rabbit Island.”

Peter was busily adjusting several small cameras fixed to the surrounding tree trunks whilst speaking to somebody on a walkie-talkie. All the cameras were focussed on Kate, who was about to play a starring role in a long-running video series.

As if Kate wasn’t fixed securely enough, Riccardo had noticed the bottom of the frame was equipped with nipple clamps at the ends of light chains. Each in turn, he pinched the clamps between the finger and thumb of one hand while his other pulled downwards on Kate’s substantial nipples to bring then within reach of the serrated-edge bite of the clamps.

Kate yelped, her eyes widening with shock, as the vicious clamps bit into her nipples. It was no more or less a reaction than Riccardo expected. He must have clamped a thousand nipples in the last couple of years on Rabbit Island. He stroked her short red hair, very taken with how its vibrant copper colour complemented the blue eyes looking up at him.

Peter was done with his camera tweaking. He and Riccardo walked away leaving Kate rattling against the metal restraints of the frame. Riccardo took a last look over his shoulder. Did he feel guilty about her treatment or just regretful that he couldn’t take advantage while she was secured in the position he liked the most?

BURIED
(Mandy)

Two strange lumps were protruding from the lawn in front of Peter and Riccardo. Positioned eight feet apart the black cloth bags looked like improvised goalposts for a casual soccer game, but these bags were moving!

Peter bent over one of them. Riccardo instinctively stationed himself above the other, watching as Peter pulled the bag off the object. It was a woman’s head. She was very much alive, but silent due to the wide strips of tape plastered over her mouth.

Riccardo pulled off the cloth bag between his feet. It was Mandy, shaking her head angrily and managing to complain despite the tape gagging her. He ripped the tape from her mouth. She strained her head back against the manicured lawn around her neck.

“Ouch! That hurt! Riccardo, Sir, look what they’ve done to me!” she cried. “They strapped me up and buried me. I need water, but they won’t give me any.”

Burial had certainly not dulled the edge from Mandy’s notorious complaining. Riccardo saw her mouth within licking distance of the toe of his shoe. It was as low as somebody could get. He felt a degree of sympathy for her, though he knew that her habitual whining was probably the cause of her current predicament

“She refused to drink last night.” Peter said. He was kneeling down feeding bread to his own buried girl.

“Drink?” Mandy responded indignantly. “Those dogs were pissing on me!”

Peter had the measure of Mandy already. He merely laughed.“So are you going to drink this morning, or shall we gag you again?”

“What choice do I have? I don’t want to die of thirst!” Mandy replied with resignation.

As they were walking away Peter clarified. “They’re not actually buried. She’s strapped up inside a tube which slots into a prepared hole on in the ground. Then the turf is carefully rolled around her neck. And the dogs, they’re fed a diuretic. It makes their urine weak and quite palatable enough for a thirsty slave.”

After Mandy and her companion had been watered by the dogs, they would be fitted with red ballgags and dark sunglasses. A miserable day of taunts and teasing awaited them, as that area of the lawn was the open-air extension to the canteen, regularly used for coffee breaks and lunches.

Suddenly a motley pack of dogs raced from an enclosure at the far side of the lawn, barking and yapping as they gambolled over towards Kate and the two buried girls. Peter and Riccardo watched from a short distance. The dogs began marking Mandy and the other girl. Mandy’s head went back, facing towards the sky, and her mouth opened wide as she tried to catch the spray of a large Alsatian.

Over by the trees Riccardo could see a dalmatian had already mounted Kate, while another muzzled dog was trying to lick her face. He was too far away to see or hear Kate’s reaction but there was no doubting his own. His penis swelled until it painfully filled its plastic tube. His hand involuntarily rubbed against his crotch. Oh to be a dog! Knowing that he would be able to watch the video of Kate’s animal rape later that night left Riccardo with mixed feelings. Sympathy for Kate? Yes, but lust and jealousy too. It was the last of these that concerned him the most.

THE BANGKOK AND DISTRICT PRIVATE SANATORIUM
(Alex)

Doctor Alexander Kundera collected his visitor’s badge from the charming Thai receptionist. He clipped the badge to the breast pocket of his linen jacket and walked the corridors of the sanatorium searching for the reason for his visit, and the cause, indirectly, of Rabbit Island’s current demise.

Like many of the doors he passed, the door to room 234 was already wide open so as to allow sunlight to the corridor. Alex had to lean into the room to read the number, confirming he’d found the right one. A young woman was sitting in one of the two chairs, staring serenely out of the window at the lush gardens.

“Good morning,” Alex offered awkwardly, realizing that he didn’t have a name to append to his greeting.

“Jane. They’ve registered me as Jane Doe, but they call me Janie. Are you Doctor Kun... something?” She asked.

“Kundera - but please call me Alex. Pleased to meet you, Janie.”

“They said you were a well known writer, but I haven’t heard of you. I hope you’re not offended. I haven’t heard of anyone else either!”

“Don’t worry. I’m only famous for books on psychology,” Alex said self-deprecatingly, trying to put her at ease. “I’ve written a few. Cases of memory loss like yours are my speciality.”

“Have you ever known one who lost her arms too?” she asked.

Alex hadn’t consciously registered that her elbow-length sleeves were empty, not until she mentioned it in such stark terms. He lived on an island where females so often had the hands tied behind them that the visual absence of Janie’s hands didn’t seem in the least unusual. He had noticed her face, quite pretty but with overly tanned skin, heavily freckled. Her fair hair was short, just covering her ears, and seemed prematurely greying. He’d also noticed her breasts, their full shape evident beneath the loose V-neck tee shirt.

There was an almost full glass of water on the table in front of the girl. Alex breezily took it away, muttering words about fixing a couple of fresh drinks for them. The kitchenette was conveniently behind the girl’s back.

Engaging someone with complete memory loss in idle chit-chat wasn’t easy but Alex managed a faltering conversation as he unzipped the black leather wallet containing Dr. Schmidt’s potions. His fingertips touched each one in turn: Truth, memory and, if necessary, death. First the water, then the potion, poured very gently. Finally, remembering the doctor’s advice he placed the straw in the glass but didn’t stir.

Alex placed their drinks on the table and diligently arranged his notepad and tape recorder between them. “Cheers,” he said with a degree of irony as he took a long drink from his glass. As he expected, the young woman mirrored him, leaning forward and sipping at least an inch of water through her straw.

The interview commenced. Alex knew the truth drug would hit Janie’s system within ten minutes. He could tell by her irritable responses that his line of questioning was the same as she had been subjected to many times in the previous weeks. She knew nothing of her past life.

Dr Schmidt’s truth drug didn’t change matters, except to reveal the depths of her despair.

“I can’t slit my wrists, I can’t take an overdose, but I can jump in front of a truck as well as anybody. Every evening after dark, when nobody can see me, I go for a walk around the hospital perimeter. Heavy trucks pass by just a few yards away, and I often think of stepping in front of one,” said Janie, her eyes piercing his, carrying the conviction of her words.

Alex didn’t react, except to write in his notes: ‘Stage B: Freely admitted to suicidal thoughts.’

“I’m useless aren’t I? I can’t do anything for myself. I don’t even know my own name. I can’t dress myself, feed myself. I even need somebody’s help to go to the god damn bathroom!”

Alex listened impassively while making notes - a psychologist’s regular defence when there are no words for an adequate reply. She sucked the remainder of her water. Doctor Schmidt was right. The first potion had given her a thirst. He got up from his chair and refilled their glasses. After truth came memory, or so Doctor Schmidt planned. Alex wasn’t so sure.

“I feel I can trust you,” said Janie, “like I can tell you anything... except I can’t remember anything to tell you.”

Alex chuckled with her at the irony. Her trust was borne out of a drug, as indeed her memories might soon be.

Meanwhile Alex was in search of a truth he didn’t want to hear, and for once hoped that Doctor Schmidt’s medicine would fail. He showed Janie a series of photographs. A dog, a house, a baby, a mountain, a bicycle, a pizza, a rock band, a canoe, and hundreds more. She knew what things were but not how they might apply to her own existence.

“I need to look at the wounds.” Alex said, breaking the awkward silence as they stared at the photographs scattered across the table. “Do you mind if I touch you?”

“I can’t stop you,” she replied, “but no, I don’t mind at all if you touch. The staff here are very kind to me. Very polite and considerate.”

She couldn’t help adjusting her posture as Alex stood up and stepped behind her. He bent over her, breathing on her neck as his hands lifted the tee shirt clear of her head. Without arms to impede its progress the garment seemed disturbingly easy to lift clear. These were full bone amputations. Usually a surgeon will endeavour to save something below the shoulder to facilitate prosthetics, but not in Janie’s case.

“Did they inform you that I would touch you in intimate places?” Alex asked.

Janie swallowed and nodded. “Yes, they told me that. I trust you.”

He moved his hands towards her shorts. Unbuckling the belt, unbuttoning and unzipping, he eased her shorts down over her hips until they fell to her ankles. The tattoo near her labia was indeed a rabbit motif - a poor imitation of a design formerly used on Rabbit Island.

“What’s the significance of the rabbit?” Janie asked.

“I really don’t know.” Alex answered thoughtfully. It was true, he didn’t know the significance of this particular rabbit.

He placed a folded towel on the wooden seat and sat the girl down on it. Then he blindfolded her with a sleep mask - the type commonly used on airlines. This one was marked Qantas, and came from a complimentary pack from his most recent journey.

“Comfortable?” Alex asked, taking up a position behind her chair.

“Fine, thank you,” Janie replied with a Mona Lisa smile. This was the most stimulating thing that had happened to her since she could remember.

He kissed her on the head, then on her shoulders. His hands moved to her breasts and her nipples. They hardened in response to his touch. “Tell me if you want me to stop. Tell me what you are thinking.”

“Nothing, except it feels nice to be touched. Alex, do you think I’ve made love before?”

“I’m sure you have,” Alex said with confidence. “Does this bring back good memories? If you don’t know, take a guess.”

“It feels good, but I don’t sense any memories. I feel relaxed and happy. A little excited too.” Janie giggled.

As she was still under the influence of the truth drug, Alex had no reason to doubt her. He pulled on her nipples, (fit for a ponygirl, he thought to himself), stretching and squeezing them. They’d been pierced in the recent past, he could tell by the marks. He took his hands away.

“No. Please don’t stop. Can’t you keep doing that? Perhaps I might think of something if you keep going,” Janie suggested.

Alex resumed his ministrations, his fingers moving lightly on her ribs and belly.

“Hey, that tickles!” Janie protested feebly. Soon Alex had her laughing and then begging as she squirmed in her seat, unable and unwilling to prevent the delicious assault.

“Lower please, go lower,” she said, her breathing rapid and trembling.

“What would you like me to do?” Alex asked. It was a cruel thing to ask somebody under the influence of a truth drug.

“Fuck me!” she blurted out, before realizing what she had said. “Oh god, you’re a doctor! I’m sorry. Why would anyone want to have sex with a freak anyway?”

“You’ve a very fuckable body,” Alex said, entering into the spirit of truthfulness for a moment.

His fingers had reached her short, formerly shaved, pubic hair. Stroking its silkiness, teasing her. He dipped lower, touching her labia pressing lightly on her clitoral hood. He would not go further until she revealed something, anything, to him.

Fifteen minutes of on-and-off teasing torment elapsed. Janie, sitting naked and blindfolded, was in despair, knowing that the relief and pleasure she craved was so close. Yet her memory was as dark as the blindfold itself. She sensed Alex was about to call a halt to his examination. They had another appointment for the same time tomorrow.

She wanted nothing more than to feel Alex’s fingers between her legs, even just for a few seconds. Suddenly, something came into her mind.

“Two lines!” she said fervently. “Two lines in the darkness.”

“What kind of lines?” Alex asked, his fingers brushing her clitoris and moist labia as a reward.

“They’re shiny. Parallel lines. Curving.” She was becoming agitated, excited at the thought of giving birth to a memory as much as she was by Alex’s long-awaited physical reward.

“Like railway tracks?” Alex probed. Janie sighed as he continued to lightly stroke her; helping her to what she hoped was an inevitable outcome.

“Two lines, yes, like railway tracks... Oh God. Don’t stop... tracks. Does that mean something?”

It wasn’t the question to ask a psychologist, to whom everything means something. Even if Alex was unsure, he knew it meant something. However vague, however distant, he sensed it was a significant memory. Janie waited for her reward, unable to concentrate on anything else by then.

Alex bent down to kiss her neck, his nose nuzzling her ear as his fingers continued to rub and probe her sex. His cock was twitching, demanding to be nested in the warm and moist flesh where his fingers were.

“Oh Jesus!” Janie proclaimed with a burst of hot breath. “Yes, yes, don’t stop just yet.”

He didn’t stop. Completing the girl’s pleasure was the least he could do in the circumstances.

Alex recalled Doctor Schmidt’s instructions. They were explicit: ‘Don’t hesitate to use the third vial if the second shows any sign of releasing memories.’

“Can I have another drink of water?” Janie asked, sighing with contentment.

Alex obliged.

Chapter 17. Caged
(Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)

The story so far:
(Ch. 14) Rabbit Island is evacuated. Bundled and Shipped.
(Ch. 15) Riccardo learns about self control. Jessica and Kate are processed on La Plata.
(Ch. 16) Jessica and the Ponygirl Express. Kate and the bitch-frame. Master Alex visits the armless girl.

A HISTORY LESSON

“Isla de la Plata has been in the same family’s hands for six generations, ever since its settlement in 1830. Madame Cavallo inherited it from her father ten years ago following his death. The mining is almost finished now, but the Mistress has inherited a very large fortune from silver and other minerals...

“There’s a long history of slavery here, which continued throughout the twentieth century. Many of the buildings you see on this island were built by the original slaves - people from various southern Pacific islands. One day Madame’s great-great-grandfather decided to grant the slaves their freedom. Most stayed on the island and continued to work hard for a modest wage and somewhere to live. But that era didn’t last long. There was a protest and then a rebellion over the working conditions in the mine. Many slaves were killed before the rebellion was quashed...

“That brought about the second period of slavery. It was a much harsher regime. The slaves lived their lives in chains and under the strictest supervision. That was the era when the women slaves were first used as human ponies. They were too weak for the heavy work, but when harnessed as a team were found to be adequate replacements for donkeys. The mining business flourished and expanded under Mistress’s great grandfather. He acquired more and more slaves to meet the demand. It was he that started the breeding program, mating the strongest and healthiest men and women to produce all the slaves he needed...

“These days, with so little mining activity, the island doesn’t need many slaves, but Mistress retains a passionate interest in slavery and breeding, and ponygirls too.”

Riccardo looked at the girl giving him the history lesson as they shared a morning coffee. Lucinda was pretty, and, he guessed, in her late teens. He’d seen many beautiful women, but this one was unique, and he had been captivated by her appearance since he arrived on the island several days ago.

Lucinda wore a long white dress with a dramatically plunging neckline. The cloth had a gauzy lightness to the point of translucency, designed more to titillate the onlooker rather than protect her modesty. Her dress was complimented by roman sandals with white laces that criss-crossed up the lengths of her shins, knotting neatly just below the knees. Her wrists each sported half a dozen metal bangles that clinked musically as she moved to take a sip of coffee. But it was her neck that was most alluring. It was encased in what looked like bronze hoops, broad at her shoulders and narrowing towards the top of her neck. Her neck was unnaturally long, stretched by many years wearing the brass rings. Riccardo had seen tribal people wearing something similar, but never a white woman.

When he asked about her neck, Lucinda explained as she had many times before. “I was born on this island. I’m a product of its breeding program, and like the other babies I was sold immediately. Most babies ended up in wealthy homes in America, but I was sold to an organisation that trained sex slaves. At the age of ten, they put the first coil around my neck. Everybody said how beautiful I looked and that made me happy. People think they are hoops but it’s a coil. The tradition comes from the Padaung of Burma...

“Two years ago, Madame purchased me from the organisation which had reared and trained me. She paid quite a lot of money, I believe. My neck is eight inches long now, but Madame wants it to be eleven inches in the next five years. I don’t think it’s possible. It’ll probably kill me.”

Riccardo looked concerned. “What happens if the coil is removed? Is it true you would die?” he asked, admitting he knew little of the practice.

As she shook her head her large hoop earrings chimed softly against her bronze encased neck. “No, but it would be a terrible strain. My neck muscles are very weak. It’s better I stay like this. I’m used to it. I like it!”

Riccardo was more than a little aroused by Lucinda and her lifetime of bondage. Her charm was the equal of her looks - an attractive well-proportioned face with a slightly flat retrousse nose. He liked her dark brown hair too: Short but feminine, cut so as not obscure her neck’s brass coil. But he was confused. Apart from her neck she gave no other indication of being a slave. He’d seen her coming and going as she pleased. In fact, she seemed not to have a care in the world.

“I’m not a slave,” Lucinda said defensively. “I’m owned by Madame, but that doesn’t mean I’m a slave does it? I’m a possession, a curiosity, an ornament, she says. I’m fully trained in oral and anal sex and in orgasm control and the erotic torment of female slaves. I’m also an expert, they say, in hair and makeup. If you want to have sex with me, you can at tonight’s Bacchanal. I’ll be tied up and available to any man who wants me.”

That category of man would certainly include Riccardo. “So you do get tied up sometimes then?”

“Of course.” Lucinda replied. “Quite often, and always for sex, obviously.”

Riccardo smiled. He was enjoying this conversation. “Ever had sex without being tied up?” he asked.

Lucinda shrugged her shoulders. “No. never! I don’t think I’d like it so much without something to tug against.” She leant forward, as if to confide in Riccardo. “You know what I like the most?”

He shook his head, giving the negative response she required.

“...being chained to the four corners of a bed. Not too tight and not too loose.”

“Tight enough to tug against?” Riccardo offered.

“Exactly!” Lucinda said with a broad smile. “And I like it when a man kisses me... everywhere! Lots of tender kisses. And I like it when the weight of his chest is crushing my breasts... and when he kisses my lips.”

Riccardo felt his penis swell within the infernal plastic tube he’d worn since his arrival on the island. Tonight, being Friday, it would be removed. His male colleagues had told him that weekends were fun, but for him it had become a physical need rather than mere fun. Lucinda’s comments weren’t helping!

A distant rumble and whine of the railway tracks attracted Riccardo’s attention. The Ponygirl Express was approaching. He looked at his watch, confirming they were right on schedule, as they always were. Jessica was still part of the foursome, Riccardo observed. His pledge to keep an eye on her was proving easy to keep. Two men disembarked from the Ponygirl Express, a woman got on, made herself comfortable, and pressed the green ‘go’ button. If she cared to look closely she might have seen the twitchng of four leather-encased bodies as a low voltage shock was delivered into each ponygirl’s rectum.

Smoothly and silently, Jessica and her team started to move; perfectly harnessed and perfectly trained to do their job. He was beginning to appreciate the impersonal and anonymous beauty of it.

Riccardo’s gaze moved to his new ponygirl pair standing in harness just a few yards away behind Lucinda’s back. The ponygirls, encased in their tight leatherbodies and hoods, were strong but poorly trained and unmotivated. Their hearts weren’t in it, Riccardo concluded. They slouched and fidgeted, pulling against their harnessing in a most unflattering fashion. It might be understandable but it was certainly not acceptable. It reflected badly on Riccardo as a pony driver.

A couple of weeks of rigorous training, together with praise and encouragement would transform them. At least that was Riccardo’s hope. They already understood punishment, the sting of the whip and the jolt of the anal prods, but that wasn’t enough. They had to have the desire to be the best they could be. They should want to please their driver more than they care about their own comfort. He could make them better ponygirls, perhaps even bringing them up to competition standard. But first he needed to get to know them better, to learn how their ponygirl minds worked, what motivated and stimulated them, as well as what scared them. He was glad of the challenge for the month or two he expected to be away from Rabbit Island.

Lucinda knew what Riccardo was looking at over her shoulder but she showed little interest. To her, ponygirls were merely a form of transport. She’d grown up around them. “Have you ever driven a car?” She asked Riccardo with child-like excitement.

The question caught him off guard. He returned his attention to his charming companion. “Many times,” he replied.

“I haven’t. I’ve been in the back of a van once, but I was in a cage so I couldn’t see anything,” Lucinda said matter-of-factly, blissfully unaware of how bizarre her statement was.

They paused their conversation to watch a maid clearing cups from the neighbouring table. The woman wore an exaggerated French maid’s black and white outfit, her waist impossibly nipped in, her breasts squeezed and thrust upwards into a balcony of flesh that could have supported one of the coffee cups.

Lucinda had mischief in her eyes. She called the waitress over to their table determined to torment Riccardo's libido even further. The waitress was beautifully made up, her black hair tied in a bun behind her. Riccardo caught sight of her long painted fingernails (which was something Riccardo appreciated but found somewhat lacking on Rabbit Island.) Lucinda lifted the waitress’s skirt to show off her bare sex, framed by black garters and stocking tops.

Riccardo eyed the delights of the waitress’s neatly trimmed bush and protruding labia. Lucinda ran her finger suggestively between them, trying perhaps to embarrass her. The waitress remained impassive. Lucinda seemed disappointed, waving her away to continue with her table duties.

“She used to be a man!” Lucinda whispered, with a childish delight in revealing a secret.

Riccardo shrugged. Transsexuals weren’t that unusual these days. Perhaps Lucinda wasn’t aware of that?

“Madame was in a restaurant in New York last year. He was a waiter. Apparently he said something that caused Madame great offence. It was a terrible insult, they said. So she had him kidnapped...

“They started to prepare him for his new life as a waitress. First they cut his vocal cords so now she can only whisper. They removed his lower ribs so the corset narrows his waist. He was put on a course of oestrogen and started to grow breasts, although most of the breasts are implants. After a year training him to be a maid, they did the operation. Then his male genitals were removed, but they didn’t create a proper vagina. They just made it look that way from the outside...

“So she can’t have sex any more except in the anus. The men don’t want her, but Brenda likes to use a strap-on with her. I watched them once. The waitress hated it, and cried the whole time, but Brenda reckons she enjoys it really!”

Riccardo laughed nervously. “So that’s what happens if a man gets on the wrong side of Madame Cavallo? That’s how she gets her revenge?”

“It’s one of the ways!” Lucinda said smugly.

Riccardo quickly slurped the dregs of his coffee and stood up. He really needed to get back to work! They exchanged a smiling goodbye, knowing their next encounter would be in the tumultuous atmosphere of the evening’s Bacchanal.

Some fifty yards in front of Lucinda was the so-called bitch training area. It was her job to fix the bitches’ faces so they looked their best on the video cameras that recorded their humiliation on the bitch frame. She watched as a handler led one of the bitches, crawling like a dog, back to the retaining wall. It was the bitch with the purple hair, Lucinda observed, a feisty bright-eyed girl that she felt strangely drawn to.

Kate was held on a short leash, which her handler tugged repeatedly, not so much to control her but to keep her moving. After her third morning session of submission on the bitch frame, her fight, her will to resist, had deserted her. Her head hung downwards as they reached the shaded area beside a brick wall. She crawled onto the padded mat which had become her home. The handler clipped her leash to the steel ring on the brick wall then untied the leather around her head which held the bone gag in her mouth. He wiped the gag dry of Kate’s spittle and hung it a hook on the brick wall above her.

Yesterday she had fought with all her strength against being fixed to the bitch frame. The black and blue bruising on her thighs from the handlers’ kicks testified to the violence of the struggle, and to her inevitable defeat. Today she had gone to the frame like a lamb. Crawling on her hands and knees, she simply walked onto it knowing exactly where her hands and feet needed to be. She lifted her head and placed it onto the chin rest, lowering it carefully onto the nasty spike that dug into her flesh, dissuading any desire to move her head. The men busied themselves, strapping her ankles, knees, wrists, and the straps pulled tight across her back. Then the dog’s pelt was thrown over her, velcro fastening around her arms and thighs. Finally there were those vicious serrated-edge nipple clamps, which pulled her breasts to the ground like inverted cones. How she hated those clamps!

Merely being strapped to that frame wasn’t so bad for a girl who was familiar with bondage in all its perverted variety. If a man had taken her in such a position she might even have derived some pleasure from it. A man yes, but not a pack of dogs... at least not until that third time!

In retrospect, it had been foolish. She thought it would make her feel better if, while the dogs were rutting her, she took her mind off it by thinking of her more pleasant exploits on Rabbit Island. The memories of some bittersweet torments proved all too vivid. It took her mind off the canine assault rather too much. She forgot about the cameras trained on her. Cameras that recorded the blissful smile on her face as an orgasm rippled through her in a series of deep convulsions, constrained by leather, metal and the weight of a lusty slobbering great dane upon her back.

When the dogs were called off, Kate was left fixed on the bitch-frame for ten minutes or so. The tears of defeat etched salty wet lines down her cheeks. She hated herself, knowing that her shameful pleasure had been recorded. How they would be amused by her display of bestial submission! Perhaps they might decide that she preferred to remain in the company of dogs?

Kate lapped thirstily from her water bowl, balancing on her hands which had been balled into paw-like fists inside leather mitts. It had been three days since she had been able to stretch out her fingers. She sat back and pawed at the flat leather crotch strap that dissected her labia. The semen of dogs trickled out, sticking to her thighs just as it had for the last two days.

She would soon be asleep, dozing periodically through the day, like dogs usually do. The four bitches had a routine: They were to stand to attention (on all fours, of course) if a visitor arrived, so they took it in turns to act as the watchdog. It was the watchdog’s duty to alert her dozing companions if anyone approached. Kate, as the most recently returned from the frame, was allowed to sleep while her neighbour kept a look out.

THE BANGKOK SLAVE TRADER
(Alex, Janie)

Alex’s taxi pulled up outside a nondescript warehouse in the middle of a bustling industrial estate on the outskirts of Bangkok. It had to be the right place; the written instructions and the hand-drawn map were clear. Alex asked the driver to wait half an hour. He agreed, knowing that Americans were good tippers.

The building Alex entered was operating as a small but busy ironworks. Ornate fences and security gates for the city’s well-to-do residents were its speciality. One of the workers, dressed in leather apron and gloves, escorted Alex to the back of the factory, then through several doors, leaving the drilling, banging and welding further and further behind.

“Good morning Mister Alex!” a man greeted him, with a beaming smile, his arms wide open as if expecting a hug.

Alex shook the Thai man’s hand warming. “Good morning, Charlie. It’s very nice to see you. You’ve moved again?”

“Yes, Mister Alex. Always keep on move. Always very careful. Now you check out my merchandise, I make nice green tea.”

The merchandise, as Charlie always referred to it, was stored in a row of five cages in the centre of the almost empty warehouse. Each iron cage (made in the adjoining factory) stood on its own wooden pallet, ready to be forklifted to a customer at a moment’s notice.

Inside the first cage a dark-skinned woman knelt, hands shackled behind her, ankles also in shackles, connected by a two-foot chain. She wore a leather collar with a chain leash that wrapped around a bar at the top her cage. It kept her kneeling upright, at attention and on display for visitors such as Alex. She glanced up at him just long enough to see who or what he was, then looked at the floor of her cage. It was not her fault she was here but she still felt a sense of shame.

“She housemaid. Man have debts and sell her. Good worker. Look! She clean floor very good.”

The grey painted concrete floor did indeed look spotless, Alex observed. His attention moved to the blonde girl in the next cage.

“She Swedish!” Charlie announced with reverence. He knew what a valuable acquisition she was. He unbolted and swung open the front door of the cage, unhooked the girl’s leash from the bars, pulled her out and coaxed her to stand up.

“Very excellent body,” said Charlie, stating the blindingly obvious. Alex hadn’t come to buy, but it seemed polite to cast an expert eye over Charlie’s merchandise.

He was tempted to use another word. Perfect! She stood sideways to him so he could admire her profile. His eyes traced the line from her brow to her neat nose and elegant chin. Her breasts were fairly small but sagged not in the least, perfectly supported by her healthy and youthful frame.

“Real blonde!” said Charlie, tugging hard on the girl’s pubic hair. She looked at Alex, still harbouring the hope that he might be there to rescue her. Perhaps he was just pretending to be a buyer? He seemed too nice, too sophisticated, to be a criminal.

“Too much noise, not too many.” Alex corrected him. The girl smiled coyly at his joking comment. Alex looked her in the eyes and asked Charlie: “Is she submissive?”

“Of course she submissive! Look!” Charlie tugged downwards on her leash. “Slave girl don’t look at Master!”

Alex stood in front of her, close enough to embrace. His hands gripped her upper arms as he whispered in her ear.

Charlie watched as the girl variously nodded and shook her head in answer to Alex’s unaudible questions.

Alex’s enquiries were unsatisfactory. The girl seemed as vanilla as her hair. “When’s the auction?”

“Friday. You gonna bid?”

“I’ll be back in the USA then, but I’ll follow it on the Internet. Perhaps I’ll bid. Send me an e-mail.”

Charlie hustled the girl back into her cage. She knelt and backed into her iron-barred home. He wrapped her leash around the bars above her. Unless another visitor arrived she would spend the rest of the day in her enforced kneeling position. Only when the factory had closed its doors would the leash be unhooked so she could lie down.

Charlie ran a strict regime, honed from a decade in the business. He never damaged the merchandise, in fact they were likely to leave him in better condition than they arrived. A few yards away from the cages was his camp bed. His was a twenty-four hour job. There was a box of vegetables and cases of bottled water. On a table was a portable gas stove where he would cook supper for his girls. There was an exercise bike to retain the fitness of his long-term residents, and a portable television for the evenings - a welcome distraction for captor and captives alike.

They moved to the next cage and another Thai girl - clearly a teenager. Tears stained her cheeks.

“Virgin. I check her. You like virgin?”

She looked up at Alex with her lustrous doe eyes, too innocent to be ashamed, too naïve to fully comprehend the horrors that awaited her. It had been a couple of years since Alex had taken a virgin and the prospect of having that soft and sweet Asian girl laying bound and trembling in his bed appealed very much. Perhaps another time, he promised himself.

“That is whore,” Charlie said with a dismissive wave at the next cage. He poured the tea while Alex studied her. “Ten years in same whorehouse. Now she too old. They give her to me free. Need drugs but I don’t give her. I told her drugs bad. She go cold chicken.”

Alex reached into the cage to stroke her hair. To him, every woman had something of interest, something unique about her. She trembled and sweated, fidgeting as if desperate to move from her enforced kneeling position; a picture of misery her fellow prisoners could not match. Her enslavement to opiates was far more harmful than one of Charlie’s cages. Alex was inordinately proud of the health of the Rabbit Island residents and if circumstances were different he might have considered having the unwanted whore shipped to Rabbit Island. There was always work to be done on the farm. He suspected Charlie would be glad to have her off his hands as long as costs were covered. Alas, with Rabbit Island closed, he had to leave her to an uncertain fate.

The last of the five cages was the reason for Alex’s visit. Janie looked up at him with bright and alert eyes, moaning loudly into her ballgag as if she had something urgent to say. She seemed more alert and alive than when he had interviewed her in the hospital. She now realised that Alex was the instigator of her kidnapping and caging, yet she was still glad to see him. She felt she could talk to him, or at least she could if Charlie hadn’t gagged her.

“Why you want girl without arms?” Charlie asked Alex.

“She has information. I feared she might kill herself before I could get it. Any problems taking her?”

“She walk near road as you say. Easy to take her in dark, but we don’t know how tie up her. No arms see? Very funny!” Charlie chuckled at the memory.

With no memories of her past, Janie had little sense of normality. For all she knew, being kidnapped and locked in a cage was something that happened to all women.

“She very noisy! Talk a lot. Gag better but still noisy,” Charlie complained wagging his finger at Janie.

Alex gave a sarcastic and joking apology. He knew Charlie could silence her completely were it necessary.

“And other thing. She masturbate. Bad girl!”

Alex laughed. “What do you mean? How the hell can she masturbate?”

“I show you.”

Alex sipped his tea while Charlie went behind Janie’s cage. He untied a rope running between the back bars and her ankle chain. He’d tied it to prevent her bringing her feet in front. “Now you show Mister Alex your masturbate!”

Janie’s eyes went wide with horror. Charlie banged threateningly on the bars with his trusty wooden cane. “Come, no arm girl. We waiting!”

With her knees splayed wide Janie bent her ankles inwards to her things. A further shimmy on her buttocks brought her right heel hard against her sex. Her left heel pushed against her right toes holding the right heel hard against her mound. She had strong yet shapely ankles, Alex thought, well suited to the shiny silver cuffs and links that encircled them.

“Then what do you do?” He asked. Being gagged, Janie guessed that a verbal explanation wasn’t what they required. She would have to demonstrate while the two men looked on. Her heel started rubbing up and down on her labia. Her face flushed red with embarrassment as dribble from her ballgagged lips splattered on her feet. She glanced sheepishly up to Alex - surely he didn’t expect her to do it right there!

“Would it help if I squeezed your breasts?” Alex asked considerately.

After a pause of deliberation she nodded. She knew it would help a great deal.

“Charlie, get me a pair of nipple clamps.” said Alex, his eyes remaining fixed on Janie.

Charlie dipped into his wooden box of tricks. “Hard, soft or toothbite?”

“We’ll see how she gets on with soft,” Alex replied. He squatted in front of the cage and gestured with his finger for Janie to lean towards the bars. She obeyed to the extent that her leashed collar allowed. Alex reached into the cage to touch her breasts. Janie closed her eyes as he tenderly toyed with her nipples. At first she didn’t feel the clamp, confusing its pressure with Alex’s fingers.

Alex took advantage of her submission, wrapping the chain around one of the vertical bars and clamping the other nipple. It felt nice to be touched like that, but he was pinching them too hard, Janie thought. Then she opened her eyes to see Alex standing up. He’d tricked her! She panicked, leaning back, squirming from side to side to try to release her breasts, but the collar and chain, the elasticity of her breasts and the implacable grip of the clamp made it impossible.

“Try it now,” Alex said.

Janie’s slightest movement tugged on her clamped nipples, whilst bigger movements made it seem like someone was pulling at her breasts. The chain linking the clamps rattled and scraped across the vertical bars. She pulled back again, feeling the pain and pleasure on her nipples. Soon her heel was rubbing up and down her labia.

Alex pulled up a wooden stool and sat in front of the cage. “Now be a good girl and show me how you masturbate. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”

Janie obeyed. She still thought of him as the doctor, a figure of authority. She wanted so much for him to touch her again. Perhaps he would if she pleased him by doing as he asked?

Alex was beginning to doubt if Janie could complete the act. Her legs ached. She had to stop and stretch out her leg periodically, as if to prevent a cramp. He took Charlie aside. “Every evening you must fix her like this and allow her to practice masturbating. And you must tickle her too.”

Charlie was puzzled. “Tiku?”

“Like this!”

Alex was too quick for him, digging his fingers into the flesh beneath Charlie’s ribs. Charlie jumped back to safe distance. He laughed, waving a karate chop hand in Alex’s direction.

“Here. I’ll show you.” Alex said, bending down to Janie. He reached into the cage with both hands. She was helpless as Alex’s cruel fingers assaulted her ribs and belly for a minute or more. She struggled for breath behind the gag, making garbled pleas for mercy that went unheeded.

By the time Alex relented, Janie was a dribbling wreck, exhausted, tickled into submission, yet somehow she felt better than she had since... quite literally she didn’t know when. As Alex explained to her that he would be away for a few weeks, the thrill of his touch faded. Only the promise of his return saved her from despair.

“Now, that’s a true submissive!” Alex explained to Charlie as they walked away from the cages.

“You still have New York girls I take from Bangkok airport last year?” Charlie asked as he escorted Alex out of the factory.

Alex had to think for a moment, then his stomach sank. Nancy! Her escape from Rabbit Island was part of the reason for the Island’s closure, though nobody knew what had happened to her. And what about Jessica? At least she was safe and secure. He had confidence that Riccardo would be watching over Rabbit Island’s valuable possessions. He didn’t thank Charlie for the reminder of the chaos on Rabbit Island. So many friends and loyal slaves temporarily dispersed around the world. The next three weeks of business commitments in America would seem like a lifetime.

On Alex’s instructions the taxi stopped at a private hospital. Ray, the pony driver, was recovering from the accident that had left him needing surgery on a fractured skull. He had told Alex the previous day that he didn’t intend to return to Rabbit Island. It seemed a good time to make the break, he explained. Alex understood. He was the first to pronounce that there was more to life than living on a small island in the South Pacific. He offered to use his wide connections to help Ray obtain a similar position in Europe, recognising the importance of keeping good people within the fold. Secrecy and discretion were everything in the world of luxury sexual slavery! Skilled and reliable pony drivers weren’t easy to come by. Alex pondered whether his associate in London might be interested in exchanging a member of his staff.

The men said their goodbyes with promises to talk by phone. Alex allowed his hospital visitor’s smile to droop as he returned to his taxi. Waiting beside the taxi were two policemen casually talking to the driver, all three smoking cigarettes. One of the policemen quickly stubbed his out underfoot.

“Dr. Alex Kundera?”

“That’s me.” Alex said coolly.

“We need to ask you some questions. Will you please come with us? It will not take long.”

Alex shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “Sure. No problem!”

Chapter 18. The Bacchanal
(Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)

Riccardo had almost become lost in the labyrinthian corridors of La Plata’s Town Hall before finally stumbling upon the room to which he had been directed. Waiting inside was Brenda, two hundred pounds of pure dyke, wearing her usual ill-fitting dungarees and a white tee shirt. Accompanying Brenda was a skinny girl with short hair and glasses. She also favoured dungarees. It so happened that their sartorial preference was also their official uniform.

Madame Cavallo liked uniforms. She even called the tight leather coverings of the ponygirls their ‘uniform’. Luckily for Riccardo, the dress code for pony drivers was just a black polo shirt, long khaki shorts and a baseball-style cap complete with a La Plata embroidered badge.

He had also been issued with a multi-function belt, which he quite liked. It contained: a combination flashlight and nightstick. A compact first aid kit. A small tazer gun. A deluxe Swiss army knife, complete with that thing for taking stones out of ponygirls’ hooves. Handcuffs, even though he rarely came across any females not already secured. A short whip, suitable for small admonishments. He’d used it frequently on his ponygirls in the last few days.

There was one other item of uniform. He most definitely didn’t like it: The cock restraint! The clear perspex penis tube curtailed erections and shielded his penis from manual manipulations. It had successfully prevented him from obtaining any form of sexual relief for the last five days. Riccardo’s testicles felt full to bursting, and the perspex loop at their root had become more and more restrictive and uncomfortable.

The visit to Brenda would solve his problem. It was her job on Friday evenings to remove the male chastity devices from the pony drivers and other male workers.

Brenda looked at him, her hands on her ample hips. She tutted. “Drop your pants, stupid!”

Riccardo ignored the insult. He wasn’t going to react when she literally held the key to his much anticipated release from chastity. He unbuckled his belt and let his shorts and underwear fall to the floor around his feet.

This was Brenda’s second favourite part of the week. The feeling of power over men was intoxicating even if she didn’t find it sexually stimulating. She handed the skinny sidekick the key. Nervously, without looking up at him, the skinny one unlocked the small padlock that connected the penis tube and base ring together. Riccardo’s cock gave an involuntary twitch as the girl’s slender fingers fumbled with the key and the lock. She pulled the device clear before it could spurt at her. Showing evident distaste she held the chastity device between thumb and forefinger and placed it in a small tray labelled with Riccardo’s name.

“Sunday evening at seven, you return here for refitting,” Brenda instructed with thinly disguised glee. That was, of course, her favourite part of the week.

The Main Hall was a bright and functional space slightly larger that a basketball court. Judging by the myriad of coloured lines painted on the wooden floor it was used for a variety of indoor sports.

As Riccardo entered the hall, this evening’s sport was all too apparent. It was just as Peter had enthusiastically described to him in the preceding days. Scattered around the floor, naked women waited. As each was thoroughly hogtied with a vast amount of rope, that was all they could do. For up to two hours some of them had been held in such contorted shapes, their physical comfort was far down the list of priorities as other preparations for the Bacchanal were made.

Riccardo picked a circuitous path between the women. Some looked up at him, dribbling from their ballgags, eyes in a pleading frown as if to say “rape me, beat me, do anything but please untie me.” He recognised a few of the women but most were new to him. Rachel, from Rabbit Island, was amongst them, almost unrecognisable with her close-cropped blonde hair. Instinctively he looked around for Kate, but didn’t spot her. Then, to his surprise and delight, he saw Lucinda. Her roped hogtie was as strict as any other. Her open palms cradled her ankles, elbows wedged together in such a way that it made her appear double-jointed. Ropes encircled and harnessed her body, with several strands splitting her crotch. Her copper wound neck prevented her from craning up at him as the other women did. He pitied her, but he desired her more. He wasn’t exactly sure how the evening was arranged but if he had a choice, then it would be Lucinda. He assumed every other man felt the same way about her so was pessimistic about his chances.

He made his way to the far end of the hall where the large group of men was engrossed in a particular task - an enjoyable one, yet a serious one, judging by their good-humoured concentration.

“Riccardo. Come over here!” one of the men called out.

He saw what and who was the focus of their attention. Lying stretched out upon a cross, tied to it at every possible point, was a woman’s body. Not just tied but nailed as well. Her feet rested on a wooden support that obliged her knees to be splayed open. Shiny nails pierced through the top of each foot and into the wood. Blood trickled from each wound, though not as much as Riccardo expected. Looking at her face, Riccardo was horrified to recognise Kate.

A moment after that recognition came the sharp ‘ching’ of a hammer hitting a nail. It had gone through her right hand. A couple more taps fixed the nail firmly into the wood.

Kate sobbed, pleading for the men not to do this to her. One man knelt with his thighs on either side of her head. The victims tended to faint if they were allowed to see what was happening. Riccardo was surprised that Kate wasn’t crying out in agony, despite her obvious distress.

Somebody thrust the hammer into his hand. “The last one is yours. Call it an initiation!”

Riccardo was in a daze, caught up in a testosterone-fuelled fervour. The restriction on his sexual energies over the last week had emboldened him in a way he couldn’t have imagined. The feel of the hammer and nail in his hands brought about a startling arousal.

“Don’t worry, she won’t feel a thing,” the man reassured him. “She’s had a local anaesthetic! I’ll hold the nail in the right place, and you hit it hard, but watch out for my fingers!”

The man stretched out Kate’s fingers which were curled defiantly into her palm. Her wrist and elbow were tightly bound with rope holding her arm fast to the wood. Riccardo looked at the hand, so small and soft, a delicate feminine hand; such a contrast to the nail pressing against it: bright stainless steel, five inches long, with a point as sharp as a needle. It already indented the flesh between Kate’s index and middle fingers, giving the impression that it could simply be pushed through her flesh Kate whimpered in dreadful anticipation just as Riccardo made a decisive blow bringing the hammer down squarely onto the nail’s head. It struck the wood. He hit it twice more while blood oozed from the nail’s wound.

Having quickly satisfied themselves that Riccardo’s hammer blows had been successful, the group of men stood clear. Somebody pulled Riccardo by the arm away from Kate’s crucified body as the cross started to lift. The bottom was hinged to the floor whilst the top was fixed to a rope and pulley descending from the ceiling.

Slowly the cross was hauled upright. Kate’s body barely shifted when it reached the vertical, such was the thoroughness of the ropework. From her vantage-point of around ten feet high she had a full view of the hall, looking down on the fifteen hogtied women. She was in a morphine-induced dream. Although nailed to a cross, she couldn’t feel her wounds, only the ropes digging into her torso. These ropes took her whole weight.

The hall lights dimmed to be replaced by coloured lighting that resembled a discotheque. A rotating mirrored ball gave the darkened hall a shimmering movement. Music, electronic and rhythmic played unobtrusively in the background, loud enough to create atmosphere but not to disguise the noises of the hall’s occupants. The simultaneous lights dimming and the music starting was the signal. The floor was suddenly alive with activity. Men had swarmed upon the hogtied women in a frenzy, whilst the women grunted, impatient for their impending release. Kate smiled softly from above, thinking that her dream, perhaps her final dream, was taking place beneath her.

After a week of denial, the men were desperate to relieve their pent up lust. As soon as the first woman was released from her hogtie she was tied over an A-frame. Another found herself crouching on a bitch-frame similar to the one Kate had experienced during the preceding few days. Soon the wall frames and many other fixings were occupied by the female participants. With little preamble or finesse the men set upon them. Sometimes a queue formed for a girl in a position that took their fancy. That was how Riccardo obtained his first relief. The thought of Kate attached to the frame for the benefit of dogs had played relentlessly on his mind for several days, now was his chance to act on that niggling urge. He knelt down behind the girl, dropped his shorts, and crudely fucked the girl on the bitch-frame.

The mood changed as the initial burst of activity subsided. At the side of the hall was a well-stocked bar where beer, wine and spirits were freely available. Riccardo gratefully took a bottle of German lager thrust into his hand by the barman. Having completed the nailing initiation. Riccardo was treated as a very welcome new member of their gang. He tried to act casual when he asked about Kate, or ‘the girl on the cross’ as he described her. ‘She’ll be fine!” the answer came back from several men.

Riccardo swigged the ice-cold beer and looked around the hall. Playtime was well under way: the sound of whips cracking and the accompanying cries filled the air. Men laughed, and women too. One woman was strung up by her arms and being subjected to the shocks of a violet wand. Riccardo went, bottle in hand, to watch and perhaps participate. He glanced up at Kate, but she didn’t notice him. Her eyes seemed glazed, her expression one of drug-induced contentment. To his surprise, instead of pity, he felt lust. Kate’s splayed knees meant her clean-shaven sex was tantalisingly displayed an arm’s reach above him.

A ballgag might be visually appealing, but is not totally effective at silencing a woman. Riccardo could swear somebody was calling his name, or at least its three vowels. He’d almost forgot about Lucinda amidst the general debauchery. She was one of several women still hogtied and apparently neglected. Riccardo sat on the floor next to her and did what he wanted to do since he first met her, running his finger up and down her copper neck bands. He had always had a thing for slender female necks, whether bare, collared or covered. This particular neck was the longest and most slender he would ever see... except that he would never see it. The thought of Lucinda’s perpetual neck bondage was something he found to be deeply erotic.

Lucinda was effusive in her gratitude when Riccardo finally removed her gag. She was glad it was him, she said, although Riccardo had long since learned not to be swayed by such flattery. He wasn’t in a hurry to untie her ropes, not until he had decided what to do next. In any case, he observed that she did not appear to be in any discomfort. She explained that she’d been bound in hogties for many years, ever since she was a young child. Riccardo winced at her words. He loved children in the best sense of the word, and still harboured the hope that one day he might have a family. The thought of abusing a child repulsed him.

After a tedious and frustrating ten minutes of untying knots (which they had intentionally made difficult) Riccardo was able to lead the stiff-limbed Lucinda to the device he had chosen for her - the iron spider. This was a simple wrought iron device consisting of two fifteen-inch bars, crossed and welded together. At the four ends of the bars were leather cuffs for wrists and ankles. It was commonly used as a secure and safe hogtying device, but had a variety of other applications. The one Riccardo enjoyed was already set up. The spider was dangling from the ceiling by a heavy chain (its appearance in this fashion accounted for its name) so that it hung three feet clear of the floor. Lucinda lay on her back and submitted willingly as Riccardo fixed her wrists and ankles into the four leather cuffs. It left her with her limbs pointing upwards. Comfortable enough, but open and vulnerable, and ready for play!

Riccardo went to the bar to pick up another beer for himself and something for Lucinda. The barman cordially recommended a ginger fig to go with the slipover blindfold and a leather paddle. Riccardo watched as the barman ripped a node from a hand of ginger. With rapid chops of a knife on a wooden cutting board, the ginger was stripped of its skin and expertly shaped into a small butt-plug.

“Wash your hands after you insert it!” the barman advised Riccardo as he placed the ginger plug on the tray with the beer, the paddle and the blindfold.

“Oh, no!” said Lucinda as Riccardo put down the tray beside her. She’d smelt the ginger and knew all too well its purpose and effect. “I thought you were going to...”

“...fuck you?” Riccardo offered. “No. I’m going to punish you for teasing me earlier today. Perhaps after your paddling I may allow you some pleasure.” He pushed the narrow ginger plug into her ass. Her sphincter gripped the narrow part, holding it in position. Using his fingernails like claws Riccardo dug into her buttocks. Lucinda squirmed in delicious agony, squeezing down on the plug.

Riccardo warmed to his task with the paddle. The equanimity and poise Lucinda exhibited earlier when first fixed into the spider evaporated as the stinging heat of the ginger took effect. The paddle struck on her buttocks and the backs of her upturned thighs with a resounding ‘whomp’ that earned Riccardo the admiration of those around him. He was entering into the spirit of the evening, enjoying the social alcohol-lubricated conversation. Another man took control of Lucinda while some of Riccardo’s newfound friends took him around the hall and introduced him to the other staff. He was getting to like the place!

One of the men pointed up to the open gallery at the opposite end of the hall from Kate’s cross. Madame Cavallo waved from her grandstand view and beckoned him to visit her. Riccardo was shown to the narrow staircase that led to Cavallo’s eyrie.

The view was spectacular - quite literally. It was a spectacle laid on for Cavallo’s pleasure. Kate was spot-lit from beneath, giving her an almost mystical aura as light and dark accentuated her body’s shape. It took a minute for Riccardo to fully absorb all the action taking place beneath him. He was shocked, yet delighted, to have been part of such a show!

“Riccardo, my dear, come and sit down and chat to me!” Cavallo’s called out warmly. She’d been impressed by his attitude in the last week, and even more with his participation in the crucifixion and subsequent activities. “I think you’re already one of the boys!” she ventured.

Madame Cavallo wasn’t alone in her private gallery. She had two visitors - an elegantly dressed middle-aged couple, who were understandably more interested in the action below than in Riccardo. Cavallo showed good manners in introducing them all, but they were no more likely to remember Riccardo’s name than he would theirs.

There were seven wooden seats on the balcony. Needless to say Cavallo was in the middle. The couple sat to her left so Riccardo sat down on her right. The chairs were made of heavy maple, plain yet elegant in design. They did however have one particular adornment that Riccardo couldn’t fail to spot: Kneeling in front of each chair was a naked woman facing the chair’s occupant. They were each fixed to the front of their seats by leather collars and six-inch chains. Riccardo hoisted his leg carefully over the head of the woman and sat down, his thighs kept open by her head and shoulders between them.

She was a redhead, and very pretty, Riccardo thought, with her hair gathered into a cute topknot. He looked down to see that her wrists and ankles were loosely chained behind her. The chains clinked a little as she adjusted her position between Riccardo’s thighs. It was her front however that attracted most of his attention. Her breasts were large, although that in itself wasn’t unusual given the island’s lactation program. Yet it wasn’t even her breasts that caused such fascination, it was her belly.

He looked in amazement at Madame Cavallo. “She’s pregnant!”

“Eight months,” Cavallo confirmed with a smile. “They’re all in the late stages of pregnancy, that’s why they’re up here on oral duty. You don’t think I’d risk them down there do you?”

Riccardo looked along the row of seven chairs. All of them, including the empty ones, were fronted by heavily-pregnant women. The two women to Riccardo’s right continued facing straight ahead at their vacant chairs as they had been trained, though their eyes dared a sidelong look at him. They were jealous of Riccardo’s redhead. Kneeling in chains in front of an unoccupied wooden chair was boring, boring, boring.

“We make fifty thousand dollars a pop, if you’ll excuse the pun.” Cavallo boasted. “Do you know I have more adoptive families waiting than I can satisfy. I have a private clinic in Los Angeles that collects from only the very best male specimens, handsome, healthy and intelligent. Here on La Plata we impregnate our breeders to produce babies to order. Your one’s carrying her seventh.”

The redhead leaned her cheek against Riccardo’s inner thigh like a dog seeking attention from its owner. Despite her long-term sexual slavery, there was an elegance and intelligence in her face, while her body bloomed with good health. She was the kind of woman any man would want to breed with. She was the mother of many beautiful children she would never see.

The pregnant woman stationed at Cavallo’s chair had her head and shoulders covered by Cavallo’s black taffeta evening dress. Judging by the little movements in the fabric Madame Cavallo was receiving some intimate attention. “Don’t you just love our Friday evening?” Cavallo rhetorically asked Riccardo. She looked at the debauchery in full flow below them with a beaming smile. “Men are such cruel brutes!”

The redhead had started nuzzling Riccardo’s penis with her nose. This wasn’t merely for duty’s sake, she was enjoying it. After all, there was nothing else to amuse her. An erection was growing beneath his shorts which only encouraged the redhead further.

“Just pull her by her hair if you want more or less attention.” Cavallo advised, giving Riccardo a dilemma. He wanted more attention, a lot more, but not while he sat next to Madame Cavallo. He cursed his bad luck.

“The one on the cross is our new breeder,” Cavallo informed him, confirming something Riccardo had already learned through the rumour mill, “just as soon we get her ovulating again. That Rabbit Island contraceptive treatment is such a hindrance. She hasn’t had a pregnancy before. The new breeders always need a lot more care and attention than the experienced ones. I’m sure she’ll be fine once we get her started. A pretty thing, isn’t she?”

Riccardo gazed the twenty yards across the hall to Kate, her body seemed on fire, lit by the red lamps pointing up from the floor. He agreed with Cavallo. Even nailed to a cross she was pretty. In fact, gazing at her from that vantage-point, Riccardo lusted after her like never before.

Having had her chat with her new boy, Cavallo allowed Riccardo to return to the Bacchanal. The redhead had left him horny and ready for more action. There was plenty to choose from. He walked past a woman who had been chained to a table, a motorised fucking machine had been pumping a dildo into her for twenty minutes. The long and relentless stroke had left her in the throws of yet another orgasm, this time witnessed only by Riccardo. The other men had moved on to other activities leaving the girl to her solitary mechanical rape.

Kate had been on the cross for two hours unaware that she was providing the visual centrepiece to the evening’s festivities. Except for the dildo on a long stick that a man would occasionally apply around and into her sex, she was mostly ignored. The men concentrated on those females that could give them the satisfaction they needed.

Riccardo and others looked down at her nailed and tied body. The two men responsible for crucifixions appeared happy. She seemed in good shape. Riccardo thought so too. He was filled with an overwhelming desire, physical and emotional, towards Kate. If ever he saw another crucifixion it would not be Kate, nor would it compare to her. The other men gave Riccardo the go-ahead he wanted. His pulse raced as he bent down to caress her.

“Hello Riccardo,” Kate said in a weak and otherworldly voice. “They crucified me.”

She tried to look around, but all she could see were the strange coloured patterns of lights on the ceiling. She was bewildered. “Am I dead?”

Riccardo tenderly stroked her face. “No Katie, you’re not dead. You’re going to be fine. It’s just a ritual.”

“My hands and feet are hurting,” she croaked, her throat dry with thirst. She sensed Riccardo moving closer as if to kiss her. She felt his firm warm hands upon her breasts. “Are you going to fuck me?”

Riccardo nodded. “Yes I am.”

“That’ll be nice!” Kate replied, trying to smile. She closed her eyes. “I would like that very much.”

He pulled down his shorts, stripped off his tee shirt and carefully climbed on top of her. With her knees splayed open and feet nailed so the soles almost faced each other, Kate could do nothing to resist his advance even if she had wanted to. Riccardo let his weight rest upon her tightly tied belly and breasts, enjoying the sensation of her nipples against his chest. He kissed her on the lips - not something he often did. Kate mustered up the energy to respond, her lips straining to reach his as if discovering that his mouth contained a restorative elixir. She let out the sweetest sound as he penetrated her. Each tender thrust brought a delightful little moan from her. Riccardo couldn’t help himself - his hands reached out to find hers, his fingers touching the cruel nails that pierced them. He held onto them, as if he too were crucified.

Jessica lay back on her bed. She sighed with boredom, not tired enough to sleep. Hanging from hooks on the wall was her tack - the leatherbody, the harness, neckbraces and, of course, her ponyboots. She had cleaned until everything shone. After four days of her attentions, the leatherbody was in better condition than when she was first given it. At least the leather polishing occupied her time!

She’d heard about the Bacchanal, and knew it was the only place to be on a Friday night. As a result, the stable block was eerily quiet as the men had all departed for their evening of fun, and perhaps some of the ponygirls too, Jessica suspected. She felt lonely and ignored. The hairline scab below her breast where Master Alex carved his initial had almost disappeared. She picked at it, determined that it should not heal and fade.

Then Jessica remembered something that had almost slipped her mind. The typed sheet of paper with her cleaning instructions had a paperclip at the top. She retrieved it and straightened out the first bend, leaving the remainder to act like a handle. She dragged it across the three lines of the A, satisfied to see droplets of blood had formed. It made her feel stronger, more in charge of her own body. She looked down her naked body to the small padlocks between her legs. The first one passed directly through two labia piercings. She’d worn it since her arrival on La Plata nearly a week ago. The second padlock linked her labia lock to a five-foot length of chain connecting her to the wall opposite.

Her heart thumped with anticipation as if it were a key in her hand rather than merely a paperclip. She jiggled the paperclip into the keyhole, just toying with it. To pass the time, she told herself. Where could she go even if she did manage to pick the lock? It was a slave island, and when they were caught escaped slaves were severely punished. Everyone knew that!

Jessica’s efforts were having a side-effect - she felt herself getting warm, her pulse quickening, as her hands pressed and rubbed against her sex while she tried in vain to pick the lock. Her fingers probed her moistening folds. It felt good. It felt comforting, a brief respite from her loneliness. The lock would have to wait as she trembled and panted towards a release of a different kind.

Alex waited in the business lounge for his flight back to New York. Even at the best of times there is a kind of desolation that comes from waiting in airport lounges. One never gets used to it. Any sense of the exotic, or of adventure, had disappeared decades ago. Now the waiting, in what purports to be luxurious surroundings, brings on a bout of self-examination that an eminent psychologist like Alex Kundera should not indulge in.

The police hadn’t detained Alex for long. They informed him that their investigation of the disappearance of armless girl (as they persisted in calling Janie) had led nowhere. Several times they apologized that his research visit had been so sadly curtailed. Alex graciously conceded that they were not at fault. They had done all they could to discover Janie’s whereabouts. They would, of course, notify him when they found her. Their meaning was apparent: given her well-documented suicidal state they fully expected to find a dead body.

Alex sipped his brandy and dug into his breast pocket for the letter the police gave him. It was a miracle it had reached him, the policeman said, and a testament to the efficiency of their organisation, he implied.

He opened the letter, and was surprised by its crude handwriting. Barely legible and evidently written by someone with a limited grasp of English, its purpose was nevertheless clear. It was a ransom note for Nancy. Contrary to every expectation she had not made the safety of the American consulate after her escape. Alex pondered the significance of the note. The only reason he would be the recipient was if there was an expectation that he was willing to pay to Nancy her back to Rabbit Island. That could only have come at her instigation. In which case, from what he knew of Nancy, it had to be a last resort.

He pocketed the letter and gathered his possessions, glad that he had didn't have checked-in baggage. At the customer services desk he asked to be removed from his flight.

Chapter 19. The Breeding Shed
(Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)

Three weeks had elapsed since Kate’s crucifixion. Underneath gauze bandages on her hands and feet her wounds were healing well; but the memory of that night on the cross - when she truly thought she would die - was seared into her.

Her breasts had grown larger during those three weeks, much larger, filling out skimpy white lace dress she wore. It was the cowgirls’ uniform: a pretty sleeveless lacy white dress with an obscenely short hemline that never quite covered her buttocks. No other clothing was permitted or required, unless one counts the heavy leather belt slung loosely around her waist. The natural tan of the leather offset the pure white of her dress peculiarly well, accentuating her hips in a manner befitting an occupant of the breeding shed. The belt also served as the securing point for her prisoner’s chains. Handcuffs were linked by a long chain to her ankle shackles, the chain passing through a heavy metal ring on the back of her belt. She’d been secured that way since her arrival.

For most of the day she remained fixed to a milking frame. It was an efficient method of keeping Kate and the others under control, or ‘out of trouble’ as the dairy workers would put it.

The frame did at least give its occupant degree of comfort. Its well-padded bars supported Kate from belly to neck, holding her torso parallel to the ground, breasts hanging downwards, within the loose dress. Her legs were in a kneeling position, held slightly apart by crude metal fixings around her ankles, just in case her existing ankle shackles weren’t enough of a restriction. Her neck was surrounded by a steel loop on the frame which condemned her to remain looking down at the floor. Looking up, or to her side, was a strain that could only be endured for a few moments.

Alongside Kate there were other women in the same predicament. Nineteen others, Kate had counted. She had become part of an industry, a human factory farm. Whatever those twice-daily injection contained, they were achieving their purpose. The skin of her breasts was stretched taut, barely able to grow quickly enough to accommodate the growth within them.

The first expressing of the day always came as a welcome relief. The equipment used was heavy duty, and more closely resembled something from a cattle shed than the lightweight devices used on Rabbit Island. The two attendants, part of Brenda’s dungaree-clad team of dykes, went about their chores with a breezy cheerfulness, though engaging with Kate and their other breeders on only a perfunctory level, as one might a farm animal. With twenty pairs of breasts to attend to, plus the inseminations, spankings, the feeding and the exercise sessions, Brenda’s girls had busy schedule.

One of them bent down in front of Kate, briefly stroking her short cropped hair, and running her finger’s over the straps fitted around Kate’s head. “Silly cow! If you kept your mouth closed we wouldn’t have to keep you gagged like this,” she explained with mock sympathy. Kate made a discontented grunt of a reply from behind the ballgag prised between her teeth. Her outburst yesterday meant she would wear the gag all day today. Secured and gagged thus, Kate was hopeful that she could stay out of trouble today.

The bullet-shaped milking devices sucked up Kate’s nipples as soon as the dairy girl offered them up to her breasts. Kate trembled as she felt the familiar vibrations as her breasts were being drained. She hated it, yet was glad of the relief it gave her. She feared what would happen if they did not milk her twice a day, concerned that she might explode.

After the milking came the feeding. Kate’s gag was removed solely for that purpose. A porridge-like substance was spooned into her mouth. Kate barely had time to swallow before the next spoonful arrived, but she hungrily devoured all that was offered and would have eaten more had it been available. During her time in the breeding shed she had developed a voracious appetite.

Kate’s last mouthful was that infernal red rubber ball rammed back into her mouth. The dairy girl buckled her up once again. Kate tugged restlessly against her chains while the rest of the breeding herd was fed. She was already anticipating the intense sensations of the inseminator, which always followed the feeding.

Rachel’s groans, of both pain and pleasure, filled Kate with an ambiguous anticipation of what she would soon be experiencing. Having a fellow Rabbit Islander alongside was a real comfort to Kate, even though she would not have wished such a predicament on anybody - least of all Rachel. While Rachel’s inseminator was working its devilish torment the dairy workers began rigging up Kate for her own daily dose. In this fashion the two inseminator machines were leapfrogged down the line of cowgirls, delivering ten or fifteen minutes of vibrating torment to each victim.

Billy, one of the dairy girls, hauled the heavy base of the inseminator into position between Kate’s thighs. The large dildo mounted on the vertical stand slipped easily between her labia, which had been shamefully moistened by the sound of Rachel’s continuing moans.

“Good girl!” the dungaree-clad dairy girl said condescendingly, “that’s what we like, wet and ready!”

Kate winced as the monstrous phallus was rammed into her sex as if she were just a farm animal.

The ten-minute cycle of vibrations, pulses and pumping was having the usual effect on Kate, except today was even more intense than usual. She could never figure out why the ballgag and the straps around her head would make it happen; yet it always heightened her sexual response. She bit down on the ball, her teary eyes closed as she braced herself for the inevitable shuddering conclusion. The gag, for all its severity, could do little to muffle her shame.

The inseminator didn’t so much give her an orgasm as wrench one from her.

Billy pulled out the inseminator and carried it to the next-but-one prisoner. This breeder had come into season and that entailed a little more preparation. Billy inserted a plastic vial of semen into the rear of the inseminator’s phallus. It was a high quality washed sperm, from a tall, brainy and handsome hunk from Holland - not that Billy cared for men in the slightest.

The inseminator rarely failed. This breeder would soon be carrying her fifth.

It had taken more than a week for Kate to figure out who was scrubbing the floor of the breeding shed every day. With only her eyes exposed beneath her lycra hood the figure was hard to recognise. Through the cutout oval in the front of the hood, her eyes looked vaguely familiar, but the dramatic black makeup served as a kind of camouflage. Why go to such lengths on just a cleaner, Kate wondered, perhaps to better accentuate the emotions felt by the cleaner, to better portray the hopelessness of her bondage? An observer was in no doubt that there was a real woman trapped without the cleaner’s lowly garb, and a pretty one too, to judge by her eyes.

Aside from the oval through which she viewed the world, the rest of Karen’s body was covered in black lycra and leather, right to her fingertips. Her legs were strapped into a kneeling position and then completely encased in a leather bag that gathered and locked around her waist. The ‘kneeling bag’ provided her with a lap upon which she kept her cleaning solutions and rags. Her nipples had been pierced and ringed, and these protruded through holes in her lycra body covering. A short chain connected her nipples, providing her with something to hang her cleaning cloths from. The bottom of the kneeling bag was lined with a soft cloth so that as she shuffled around on the wooden floor she polished it as well.

Whenever Brenda’s girls were a safe distance away Karen and Kate would ‘talk’, at least when Kate wasn’t gagged. Karen’s mouth was always fully plugged beneath her lycra hood, so her end of the conversation consisted of shakes of the head for yes and no, and grunts of exclamation. Her eyes and hands were very expressive.

That was how Kate learned of Jessica’s fate, and how she had joined a team of four on a railway. It had taken several days of snatched moments for Karen to convey that information. As for Mandy’s whereabouts, Karen’s mime was much easier: She was scrubbing floors somewhere in the direction her hands pointed in.

A scrubber was not as prized as a breeder, so Karen didn’t receive the attention of the inseminator - of which she was quite jealous - but at least in her capacity as a cleaner she saw more of the island’s buildings than many of its residents.

Karen was done, leaving the floor scrubbed clean and the wood and metal fixings smelling of polish. Kate smiled when she saw Karen gliding past on her low wheeled trolley, being pulled along and onto be taken to her next cleaning assignment as if she were nothing more than a piece of cleaning equipment.

After Karen was wheeled for the cattle shed Kate’s daily routine resumed.

Riccardo’s mind often went back to the day, several weeks ago when he boarded the Silver Lady. He wasn’t forced to leave Rabbit Island in that way, he chose to. The reasons why he decided to go to Cavallo’s infamous island had been playing on his mind. He thought he had left behind feeling of obligation, commitment and a sense of duty long ago, in the days when he lived in what he referred to as the ‘old world’. When a man joins the society to which Rabbit Island belongs, he must cast aside traditional ideas of morality. Any attempt to rationalize the kidnap and systematic abuse of innocent women is futile. Not even Master Alex does it, although he had a tendency to shrug off such things with the comment that worse things happen in the world. People are brutalized, murdered or die horrible deaths in their millions every year. His interest in the welfare and happiness of Rabbit Island’s bunnies was not borne out of compassion but merely to prove a point. People do not have a divine right to happiness, or freedom, or prosperity, or anything else at all. He sometimes talked of Rabbit Island as a way of punishing the prosperous west for its arrogance... or at least some of their more attractive and submissive representatives.

It was hard to say who was doing it intentionally, but Riccardo and tall-necked Lucinda more often than not, would arrive at the cafe for the morning cappuccino at the same time. They were both creatures of habit, so much so that Isabel - the waitress who used to be a man - brought their refreshments without waiting for their orders. Riccardo was fascinated by the waitress, and would have liked to know more about how a man would feel about having every facet of his manhood removed. It was a uniquely cruel treatment. Lucinda liked to tease Isobel. Today she asked if she had a boyfriend yet. Isabel shook her head, blushing slightly.

Lucinda screwed up her pretty nose. “You’re not a lesbian, are you?”

Isabel nodded reluctantly. The operation and transformation had not changed the orientation of her mind, which was still that of a heterosexual male, one that was besotted with Lucinda, in spite of her teasing.

“You’re a woman now, you should be fucked only by men!” Lucinda reiterated with a wag of her finger.

Isabel’s chastened departure left Lucinda and Riccardo chuckling and smiling at each other. Considering how little they had in common, they got on surprisingly well, enjoying the other’s company even when they had nothing to say, often sitting in contented silence for several minutes. Conversation, when it arrived, usually involved Lucinda complimenting Riccardo on the great improvement shown by his ponygirl pair. It might have been flattery but it was also fact. They waited patiently nearby, proud, erect and motionless, seemingly eager to please their master. Lucinda discovered that Riccardo (and indeed all pony drivers!) liked talking about their ponygirls almost as much as they like handling them.

The Ponygirl Express was approaching in the distance. Riccardo and Lucinda turned to watch, as they usually did. They were bang on time, eight minutes before eleven o’clock. They kept better time than did his unreliable old watch.

Right before his eyes, he saw the four ponygirls falter just as they reached the upward slope, it looked like one of them had stumbled, upsetting the rhythm of the whole team. It was to prove a catastrophic mistake. Perhaps if the carriage hadn’t been fully laden with four men and sundry boxes they might have regained their momentum.

“They’re not going to make it,” Lucinda commented grimly. The ponygirl team ran out of momentum and came to a humiliating stop ten metres before the top of slope. They were stationary for a few wretched seconds before they began rolling back down the track. The ponygirls stumbled, desperate to keep their footing as the great weight of the carriage pulled them backwards at an ever-increasing speed. The men on board shouted out in exasperation, gesticulating wildly with their hands as if the ponygirls’ failure had gravely insulted them. It came to a standstill at the tracks lowest point some two hundred metres away.

Riccardo hurriedly took his leave of Lucinda, mounted his pony trap, and set off along the dirt track that ran parallel to the railway. Just as his ponygirls were making a nice pace along the gentle downward slope, he tugged hard on their reins. They halted with a precision that came from Riccardo’s training. He noticed a sledgehammer laying on the track, just at the spot where he noticed that first stumble. It had to be the cause, he thought, moving it away from the track.

The passengers - factory and mine technicians - were in a foul mood, muttering melodramatically that they might have been killed as the carriage rolled backwards. One of them pressed repeatedly on the button that sent electric shocks into the anus of each ponygirl. Such was their pain that they could barely stand upright in their harnesses when Riccardo arrived.

“What are we supposed to do now?” One of the men asked Riccardo. With his being a pony driver they assumed he would know, and by association, held him partly to blame.

“You walk!” Riccardo said bluntly. “It’s no more than two hundred metres. The ponygirls won’t get back up the slope with your weight on board.”

The four men dismounted, muttering with discontent as they made their way on foot to the halting point.

Riccardo inspected the four panting ponygirls. Clad in black from head to toe they looked so alike that he had remind himself that one of them was Jessica. Her mouth was prised open by the bit, keeping her glossy red lips and perfect white teeth apart. It was a very kissable mouth even though she could hardly return a kiss when fixed like that. He didn’t need to study it for long; it was the same permanent fitment that his own ponygirls wore.

Jessica’s neck was so rigidly held and her body strapped so securely to the shafts she didn’t even attempt to turn to look at him. But she and her fellow ponygirls were angry, that much was obvious. The unwarranted shocks one of the passengers had delivered were still reverberating through them, leaving them squirming and struggling within the tight strapping of their leatherbodies. Even though pony drivers worked hard to train ponygirls out of such behaviour Riccardo still found a ponygirl wriggling within her straps to be a beguiling sight. Enough to remind him of the cursed cock restraint he wore.

Jessica and her team were eager to be running again, fearing the punishment that their lateness would bring, but Riccardo made them wait until he felt they had rested sufficiently. Then he beckoned them to start, and watched as they trotted past, and up to their stopping point without incident. He observed that Jessica was limping, and made a mental note to check on her later.

“Mmmph!” complained Kate as the paddle hit her buttocks for the twentieth time. Billy was never happy until she had Kate in tears, with her rump red, stinging and sore. Still chained and fixed into her milking frame Kate could do nothing to avoid the repeating blows, even more than on normal days. Billy’s explanation that paddling was good for her blood’s circulation didn’t quite wash with her, though it was true she could feel herself flushing a bright red as her blood filled the capillaries near the skin.

Once she had been soundly paddled it was time for Kate’s afternoon hood. It was the same every afternoon for all the breeders: a couple of quiet hours with a black cotton bag loosely covering their heads. During that period of darkened solitude Kate would ponder her situation. If Rabbit Island didn’t come to collect her soon, she would become pregnant... and Rabbit Island had little use for a pregnant woman, so she might have to stay on La Plata, forever a breeder, or at least until she was no longer fertile.

Escape seemed impossible. She was perpetually chained and watched over by Billy and the other dykes in dungarees. It was only a matter of time that she would conceive via that monstrous inseminator once her cycle resumed. Then her fate would be sealed. Kate’s fingers traced down the crack of her buttocks as they often did. Coming into contact with her pussy lips, her fingertips could feel the scar, a protrusion of new skin where the stitches had been. Beneath it lay a small handcuff key which she had secreted and stitched within her flesh several months ago. It was literally itching to be used, like the proverbial ‘break glass in case of emergency’ key. It was a once-only opportunity, and she wasn’t even sure the key would fit the cuffs she now wore.

Kate’s darkened fumbling was interrupted when someone slapped her hand.

“Don’t play with yourself!” the nurse scolded.

It must be Wednesday, Kate realised. This was the day when she gave blood. The nurse wrapped a rubber tourniquet around her bicep. A few moments later Kate felt the cool of the antiseptic swab and the prick of the needle.

The forced blood donation program was another of Madame Cavallo’s innovations. She insisted that her slaves’ bodies were always productive; that they be utilised as livestock. The blood donation program ensured that a vital supply of blood was available in case of a medical emergency. With the occasional caesarean birth in the breeding program it was a prudent measure.

EXERCISE FOR BREEDERS

Kate awoke with a start as the hood was suddenly yanked off her head. She had be snoozing as she usually did in the afternoon, and more so than usual after giving blood. Daylight invaded through her eyelids.

The latches that held her to the frame were released with a rude iron clatter, then Billy’s hands in her armpits helped her to her feet. Soon all twenty breeders were roused, their eyes adjusting to the afternoon sunlight, standing ready, if not fully awake, to be led outside to their daily exercise session.

Kate tried in vain to straighten her white mini-dress as she walked. The hem never seemed long enough to fully cover her buttocks. There always seemed to be a slight breeze against her sex. The shed filled with the sound of jingling chains as the breeding females shuffled out into the humid late afternoon air.

Two snarling and yapping dogs were waiting for them outside, straining at their leashes. Their matching handlers tugged on the leashes to bring the dogs under control as the breeders scurried past. Kate and Rachel were at the rear, glancing nervously over their shoulders.

Like a bizarre gaggle of geese, the breeders moved along as fast as their hobble chains would allow. Behind them, the two border collies harried them, eager to bite at the bare heels of anyone that fell behind. They took the same route every day, a circuit of the large grassy area outside the breeding shed. Every day they passed the bitch-frame where Kate had been subjected to her bestial assault some weeks previous. She warily glanced backwards at the snarling dogs fearing that they had more in mind than a nip of her ankles.

Fifteen minutes of quick-step shuffling, having managed to avoid the snapping jaws of the sheep dogs for another day, the breeders were allows to kneel or sit down on the grass.

This was their best time of the day; they could talk freely whilst enjoying the air and the sunlight. Those who were pregnant had their hands cuffed in front of them, and once sitting on the ground had enough slack chain at their wrists to feel almost free. For those who weren’t carrying - just a few of them including Kate and Rachel - there was no such luxury. And for those that hadn’t learned to keep their mouth shut there was the harnessed ball-gag, every bit as humiliating as it was uncomfortable. Seeing Kate gagged yet again, the other breeders had her marked out as a fool, unable to learn her lesson.

Rachel kissed Kate on the cheek, giving her a sympathetic frown. “Promise me you’ll stay out of trouble and keep your mouth shut in future? How can I laugh at your stupid jokes if you’re gagged?”

Eight hours wearing her ballgag left Kate feeling sorry for herself, particularly when Rachel deserted her to make small talk with the other breeders. Kate’s attention wandered to the distant track where a pair of ponygirls was steadily approaching through the afternoon haze, although it was the driver that drew her attention. Kate’s strange whining noises, like a dog expectantly waiting for its owner, caught Rachel’s attention.

“Hey, it’s Riccardo!” Rachel said, breaking out into a broad grin, her shoulder bumping excitedly into Kate’s. Her ballgagged companion was busily using her mind powers to ensure that he stopped. It worked, or at least that was how Kate felt.

Riccardo jumped down from the trap looking the epitome of virile health. His hairy tanned legs bounded over to them, and Kate suddenly wondered if she wanted to see him after all.

“Hello Riccardo, Sir,” said Rachel.

“Mmmph!” said Kate.

“How’s life in the breeding shed?” Riccardo asked, while his eyes were transfixed by their bulgin“Have they made you pregnant yet?”

“Not yet.” Rachel nodded in the direction of the other breeders. “When you see our hands chained in front like they are, you know it’s too late.”

Riccardo looked towards the others and thought it a wonderful sight; there was even a distinctive and arousing aroma to them. With their protruding bellies they were the ultimate slaves, the facility of their womanhood utterly under the control of others.

While Kate leant against his leg, Rachel asked the Riccardo the question that had been preoccupying them:

“If we become pregnant, Riccardo Sir, will we still be allowed to go back to Rabbit Island?”

“They’ll probably make you have an abortion if you’re not too far along.” Riccardo guessed, “but most likely you’ll be required to stay here. I expect Cavallo will want to buy you.”

Rachel frowned. It was the outcome she and Kate most feared. While they talked Riccardo’s fingers were toying absently with Kate’s hair and head straps. Not that she minded... quite the contrary in fact.

Rachel glanced over at Riccardo’s pony trap. “Your ponygirls are looking good, Sir.” Rachel said. Such comments, complimenting a driver on his ponygirls were seldom out of place. Even slave girls could say it.

“It’s amazing what a little tender loving care, and a lot of discipline can accomplish. Madame Cavallo might soon take them into her private stable, and then I’ll get two more to train.” Riccardo explained. “Besides, training is more fun than just being used as a courier service. You see behind the two seats? That’s my cargo. I have to take her up to the processing plant.”

For the first time Kate and Rachel noticed the live cargo that Riccardo carried.

“It’s called a cigar. They tie her hands, and then place her in a lace-up leather bag. It’s laced behind her from ankles to neck, and is so tight she can hardly wiggle. It’s a La Plata speciality apparently. Sometimes they keep slaves in cigars for days at a time.

“Easy to handle.” Rachel observed with gentle sarcasm.

“Very easy. You can’t get into much trouble when you’re laced up in a cigar, although Kate would probably find a way!”

They both laughed at Kate’s expense, but she didn’t care just as long as Riccardo’s fingers continued to ruffle through her hair as she rubbed her face against his thigh.

“How’s Jessica doing?” Rachel asked hesitantly, chancing her luck while Riccardo was in a good mood.

“I think she hurt herself today. She tripped on something,” he replied. Caught off guard by the question, the truth came out before he could help himself. “I’ll try to see how she is later tonight.”

Riccardo returned to his ponygirls, inspecting them meticulously before mounting the trap and lightly whipping them into motion. It was one of those rare occasions when Kate wanted to be a ponygirl.

Jessica had expected to be punished along with her three fellow ponygirls, and sure enough, when they finished their duties on the railway they were taken to the punishment column. The square stone column held a ponygirl on all sides, each of them with her hands shackled high above her head. They waited, almost ignored, for nearly an hour. They were assuming it was a ploy to increase their dread of the brutal caning that would surely be dealt to them.

The caning never arrived. Instead they were hosed with cold water and dried with coarse towels. Then they were moved to their respective stalls for yet another evening of tedious, solitary leather cleaning.

Jessica lavished attention on her leather garments, throughout the evening. To her it was a matter of pride that her leather garments were immaculate, particularly the pony boots which had travelled with her from Rabbit Island. She never let the chore get to her; in fact she thought it kept her sane.

Riccardo crept softly down the long row of stalls with a quiet nod of acknowledgement to his two ponygirls as he passed them without breaking stride. Each smiled for a brief moment hoping that he had come to see them, but tonight it was another pony that was occupying his thoughts.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked Jessica in barely a whisper. She didn’t reply but her vague body language did enough to grant her assent. Riccardo sat down tentatively on the edge of her narrow bunk. He watched in fascination as she finished off her polishing, though perhaps she might have continued for longer had he not arrived. The wall opposite the bunk, barely an arm’s length away, held some of her tack, with the remainder including the leatherbody, placed neatly in a box that slipped under the bunk. The most visually striking items on the wall, and the most emotionally significant, were the two pony tails. The dark brown one was made from her own hair; the other, an exceptionally fine blonde tail, had been taken from Rachel. The latter was a reserve, just in case Jessica should join a blonde ponygirl team.

“How’s the foot?” Riccardo inquired.

Jessica looked down at her left foot - swollen and obviously black and blue, even in the dim light. “It hurts. They say it’s a twist and gave me a painkiller but I think it could be broken.” Her tone was measured and distant like her gaze, but humble, forever aware that Riccardo was on the other side - a Master to her slave. In her compact accommodation she had no choice but to sit on the bed alongside him. Her left hand held the chain that connected her sex to the opposite wall. The padlock passing through two piercings in her labia, hadn’t been removed since her arrival. The second padlock connecting the chain to her labial padlock was heavier, much heavier than it needed to be; designed not just to secure her but also to torment her. She noticed Riccardo looking at it, which was hardly surprising. The dull chink of the two padlocks and the chain constantly drew attention to her humiliating bondage.

“Is it true about the men here?” Jessica asked, with a wry a smile on her lips. “I’ve heard rumours.”

“Is what true?”

Jessica pointed a tentative finger at Riccardo’s crotch. He didn’t answer but allowed her hand to come closer until her fingers pressed at his fly. She pushed harder on the fabric of his shorts and felt the rigid covering of his flaccid penis.

“It IS true!” She said with a kind of awe, forgetting herself for a moment and speaking much louder than their previously whispered conversation. It was a strange consolation to know that the men on the island didn’t have things all their own way.

“You’re quite safe with me tonight,” Riccardo joked with a hint of frustration. “Not that we’re allowed to fuck our ponies on Rabbit Island anyhow.”

Jessica had almost forgotten about that. She gave a sardonic laugh. “So I’m still your ponygirl then?”

Her mocking tone didn’t quite come off. Riccardo put an arm around her and pulled her close to him, in lieu of an answer. Tears welled in her eyes until there was nowhere for them to go but down her cheeks. He kissed her stubbly hair as she cried softly on his chest.

End of Chapter 19

(Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any comments, criticisms, suggestions and reviews are welcome.)

Chapter 20. Checking out of the Breeding Program
(Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)

BRENDA’S PIGS

“Up you get!” said Billy to Kate, not long after her morning milking.

The frame’s clamps were unclipped, releasing Kate from its iron grip. Billy helped her to her feet. It wasn’t the exercise period, which could only mean a trip to the surgery for a medical. She knew they were becoming increasingly frustrated that Kate’s periods showed no sign of restarting.

Brenda and Billy frog-marched Kate from the breeding shed.

“Where are we going?” Kate asked, skipping along awkwardly in her ankle restraints in order to keep up with her escorts. They’d walked straight past the surgery.

“You’re going to assist with our breeding program,” Brenda explained. “Just because you can’t get pregnant doesn’t mean you can’t help in other ways.”

Other ways? Kate was alarmed. She was already giving milk and blood. What other fluids could she give?

They entered a building that Kate hadn’t been in before. (Breeders didn’t get to travel much.) The utilitarian brickwork and lack of any decorative features betrayed its purpose. This was a place for prisoners.

Kate’s mouth gaped open in shock and fear. “Oh... my... god!”

Brenda laughed, and flourished her open palm around the room as if to show it off. “This is where we collect our precious semen, and today you’re going to help us.”

In each of the four corners of the small windowless room was a man kneeling on a frame not unlike her own so-called breeding frame. Their wrists were secured in heavy leather cuffs fitted to the front legs of the frame. It wasn’t their naked bodies that shocked Kate, it was the tight leather hoods they wore. Small holes were provided for the eyes and nostrils whilst the mouth was closed with a heavy steel zip.

Billy unlocked the chains from Kate's wrists - something which wasn’t even done during her medicals. Kate lifted her aching arms so the dress could be removed. One man made a deep guttural growl at the sight of her revealed nakedness. Her hands weren’t free for long. Billy lashed them together behind her with a soft white rope and pushed her to the floor. Then her ankle shackles were removed to be replaced by more white rope around her crossed ankles.

“Not too tight,” Brenda instructed Billy, “if the ankles and wrists are too close she can’t wriggle as much. The pigs like to watch the bitch rolling around while she’s beaten!”

Thus was Kate fixed into a medium hog-tie. She lay on the ample cushioning of her breasts, her fingers idly bending and straining in search of loose knots while Billy’s and Brenda’s Doc Martens busily passed back and forth in front of her nose as they made their preparations.

“Hold this!” Brenda commanded, pushing the shaft of a riding crop to Kate’s lips. Kate took it gingerly between her teeth at its middle point. “And don’t you DARE drop it while I’m getting the pigs sorted out.”

Brenda flicked a switch on the wall and Kate’s viewpoint began to change. She was on a slowly revolving segment of the floor, turning at about the speed of a second hand on a clock; slow enough for each man to get a complete look at her. In turn Kate observed at the so-called pigs, but there seemed little to distinguish any of the four unfortunates.

While Kate and her immobile body counted the minutes Brenda busied herself behind each man, fitting his penis with a condom-like receptacle and pushing it through a padded circular hole that would provide the necessary friction, in lieu of a vagina or a hand.

“Hey, you little slut. You’re welcome to come again. They like you!” Brenda cheerfully called out from behind the last of the four men. “The pigs all had nice hard cocks so I didn’t have to massage anyone today.”

Holding the riding crop firmly between her teeth Kate grunted to acknowledge the comment, just in case Brenda felt the urge to repeat herself.

This was exactly the kind of thing Brenda quit her career in her mid-thirties to do. Dominate and brutalise other women in the way that she enjoyed. Her notorious sadism eventually had her frozen out of the lesbian club scene throughout the length of the East coast. Here on La Plata though her penchant for erotic brutalisation had found its true home. She despised attractive young blondes like Kate, that’s why they were her favourite subjects for punishment. They deserved it.

Brenda took hold of the riding crop. “Kiss it!” she commanded.

“That’s right. You love to be beaten with a crop don’t you? A little bird told me you can orgasm just from a flogging alone. You’re a sick woman Kate, and these pigs are sick too. You deserve each other.”

Kate lowered her forehead to the floor and braced herself for the onslaught. At first the blows were measured, as if Brenda was finding her distance to Kate’s body and gauging her victim’s reactions. Gradually the swats increased in frequency, working on each part of Kate’s flesh until the skin was one large red blotch.

Hundreds of swats later Brenda had demonstrated her expertise with the crop. If a hog-tied body could dance, then Kate was doing the twist. No matter how she turned and squirmed Brenda always had some tender flesh to aim for. Her Doc Marten boot dug into Kate’s ribs, indicating she should roll over to expose her belly, then a whole new area of pale flesh was revealed to be in need of colouring.

Brenda chuckled. “That’s right girl, let’s get those juicy nipples of yours nice and red.” The leather flap of the crop beat double time all over Kate’s breasts. All Kate could do was pant and grimace and make the occasional ‘owww!’ when it became too much.

All the while during Kate’s assault the four wooden frames creaked in rhythm until, one by one, the noise ceased as each man gave a desperate grunt and made his deposit. When all four frames has stopped creaking the riding crop was tossed to the floor beside her, its purpose apparently fulfilled. Kate lay exhausted, her skin burning tingling all over.

Brenda’s attention returned to her pigs, carefully collecting, storing and labelling their donations. She seemed very satisfied as she left the room taking the precious white liquid to the surgery.

Kate was alone with the four men feeling unaccountably nervous in spite of their heavy binding. While the turntable continued its slow revolution Kate rested and recovered, her simple rope hogtie bothering her much less than the stares of desperate men. They seemed like monsters, secured for her protection and their own. If they could break free of their restraints she feared they might rip her apart in a violent sexual frenzy. Those stares were even worse than she encountered while working in the Middle East.

Twenty minutes later, Brenda and Billy returned. Kate never thought a time would come when she’d be glad to see them. She was hoping to feel the familiarity of her breeder chains, but they had other plans for her.

There was no mistaking the jumble of straps in Billy’s hand. Kate knew from its phallic protrusions that it was destined for her.

“Now it’s time for your treat,” Brenda announced with her ‘cruel mother’ tone of voice. “Billy will fit you up with our three-way belt while I get the pigs prepared for their encore.”

Kate lay on her side in a surly pouting silence, opening her knees so Billy could pass the belt around her waist and between her legs. There was a small dildo for each orifice. Kate winced as the sleek intruders were pushed into her, deciding not to complain about the lack of lubrication. The third item of the three way belt was positioned snugly over her clitoris. Billy took much more care over this one. Once in position it seemed to suck onto her clit, as if taking charge of it. Billy buckled up the neat leather straps of the belt.

The hungry stares of the four men seemed to drill into Kate, their lust unabated. She could see the whites of their eyes flickering, taking in the full splendour of her naked body. Her oversized breasts were calling out to them, as if they yearned to feel a man’s strong fingers gripping them like an eagle’s talons. Kate was no longer a person, but simply an erotic bundle of soft squirming flesh - an effective prop to aid in the production of semen.

Brenda slapped her hands together, as if removing dust, indicating her pigs were ready for their second round. Billy flicked the switch that signalled the beginning of Kate’s further torment. Never had she wanted an orgasm less, yet she knew the intimate contact of the three way belt would make it inevitable.

This time, while Kate’s turntable slowly revolved, Brenda and Billy stood at the edge of the room laughing and joking, enjoying the humiliation of the male and female victims under their control - all of them well on their way to orgasm.

Brenda was right. The men certainly were aroused by the sight of a naked and helpless woman racked with pain and sexual torment. And Kate for her part, knew that the tightness of the rope around her wrists and ankles, and that futile tug of her limbs would have the same effect as it had since her self-bondage efforts in her early teens.

The buzz between her legs grew gradually stronger. It made a nice change from the brutal industrial thump of the inseminator in the breeding shed, but the insistent buzzing of the three way belt was just a potent and was beginning to driver her crazy. The intolerable itch could only be relieved one way, and that was by yielding to it. She closed her eyes and hummed along with the vibrations that engulfed her from breasts to belly to thighs.

Kate tried to keep quiet, but it wasn’t easy for one unfailingly vocal during her lovemaking. Regular lovers and Masters on Rabbit Island would take the precaution of gagging her. She often appreciated the modesty a gag provided.

Her four man audience, with Brenda and Billy exchanging saliva in the background, enjoyed the full range of Kate’s stream-of-consciousness expletive-laden commentary that led after several minutes of blue air to her back-aching, limb-straining orgasm.

Brenda and Billy continued their lewd embrace unabated - blue dungarees, ample flesh and white tee shirts entwined - while Kate sobbed with relief and the conscripted semen donors slumped exhausted and sated onto their frames. Kate felt as embarrassed for the men as she was for herself. It gave her no pleasure, certainly not sexual, to see men treated that way.

When they eventually unravelled themselves, Brenda attended to her pigs, while Billy, her apprentice, followed in close attendance. She was there to learn.

Kate was ignored now her job was done. There’s only so much fun a woman can have in a hogtie, particularly after the pleasure of sinew stretching orgasms has receded. They could at least have switched off her turntable, Kate grumbled to herself. She was getting dizzy.

“You were a nurse, weren’t you Katie?” Brenda called out as she continued to stow away the precious sperm.

Kate bit her tongue at being addressed so familiarly by someone she despised. “I still am!” She replied indignantly.

Brenda held up an elegantly curved steel implement.“Ever seen one of these before?”

Kate strained to see as her turntable spun her away from the object Brenda held. She shook her head. No, she didn’t recognise it, but she sensed where the implement might be heading.

Brenda and Billy were positioned behind one of the men, with Billy following Brenda’s every instruction as a diligent student. “That’s right Billy, stick it all the way into him... now rock it slowly back and forth.”

A strange peace descended on the room before Brenda finally piped up. “We’re milking his prostate. That’s what we do if a pig doesn’t come a second time. Extracting the last of his fluid means that next time he donates, everything is fresh. Once he is drained he won’t be thinking much about sex for a few days!”

A world where men didn’t think about sex was Brenda’s idea of heaven, even though they were unlikely to ever be thinking about sex with her.

Billy released Kate from the three-way belt and the hogtie. She was soon dressed again, in her flimsy dress that created more breezes than it stopped, and the heavy leather retaining belt resting on her hips. Only when the transport chains were snicked onto her wrists and ankles did Kate feel properly attired. It meant she’d soon be back in the secure surroundings of the breeding shed.

“So it’s all arranged then?” Cavallo asked the doctor, having strolled unannounced into his consulting room.

“Everything is in hand Madame, just as you requested. The surgeon and the anaesthetist will arrive here in four days.” The doctor was becoming exasperated at having to repeat himself to his excited employer. “We’re all ready. The ponygirl has been moved to the isolation area.”

Cavallo looked heavenward with a broad, smug grin. “It’s so fitting don’t you think, that one of Rabbit Island’s ponygirls should replace the one I lost on their island. With her ankle in plaster for six weeks it’s such an ideal time to perform the operation. Almost like it was meant to be.”

The doctor could not argue with Cavallo’s fiendish logic. It was inevitable that another armless ponygirl would have to be found or created to join up with the exising three. He hoped that last year, when Cavallo secured her long-held ambition to run a pair of ‘true ponies’ that that would be the end of it. Instead it was merely the beginning.

It still rankled with the doctor about one of the previous amputees who didn’t make the grade. She never would. It was a senseless and cruel waste to carry out the amputations on one that had never proved herself as a ponygirl.

He disapproved of Cavallo’s Machiavellian plan to further experiment on the girl with that memory erasing procedure, but perhaps in a strange way it was a mercy. The girl’s memory loss proved far more effective than they could have hoped for. So much so that Cavallo decided in a moment of sheer folly and vanity that the girl should be released from her duties on La Plata; released into the outside world.

That was how Janie came to be found wandering dazed and weak on a beach in Koh Samui. Janie’s release had triggered a series of events that led to Rabbit Island leaving some of the best slaves in her care. That made Cavallo more confident than ever, emboldened by the success of her plans.

“Have you done the fertility tests on that pony driver yet?” Cavallo demanded of the nurse as she entered the room.

“A high sperm count and disease free,” the nurse reported after consulting her clipboard.

“Excellent!” Cavallo proclaimed, her nostrils flared as she breathed in the scent of triumph. “Just as I hoped. That interfering Spaniard can stay in the donor shed for a week or two. I believe we have to fill a breeding order for some latin blood and I must admit he is healthy and good-looking. Perhaps now he can contribute something instead of always complaining about the way we treat ponygirls.”

Cavallo was seething under the surface as she thought back to the incident a couple of days ago when Riccardo insulted her. Perhaps it was a bit insensitive - foolhardy in retrospect - to make the connection between her name and the length of her nose.

Four days had passed since her trip to the sperm donors’ room and Kate was increasingly concerned by the absence of Riccardo and Jessica. Riccardo and his pony pair, invariably seen during the afternoon exercise session, had vanished. Not even replaced by anybody else. Another ponygirl had replaced Jessica, so the rumour mill in the breeding shed had it. It was a reasonable assumption.

Kate was in her usual position at that time of the morning, fixed to her frame, the breast pumps relieving her of the ever-increasing yield. It was a time for meditation, a moment to be absorbed in her self. But this morning, at that most unwelcome time, she had a visitor. It was the feet that Kate noticed first. Not that there was anything unusual in that - her face-downwards position in the frame ensured it.

They were a young woman’s feet, clad in worn leather roman sandals, the toenails painted a deep red, with several metal bangles around each ankle. Quite pretty feet, Kate thought. While she was musing on how and if those close fitting bangles could be ever removed from the ankles a hand gripped her hair and lifted her head upwards.

“Are you Kate?”

Kate’s neck was straining backwards against the retaining hoop, making it difficult to catch her breath. “Yes,” she gasped. “You’re choking me.”

Lucinda didn’t apologise. She retained her grip so they could still face each other.

Kate knew about Lucinda - a slave since birth, a child in a woman’s body. She was tortured and abused at the Bacchanal along with Kate and the others, but at other times she seemed to roam unhindered - free range to Kate’s battery hen. Even now, in the breeding shed, Billy watched warily from a distance, almost fearful of approaching Lucinda, such was the ambiguity of her status.

“Riccardo’s in prison. He asked me to see you. He needs your help.” Lucinda whispered.

That was too much for Kate. Fixed to a frame while her breasts were being mechanically drained with a giraffe-necked girl asking for her help. “Let me just finish what I’m doing and I’ll come right over and sort it out.”

Lucinda looked confused. “You will?”

“No. I won’t. I was being sarcastic. I’m a prisoner myself, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Kate jingled her chains for effect. “Why’s he in prison? He’s a pony driver. A Master.”

Lucinda sighed. “Something about a ponygirl. He had an argument with Madame. She wanted to amputate to make another true ponygirl, and he said something about being better to amputate her nose. I thought that was actually quite rude. Anyhow, I think ponygirls look better without arms. Much sleeker, and more obedient too.”

“Actually I don’t!” Kate said tersely. It was all she could do to keep calm when dealing with this strangely immature woman, still maintaining a tight grip of her hair. She had to ask the question: “Which ponygirl?”

“The one with the broken ankle. I don’t recall her name. Just a ponygirl!” Lucinda said in an offhand manner as if asked what she had for breakfast. In her limited world, Lucinda knew little about friendship until Riccardo arrived and couldn’t conceive that anyone might have a friendship with a ponygirl. To her they were animals that looked like women, an everyday means of transport.

Kate’s eyes moistened. “When?”

“Later today. I think Riccardo will be released soon after the ponygirl’s operation. I don’t know why he’s making such a fuss. Anyway, I’ve told you, just as he asked me. So I’m going now. Bye.”

With that, Lucinda finally released her grip on Kate’s hair, allowing Kate’s head to drop physically as it had metaphorically. Lucinda strolled carefree along the aisle of the breeding shed, chatting with a few of the more familiar breeders as she went.

Kate was deep in thought, while Rachel alongside her could only muster a quiet “Oh my God!”

The milking was almost complete as Billy arrived to give Kate’s breasts a firm and finally squeeze. “Well done girl. Good yield!” Billy said cheerily. It was important to give the breeders encouragement and to make them feel appreciated, but Kate barely heard the remarks.

Breakfast followed milking. It was demeaning to be so crudely fed when fixed to a breeding frame but Kate usually wolfed down the porridge-like mush that arrived in large spoonfuls. Normally she would still have her mouth gaping open for more as the feeding pot went down the line. Today her mouth stayed closed after the second mouthful, too nervous to eat.

There seemed to be an awful lot happening with the inseminator. Brenda and Billy were fussing around behind her for several minutes, preparing something. Usually they just rammed it into her (wet or dry it didn’t matter) and switched on that monstrous motor.

Brenda slapped Kate’s buttocks. “There we are. All loaded and ready to fire.”

Kate felt the same familiar heavily ribbed phallus pushing into her sex, but today was different. She knew enough about her body to be aware that this was the day they had been waiting for - and the day she dreaded - when she would become an official breeder. It was turning into a very bad day.

The inseminator was pumping and vibrating with its unrelenting, yet undeniably stimulating rhythm that no man could match. Despite Kate’s best mental efforts to resist, the effect was the same as ever. Her pulse raced, her skin became clammy, a bead of perspiration trickled down to the tip of her nose and splashed onto the floor. “No!” she cried out repeatedly, as if mental power alone could save her.

When the inseminator made its last long thrusts following shortly after Kate’s orgasm, her desperate cry of “No” became a lament... for herself, and for Jessica too.

“You see those little specks? Make sure you scrape them all off, otherwise the varnish won’t be smooth.”

Karen looked up at her minder to acknowledge that she understood. Their eyes lingered on each other for a moment. The man smiled. She had nice eyes, he’d told her recently. It was true, she had big passionate eyes that responded brilliantly to the daily makeup session before she started cleaning duties. This man, her supervisor, despite his beatings and bullying, had something resembling affection for her. Karen was sure of it. She was in her regular cleaning position, kneeling on her shins, her legs strapped together and encased in a leather bag with a soft underside that enabled her to slide along the floor as she cleaned.

The supervisor left Karen to her task, scraping the breeding shed’s wooden floor of all lumps and accumulated stuck-on detritus, prior to its revarnishing. It was going to be a long and boring day... or so she thought.

“Pssst!”

Karen heard the sound but continued to rub the small wire brush into the angle where the floor met the wall.

“Psst! Karen.”

With barely a twitch of a latex covered finger Karen subtly acknowledged Kate’s call, then she resumed her scrubbing. After a minute had elapsed she shuffled over to Kate’s side of the walkway and carried on with her menial task. Billy and the other breeding shed workers kept a suspicious eye on her from the other end of the shed.

“Karen. Listen to me,” Kate muttered with a sotto voce urgency. “Later this afternoon they’re going to operate on Jessica. They’re going to...”

Karen nodded to save Kate from completing her dreadful statement. She had already heard the news.

“Do you remember when you first arrived on Rabbit Island? We took the keys from the pony driver, and I unlocked myself and took him back to the lodge?”

Karen nodded impatiently. Of course she remembered, but what did that have to do with Jessica’s predicament?

“I still have one of the keys! I’m going to use it this afternoon. I want you to help if you can.”

Kate’s urgent tone caused her to speak louder than she ought. Billy came stomping down the aisle. She kicked Karen to one side, then slapped Kate sharply on the side of her head. “I told you to keep quiet! If you can’t keep quiet you wear the gag!” Kate’s gag harness hung on a hook at the front of her frame, ready for instant fittings.

The red rubber ball pushed against Kate’s clenched teeth for a moment. She been conditioned to open and grasp the ball fully the moment it was offered. Any resistance would only bring punishment. Billy quickly buckled up the straps, behind and over Kate’s head, and then a third one under her chin. With each strap Billy pulled hard until she found a extra hole, causing the straps to bite into Kate’s face, and pulling the ball so deep into her mouth that she almost choked.

Billy stormed away, greatly annoyed by the interruption. It seemed affected, showing off to Brenda that she was capable of keeping order in the breeding shed.

“She stitched the key into her flesh,” Rachel said, taking up where Kate had left off, but before she could say anything else, Billy was jogging down the aisle again, a ballgag in hand.

“So? You want to be gagged like your friend do you?” Billy mocked. “Perhaps you’ll give me some peace now!”

The gags came just in time for the afternoon nap. Dark cotton sacks were placed over the heads of Rachel, Kate and all the other breeders. Gradually the shed quietened as activities and conversation ceased. This was the time of day when Brenda and Billy took an extended lunch break.

Soon the only sound to be heard was Karen scraping away at the stains on the floor. Cleaners didn’t get lunch. It was too much trouble to remove their head coverings and gags. And because Karen and other cleaners sat or knelt down all day they weren’t deemed to need a rest either.

While Karen scraped and chipped at the floor, Kate’s fingers arched into the crack of her buttocks, tugging to the full extent her chains allowed. She felt the scarred lump just behind her labia with her fingertip and tried to dig her finger into it. Without the edge of a fingernail the skin could not be broken. The key that she had so skilfully secreted and kept a secret for so long had buried itself too deep. She would have willingly ripped open her soft flesh, but it absorbed and deflected the blunt attack of her finger. Sobs of self-pity and despair welled up inside her, until tears streamed down her face. The darkness of the hood hiding her shame.

Kate was startled by a hand gripping her thigh. She hadn’t noticed anyone creep up behind her. Expecting to hear the taunts of Billy, she instead felt a sharp pain as something coarse and metallic cut into the flesh at the very place her fingertip had been. The flesh was being cut with a rapid sawing action. Kate could feel warm blood trickling down her thigh, until a rag wiped against it.

Metal struck metal amidst the flesh and blood. Karen’s latex covered fingers squeezed Kate's flesh as if to remove a large splinter. The round head of the key emerged slowly from Kate’s bloody flesh until Karen was able to grasp it. Kate attempted to offer up her chained wrists to the key just in case Karen didn’t know what to do with it. Karen’s hands gripped Kate’s as she struggled to push the key into the hole. It seemed to take an eternity. It was difficult for Karen to grip the key with latex-covered, blood-smeared gloves.

Pushing the key into the lock was difficult, but opening it was impossible. The key didn’t fit. Karen slapped angrily at Kate’s thigh in frustration. All she could do was try to stem the bleeding and clear up the spills in the vain hope that nobody would notice.

Karen shuffled around to the front aisle again, having given up on stemming the blood that flowed freely in a neat red line down to Kate’s knee. She pulled off Kate’s hood in order to apologise face-to-face. It might be her last chance she feared, sensing where this failed stunt would leave them. She stroked Kate’s tear-stained leather-strapped face with her hand. They had done their best. It obviously wasn’t meant to be.

Heavy footsteps were approaching on the other side of the door: Brenda or Billy’s Doc Martens! They all knew the sound well enough. Instead of replacing Kate’s hood Karen scooted along the floor for several yards, as if to detach herself from Kate’s predicament.

“What the... how the...” Billy gasped upon noticing Kate’s hood lying on the floor. Kate shrugged her shoulders and tried to look innocent, although the ballgag straps cutting into her head rendered any expression meaningless, or simply comical. Billy bent down to pick up the hood. She’d get to the bottom of what happened when Kate was ungagged later in the day.

Karen was too quick, gathering Billy’s legs together at the knees and toppling her over. The element of surprise had worked in her favour and she had the initiative. A prizefighter’s blow with her fist hit Billy in the mouth, drawing blood and cutting the latex on her knuckles. She grasped Billy’s head in her hands. After three sickening thuds from the back of Billy’s head against floor the one-sided fight was over. The shed went very quiet.

Billy’s toolbelt held the object of their desire, a set of keys which Karen jingled triumphantly a few inches in front of Kate’s nose. She undid Kate’s gag straps before shuffling hurriedly around the back to unlock her chains.

“You’re scary. Do you know that?” said Kate as she stood up, rubbing the handcuff grooves in her wrists. She pulled her flimsy white dress over her head and stood naked, and for the first time in recent memory, totally unencumbered by clothing, shackles or the domineering stares of those who enslaved her.

They undressed Billy’s unconscious body, Karen diligently mopping up the spills from the mouth and head wounds while Kate peeled off the dungarees.

When one of the other breeders asked what was happening, Kate’s threat to kill her brought the enquiry to a swift end. The docility of her breeding companions continued to appal her.

So far so good, thought Kate as she adjusted the bib of the loose fitting. It was good, but scary.

More footsteps approached, softer ones than before. Now there were two of them to tackle the next person to walk into the room, though Kate sensed Karen was ready to perform the same trick as before.

The nurse entered. It was blood donation day, as Kate would have remembered had she not been so distracted by the other events of the day. Kate’s and the nurses eyes met, both with reason to be nervous.

“Wait a minute! You’re not...” said the nurse, her voice fading away as she slumped lifeless to the ground. Billy’s tazer rod was a highly effective tool Karen discovered. A mere touch to the nurse’s thigh was all that was needed. Kate foll owed up with a sedative jab into the nurse’s buttock. This assault was bloodless, if no less ruthless.

Kate hurriedly stripped herself of the dungarees, positively hopping with adrenalin. She began undressing the unconscious nurse, the white outfit would be much more suitable than the dungarees. She pulled off Rachel’s hood. “Sorry Rachel, we need your place.” Karen shuffled behind Rachel and unlocked her shackles.

If it wasn’t so serious they might have smiled. Kate had assumed her rightful role as a nurse, at least in appearance. She was immediately comfortable in the nurse’s tight dress, even though she had begun to like Rabbit Island’s absurdly revealing apron. Kate figured that Rachel, hailing from Texas, would feel equally at home in a tee shirt and dungarees!

It took the combined efforts of the three of them to get the slumped bodies of Billy and the nurse secured into their breeding frames. Once they were dressed, chained, gagged and hooded they looked just like the other breeders. Except these two were the only ones that weren’t trembling.

There was a medicine cabinet on the wall which Kate knew very well. In particular she knew of its sedating hypodermics, which were ready to incapacitate an unruly inmate within seconds. Kate plunged a needle into Billy’s ample and the nurse’s rather shapely naked rumps. From her own bitter experience she was confident that they would remain subdued for at least two hours.

Rachel was trying every key in her attempt to release Karen from her kneeling bondage. It seemed so cruel that Karen should remain in her bondage after her heroic effort. Only the cleaning department held her keys.

“Where’s the surgery?” Kate asked Karen.

Karen pointed to the door at the far end of the shed, then she pointed at herself. She knew the way, she attempted to say in her heavily gagged tones. The dramatic flaring of her eyes said that she was coming with them, pointing at the nearby trolley, her means of transport from one building to another. If they could pull her along she would take them there. With a practiced little jump she mounted the three-inch step onto her trolley, then pointed at Rachel. As the dyke impersonator it was Rachel’s job to pull the trolley to the cleaner’s next assignment. Kate had only to behave like a nurse. What could be easier?

They walked towards the door with Rachel pulling Karen’s squeaking trailer behind her. Kate placed her hand on the door handle and looked to her companions. Rachel was trembling, she was very bad casting as a butch dyke in dungarees. Karen was calmer, but still locked and latexed in her kneeling position, obliged to travel on her low-loading trailer. It wasn’t exactly the A team.

“Ready?” Kate asked.

Rachel and Karen barely nodded.

Kate gritted her teeth, whispered up a prayer, and slowly pushed open the door. “Then let’s go.”

End of Chapter 20

coming soon... the operation doesn’t go to plan

(Still reading? Please let me know if you are enjoying this story. Any comments, criticisms, suggestions and reviews are welcome.)

Chapter 21. The Operation
(Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)

“You and I look quite alike, you know,” said Madame Cavallo as she teased one of Jessica’s ringed nipples with her finger.

Jessica’s hands clenched as she tugged against the leather wrist cuffs that fixed them to the operating table. With her ankles similarly fixed, twelve inches apart, she was as helpless to resist Cavallo’s advances as she was to close her ears to the verbal torment.

“Oh yes, quite similar... except I’m perhaps a couple of years older and you are slightly prettier, I must admit. How old are you now Jessica?”

“Twenty-four,” Jessica said, before realizing she hadn’t taken her year on Rabbit Island into account. She wasn’t aware of exactly when her birthday had occurred. “No. Twenty-five.”

“Did you know I went to medical school?”

Jessica shook her head, eying Cavallo warily. Cavallo was standing over her in a white surgeon’s smock, which suited her rather too well.

“In Boston actually. I loved it there. It’s such a beautiful city. I made good friends, had a lot of fun and a lot of sex. It wasn’t just the socialising. I studied hard and was particularly interested in surgery. I watched many operations and even assisted in a few...

“But I had to quit after only two years because my father died. Suddenly I was responsible for a business empire on three continents and a fortune of two hundred million dollars. I sold off a few companies I wasn’t interested in and came back here, to my childhood home. Now I take care of the family business from here...

“You’re sexually submissive, aren’t you Jessica? You like to be dominated and you are turned on by bondage. True?”

Jessica shook her head in denial, praying that Cavallo would stop playing with her nipple like that.

“You are! And that’s why you’re in this position now. Rabbit Island chose you for those qualities, and they were right. I’ve seen how you behave around men. Like when Master Alex took you to that ballroom one evening and you sat at his feet, wearing his chains. You loved it. Admit it!” Cavallo almost became angry as she sought out a meaningless confession.

“Is this about Master Alex?” Jessica ventured.

Cavallo laughed extravagantly, mocking Jessica for thinking such nonsense. “Of course it isn’t, you silly pony. It’s about my avocation, adapting the human body for sexual slavery, and about your suitability to become my next true ponygirl. I use the word ‘true’ because a ponygirl, like any other true slave, should be modified to suit her function. A ponygirl has no need for arms. They are an unnecessary hindrance, create extra work for handlers and look unsightly. From now on we’ll take care of everything for you. All you have to do is run, obey instructions and look beautiful. I’m confident you can do all three. In return we’ll feed you, dress you and bathe you. Everyone will admire your beauty. I almost envy you...

“Envy me? You’re crazy.” Jessica muttered, continuing to tug against her wrist straps, not because of any hope of escaping, but to show she would not submit willingly.

“I’m not crazy, just lucky enough to know the thrill of true power is. I’ll bet millions of people fantasize about owning an island like this one and be able to fully indulge their sexual tastes. They wouldn’t do it as well as I do. I was brought up on this island and rode ponygirls years before I ever traveled in an automobile. I was driving and whipping ponygirls by the age of ten and was helping out in the breeding shed in my early teens. I performed my first caesarean at fifteen and had been involved in a dozen or more births by the age of sixteen.”

“Father made sure I stayed a virgin until I was sixteen. He stitched up my vagina himself. He knew I’d want sex the moment I was unstitched. How could I not be affected by sexual activity around me? When the time came, on my sixteenth birthday, he was confident that I had developed dominant sexual characteristics just by the way I handled a whip...

“He was partially right. Who wouldn’t enjoy wielding a whip on a slave’s back once taught how to do it properly? Have you ever whipped anyone, Jessica?”

“No!”

“But I bet you wanted to whip somebody?”

“Only you!”

Cavallo laughed. “Cute, but that’s one ambition you’ll never fulfil. Not even my father whipped me. He feared I might develop a taste for it. He firmly believed our childhood experiences formed our sexual orientations. For that reason he never allowed me to be tied up. I was always curious about bondage though. Sometimes I saw ecstasy on bound women’s faces when a man made love to them and I wanted to experience it for myself...

“So, not long after my sixteenth birthday I asked a handler to chain me up and fuck me like I’d seen him do to a slavegirl. He was happy to oblige and suggested the hanging peach position. He wrapped leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles, fixed them to either side of a spreader bar, and cranked it up. I’m sure you know what I mean. When I was at the perfect height for him, with my legs spread high and wide, he fucked me. That straining on my poor hurting limbs as my very first orgasm washed over me was the best feeling ever.” She looked up towards the ceiling at the blissful recollection. “but father had the man killed of course.”

Jessica was become flustered and confused by Cavallo’s revelations as she thought back to her own similarly ecstatic moments. She was close to tears “Why are you telling me all this?”

Cavallo took Jessica’s hand. “I want you to understand that I’m doing this operation for you as well as me. You will be able to live the rest of your life as an erotic fantasy, never to worry about the real world again.”

Jessica tried to wrench her hand from Cavallo’s but the wrist strap wouldn’t allow it. “That’s not what I want! You have no right to do this to me. I belong to Rabbit Island!”

“That’s true, you are their property... but like any other property you can be bought and sold. I’ll pay for you of course. The same goes for your friend in the breeding shed. The one with the big mouth. As soon as we confirm she is pregnant she’ll also be having an operation.” Cavallo paused, as if waiting for Jessica’s question.

“What kind of operation?”

“Her tongue will be removed.” Cavallo announced coolly. “We’ve performed this little operation many times before. She’ll be more manageable and in the long run she’ll be happier for it. But enough of her, she is of little importance compared to you, my beautiful ponygirl. Now just try to relax. I promise you won’t feel any pain either during the operation or afterwards.”

Cavallo gripped Jessica’s hand tightly, both knowing she would be the last person that ever held it. “The surgeon will be here soon, but don’t worry, I’ll be here throughout the operation.”

Right on cue they heard steps approaching from outside. Cavallo rearranged the expression on her face, let go of Jessica’s hand and stood ready to greet the surgeon and his team.

It was not a surgeon but a nurse who walked through the door. She looked vaguely familiar to Cavallo but didn’t recognise the smile. Behind Kate was Rachel, looking nervous but determined.

“Talk of the devil!” Cavallo said, impressed and amused by Kate’s audacity. “Your operation isn’t ‘til tomorrow. You will be punished for this. Severely punished.”

Kate and Rachel weren’t listening. Rachel had the tazer pointing like a gun as she stalked around one side of the operating table. Kate held a syringe in her hand as she approached Cavallo on the other. Cavallo laughed wildly as if it were just a childish game, her eyes darting between Kate to Rachel as she decided which one to barge past. She was bigger and stronger than either. Fearing the tazer in Rachel’s shaking hand she rushed headlong at Kate, her hands jabbed forward sending Kate tumbling backwards to the floor.

Cavallo hadn’t seen the cleaner kneeling by the door, she seldom every notice them. Karen tightly hugged Cavallo’s legs as she tried to pass. They reached a stalemate - Cavallo unable to free herself from Karen’s grip, and Karen unable to topple her in the way she’d done to others in the breeding shed. The tight-fitting leather hood provided protection from Cavallo’s desperate blows onto her head.

Rachel approached tentatively with the tazer. Karen mmmphed her encouragement for Rachel to use it as Cavallo continued beat her around the head. Rachel feared that Karen would get as much of an electric shock as Cavallo if she applied the tazer while they were so tightly joined.

Cavallo gave up hitting Karen’s head only so she could use her arms to fend off the tazer prod. She was primed like a cobra, ready to strike it from Rachel’s trembling hand as soon as it came within arms length. Such was her concentration that didn’t noticed the needle in her buttock. She soon began to feel its effect. Kate stood up just in time to catch the slumping Cavallo, easing her gently to the floor.

The room was suddenly quiet. All Kate could hear was her own palpitating heart as she contemplated what she had done; not knowing if it was a triumph or the biggest mistake she would ever make. Then she saw Jessica looking at her with a face the picture of joy.

“You weren’t much help, just lying there while we did the fighting!” She joked, then kissed Jessica lovingly on the mouth. “But no problem Jessi. Let’s get you out of here!”

“To where?”

“Good question, Jessi. I haven’t thought that far ahead, but let’s bugger off before the surgeon arrives.”

Kate and Rachel unstrapped Jessica’s wrists and ankles on their respective sides.

Jessica was confused. “Katie, how did you suddenly become a nurse?”

“Call it ambition!” Then Kate turned to Rachel. “Handcuff her!”

Rachel was confused. “What?”

“Handcuffs! They’re in a pouch on your belt.” Kate replied, slightly exasperated, “Put them on Jessica and go back to the breeding shed... now...hurry! I’ll stay here to cut poor old Karen out of her cleaner costume.”

Jessica trusted Kate implicitly, and being required to remain naked and cuffed didn’t bother her much. She had grown too accustomed to it. Rachel led Jessica from the surgery, grabbing her arm as forcefully as Brenda’s dykes might have.

Kate reached for one of the heavy surgical blades and looked down at Karen kneeling in front of her. “You’re not bothered about a little blood are you?”

Karen shook her head.

“Good! Then you can stay and help me.”

The scalpel she wielded sliced through Karen’s hood as if it were made of butter.

“It’s over there,” Alex said to Vince as their hire car crept along an industrial backstreet in Bangkok.

Vince scrutinised the small loading bay with a door to its side. “I don’t recognise it.”

“You wouldn’t. Charlie’s probably moved five times since you last visited him,” said Alex without exaggeration. This Chinaman’s slave-tending operation seldom stayed in the same location for more than a few months. Vince pulled up alongside a black Mercedes.

Alex got out, walked up a couple of steps and buzzed the intercom. He turned to Vince whilst waiting for a response. “Back up the car to the loading bay. I’ll be out again in five minutes.”

After a pause, the door buzzed indicating it could be pulled open. Alex entered cautiously into the loading hall. It was packed with pallets of Chinese canned soup. There was nothing to arouse suspicion that this was anything other than an unremarkable trading company. That’s the way Charlie liked it. Alex knew Charlie also liked basements, so when he spotted a flight of steps leading downwards he sensed that was where he would find Charlie and his cages.

The scene had a reassuring familiarity for Alex - ten slave cages were lined up in the middle of the floor allowing for all-round inspection.

Charlie’s normal exuberant greeting was substituted this time by a restrained shake of the hand. Alex was not the only visitor. Charlie was conducting business with two men, the owners of the Mercedes parked outside.

Sandwiched between the two sharp-suited men was a young Thai woman, her naked body being thoroughly and intimately examined by them. She wore Charlie’s trademark dog-collar and leash but her hands were free. It’s important that a purchaser can see how she reacts to their advances. Some slaves appear docile in cuffs but will turn into wildcats the moment their hands are released. This one however was soft and yielding, accepting her fate and hoping to avoid a beating that would result from misbehaviour.

Alex watched the scene from a respectful distance. She was a beautiful creature, even with the distressed look on her face as latex-gloved hands violated her sex. With long silky black hair, nice tits and slim but not too skinny body, she would make a good everyday whore, the sort that most men, white or Asian, would find appealing.

The two businessmen spoke to Charlie in Thai:

“We’ll take her.”

“Very good choice. You want cage or body harness for her?” Charlie asked in Thai of about the same standard as his English.

“No, it’s not necessary.”

While one man held the naked girl tightly to his chest in a non-consensual tango, the other removed a pen-like object from his jacket. He jabbed it into the back of the girl’s neck, just below her dog collar. She gave a pathetic gasp, and then lost consciousness. Her dancing partner continued to hold her limp body upright against his. The man replaced the tranquilizer pen in his jacket and pulled out two plastic cable ties. He pulled the girl’s lifeless arms behind her back and looped a cable tie tightly around her wrists. He bent down and fixed her ankles similarly. Charlie removed her dog collar and leash. She was ready for transportation.

While the paperwork was being finalised Alex inspected the latest incarnation of Charlie’s slave emporium. Alongside one wall was a portable gas stove, boxes of food, crates of two-litre plastic water bottles - feeding and watering twelve slaves and himself was a serious undertaking. Nearby was a television, watched avidly by Charlie and his slavegirls during their long evenings. At the end of the large room was a double mattress on an improvised plinth of soup cans. The bed was covered by a neatly spread duvet cover. A good slave keeper must be a good home-maker too.

The other side of the room had some exercise equipment. Alex had seen Charlie’s multi-gym and rowing machine before, but the treadmill was a new addition. By happy coincidence it was at that momnt being used by a naked woman with pale skin, American or British Alex assumed. Her skin glistened with accumulated sweat. She was walking fast, having no choice in the matter; metal cuffs attached her wrists to the respective rails on each side of the treadmill. Alex enjoyed watching her overweight rump in motion - like a cow chewing grass, he thought.

She didn’t turn her head to look at Alex. She couldn’t, because Charlie had adapted a ponygirl’s bridle for her. The chin-strap of the bridle was connected by a two-foot chain to the treadmill’s LED display in front of her. The bridle’s blinkers precluded her from any sideways glances, obliging her to concentrate on her preprogrammed exercise regime. She still had twenty-five minute to go, Alex noticed.

The transaction for the Thai girl had concluded. They paid by cheque, the equivalent of 20,000 cans of soup, and Charlie gave an appropriate receipt. The man holding the girl hoisted her effortlessly onto his shoulder and carried her from the basement, while his colleague folded and pocketed the receipt, shook Charlie’s hand with a respectful bow and departed.

Alex hardly noticed the men leaving. He was engrossed by the woman’s progress on the treadmill, and wondering whether Rabbit Island should acquire some more exercise equipment. He was also somewhat mesmerised by her bobbing breasts.

“Fat American ass!” Charlie shouted from the other side of the cages.

“Who? Me?” Alex asked, pretending to be offended before smiling warmly at his old friend.

“No. You slim American ass! SHE fat American ass,” Charlie said, pointing a stubby finger at the poor woman on the treadmill. “Very good for her Thai men don’t eat girls or I sell her easy.”

“I wouldn’t mind a slice of that rump,” Alex joked, directing it as much to the woman as to Charlie.

“She lost five kilos in two weeks. Five more more to go. Good diet, lot of exercise, no problem.”

They left her to complete the exercise program, and Alex skipped up the stairs to summon Vince to come down to the basement.

Vince entered with their two recent acquisitions. They both had their hair intricately woven into long braids, giving them a tribal look, although one was too fair skinned to be a native from those parts. They were naked and each had her hand cuffed behind her, with a chain joining the two together side by side.

“Jesus, Alex, we nearly suffocated in that trunk,” the fair-skinned one complained.

“Do you remember this one?” Alex asked Charlie, ignoring the girl’s remark.

Charlie studied her face briefly and shook his head. “No. Don’t know her. She and her for sale?”

“No. I think I’ll take them back to Rabbit Island when the repairs are done. This is Nancy. She escaped from Rabbit Island but was then kidnapped. We had to pay a ransom to get her back.”

Charlie was impressed. “Ohhhh, Miss Houdini. Don’t worry I give her extra chains! No-one ever escape from me.”

While Vince’s attention was taken by the woman on the treadmill Charlie gave Alex a tour of his caged slaves. It was part of slave traders’ etiquette to cast an expert eye over each other’s merchandise. The slaves followed Charlie’s presentation routine. They knelt on their shins, with a straight back and head held high. The leash connecting the dog collar to the top bars made it difficult for them to do anything else.

“Any virgins?” Alex asked.

They moved to a cage containing a white girl. “This one!” Charlie said proudly. “American virgin.”

The girl’s head hung downwards, her straight blonde hair covering her face and her shame. Charlie tapped her under the chin with his riding crop. She raised her head, shaking it to clear the hair from her face and showing both the red ballgag in her mouth and the rage in her eyes. The privileged American teenager didn’t take to her captivity with the passive acceptance shown by the Asian girls, but with the right training she would become an excellent whore or sex slave just the same. The fire of loathing in her expression impressed Alex as much as her fine young body.

They were reaching the end of the line of cages. “You remember this one?” Charlie asked.

Alex studied the cage’s occupant. She was far from being a teenager, attractive for her obvious thirty-something years, but there wasn’t a demand for older slaves, certainly not in Charlie’s market sector. “No. Give me a clue!”

“Remember drug whore last month? Shaking with no drug?”

Alex smiled, remembering Charlie’s amusing phrase. “What? Cold chicken?”

“This is her. Now clean and good health. Very good. Help me with cook and clean.” Charlie opened the cage door, unwound the leash handle from the cage bars and helped the woman to her feet. It was strange that Charlie would be trying to present this one to Alex. Her skin was scarred from cuts and cigarette burns inflicted in her past, while her teeth had had more attention from a man’s fist than a dentist over the years.

“She say likes tied-up and chains, and whipping too. She say want to go to Rabbit Island. So I tie and beat her, test her truth, but I not so sure. Think she faker.”

Alex pitied the woman standing before him, wondering why anyone would lie about such a thing?

“You’re too old to be a Rabbit Island slavegirl,” he said apologetically. A tear trickled down her cheek almost immediately, “but I have a man who works for me on Rabbit Island. A Filipino, and a good and loyal worker. Last year his wife died, and he needs a woman to live with. You can be his new wife.”

It isn’t often that one can bring such happiness to somebody, but at that moment Alex did. Her ecstatic smile said it all. After twenty years as an enslaved whore she was to become somebody’s wife. It was something she had alway dreamed of. With her hands locked behind her all she could do was fall to her knees in front of Alex and kiss his shoes. Charlie tugged on her leash, and returned the joyful woman to her cage. Alex enjoyed having power over women, the power to train and punish but also like now, the power to bring happiness.

“How the hell does she know about Rabbit Island anyhow?” Alex asked.

Charlie pointed an accusing finger at the neighbouring cage. “That one tell her.”

“Hello Doctor Alex,” said Janie, her face shifting with various emotions. She was happy for her caged neighbour but her underlying sadness was apparent. “My memory is returning. I can remember things, lots of things!”

Alex was unsure whether that constituted good news or not. “You remember Rabbit Island? But I’m sure you were never there.”

“I only know of it from other people. I was somewhere else but I can’t remember the name. An island. I remember a woman who owned it - Cavaro.”

“Cavallo?” Alex prompted.

“Cavallo. She did this to me.” Janie broke into sobs. “I don’t want to remember any more. Can you give me something to help me forget again?”

Alex gulped his saliva, glancing at Vince who was also listening intently. “Janie, are you sure?”

“I’m positive. How could I invent someone like Cavallo? I wouldn’t want to.”

Vince stuck his hand through the bars and pulled Janie’s hair back so she looked upwards. “Open your mouth!”

He used a finger to feel inside her mouth, and a moment later turned to Alex. “She hasn’t any back teeth. It’s likely she was a Cavallo ponygirl.”

Alex agreed.

“Did we send any of our ponygirls to her?” Vince asked.

“Just one, and four bunnies, but she wouldn’t dare harm them. Besides, we’ll be collecting them in a couple of weeks.”

Charlie soon had Nancy and Lina accommodated in their cages, fixing Nancy (or ‘Houdini girl’ as he renamed her) in ankle shackles as well as the usual cuff and collar arrangement. “So you come back and collect your four women in two weeks?”

“Three weeks before we are back here,” Alex corrected him. “then we’ll collect Nancy, Lina, Janie and our lovely new bride. Don’t sell them!”

Charlie laughed at the very thought. Two women who looked like they should be in the jungle, another without arms, and the superannuated whore Alex had married off to one of his workers. He thought Alex had gone soft.

TABLES TURNED

Kate was right in insisting that Jessica should be Rachel’s prisoner. They walked right past one of the male handlers on the way back to the breeding shed without attracting any attention, other than the man getting an eyeful of Jessica’s naked body.

Once inside the breeding shed Jessica was freed from the handcuffs.

“I want clothes like yours.” Jessica joked, fingering Rachel’s dungarees.

She didn’t have long to wait. As soon as Rachel handed over the tazer prod Jessica took over. One of the breeders had to give up her frame to accommodate another one of Brenda’s girls.

Three hours later Kate and Karen still hadn’t returned to the breeding shed. Jessica was hardly able to run for it with her cracked ankle, so there was no alternative but to wait and hope. A refrigerator full of sodas was raided to create a party atmosphere, aided by some amusing entertainment that their captured former keepers were providing.

A sudden assault on the breeding shed brought an end to their laughter. Three men armed with pistols burst through the door. Jessica and Rachel dropped their tazers and raised their hands. The three naked and newly pregnant women they had released from their frames subtly distanced themselves by a few metres, implicating Jessica and Rachel, not just as ringleaders but solely responsible for the current situation. Cowardly behaviour perhaps, but who could blame them in the circumstances? They hadn’t ask to be freed.

There was a hint of amusement behind the stern expressions of the gun-toting men.

“One, two, three, four, five of you.” One of the men counted with a point of his gun, “but no empty breeding frames?”

He looked down the line of kneeling figures, all securely chained, all hooded except one. This one was making something of a commotion.

“Jesus! It’s Brenda!”

Brenda’s noises were involuntary and incomprehensible. Jessica and Rachel had decided some revenge was in order and had just the tools for the job. Nestled between Brenda’s ample rump the inseminator was pumping away on a long stroke, with its dreaded tremble option enabled. At the other end the milking machine was having limited success in extracting any goodness from her dangling breasts, even though their size promised so much more. The harness ballgag that so often tormented Kate was now tormenting her nemesis; the straps dug deeply into the abundant flesh of Brenda’s rotund and reddened face.

“She looks like a boiler about to blow,” said one of the men.

“It would be cruel to interrupt her now,” another replied. They could interpret neither Brenda’s grunts nor her bewildered, crossed-eyed expression. They figured it was safer to leave her to run her orgasmic course while they searched for the other workers-turned-prisoners.

Removing the hoods of the breeders one by one, the pattern started to emerge: Their colleagues were the ones gagged and dazed, having each been given a sedative jab. One of their colleagues was easy to spot, due to the broad hairy back that couldn’t be hidden by the breeders’ flimsy baby-doll dress.

“Steve?”

He strained to look up at them, gagged and bewildered, though his confusion rapidly turned to embarrassment. The iron breeding frame and shackles holding him in the breeders face-down kneeling position easily contained his frantic struggles.

One man produced a camera. “We’d better produce some evidence,” he announced trying to hide his gleeful smile. “Look up at the camera Steve, then we’ll get you free.”

Steve was freed just in time to witness Brenda’s earthquake of an orgasm. Her rhythmic grunting and growling was more reminiscent of a man or a wild animal than a woman, yet all the witnesses, male and female, found something peculiarly sexy about her reluctant performance. Her unlikely erotic show stopped when the inseminator’s timer shut it off. They were wrong if they thought Brenda’s mechanical rape would have softened her. She battled against her frame with a fury and strength far greater than Steve’s. The men promptly released her before she developed revengeful thoughts for each of them. She did, after all, hold the keys to the penis restraints they wore.

While Brenda skulked off behind a partition to dress in her dungarees the three breeders were locked back in their frames. There seemed to be some confusion after the nurse had been freed from her frame; she was screaming about what had happened to her uniform. Having already relinquished her breeder’s dress the nurse wore nothing but a naked rage of indignation, much like Brenda’s but smaller and with perkier breasts. She ran deliriously from the breeding shed in a mad scene all of her own.

Brenda took charge again, stopping the men from releasing Billy, the fifth and final staff member, from her frame. She crouched down and stroked Billy’s ball-gagged and tear-stained face. “It’s all your fault Billy, because you were the first one they captured. I have to punish you or people might accuse me of favouritism. So I’m going to leave you locked in this breeding frame for the next seven days.”

Billy sobbed, while Brenda was holding back her emotion too as she stood up to deal with the two remaining culprits, Jessica and Rachel.

“She’s not a fucking breeder,” Brenda screamed at the men just as they were fixing Jessica into a breeding frame. “Look! Ringed nipples! She’s a ponygirl, so why the hell she’s in here I have no idea!”

With their shaved hair and uniform piercings, ponygirls looked much the same to those, like Brenda, who didn’t work with them every day. But then she saw Jessica’s heavily strapped ankle, and suddenly went pale. A visible shiver ran down her spine as she realised that this ponygirl was supposed to be in the operating theatre.

The nurse returned, still naked, and in a worse state than when she left the breeding shed a few minutes earlier. She was screaming, “Something terrible has happened, something truly terrible!”

Jessica, Rachel, Kate and Karen were reunited in a dungeon not long after.

Four stone pillars in a row, each separated by about a metre, held the four naked women. Iron shackles, a permanent fixture on the pillars, held their wrists above their heads, obliging them to remain standing. There was just enough slack for Jessica to bend a hand down to scratch her nose. Tales of their adventures kept them going, particularly Kate’s gruesome tale.

“After you and Rachel went back to the breeding shed I cut Karen out of her cleaning restraints just as I said I would. I looked at Cavallo lying on the operating table. She even looked evil while she slept. It made my blood boil to think of what she was going to do to you Jessi. I asked Karen whether she minded the sight of blood. She said she didn’t...

“So once I’d found theatre gowns and masks my mind was made up. We undressed the bitch and threw her clothes in the furnace, then we shaved her head so she looked like you. Karen did a great job...

“Then the surgical team arrived. I’d been in operating theatres many times before and this wasn’t my first amputation, although it was for poor Karen. The surgeon was excellent, the best money can buy, I’m sure. What can I say? The operation was a success!”

“And here we are in the dungeon!” said Rachel, wondering might be their fate after such an escapade. Nobody dared answer.

Jessica’s bawdy tale of how they got Brenda in a breeding frame lightened the mood to such an extent that Kate could have keeled over with laughter if it were not for the chains holding her upright. “And I’ll never forget the moment when they found the man we put in the frame,” Jessica recalled, mimicking the man’s shocked voice. “Steve?”

Evening had fallen, and the shaft of natural daylight had been replaced by the faint glow of an electric light somewhere outside the dungeon. Since being chained up no-one had attended to them with so much as a drink of water. Perhaps they would wait until the middle of the night to whip us, Jessica thought. In the meantime, spontaneous chuckles as they recollected their amazing day sustained them until they were too tired to talk.

Jessica dreamed of the night of her first encounter with Master Alex on Rabbit Island. He’d left her standing in chains, a bitter sweet torment that felt like a beginning. By contrast, this felt like...

All Madame Cavallo’s other loyal cronies were at her bedside when she awoke with the morning sun. She was proud and stoical, although a tear sometimes rolled down her cheek, to be elegantly wiped away by one of her handmaids. Lucinda was busy at the dressing table making a wig for her mistress.

“The culprits are chained up in the dungeon Madame,” said Brenda in an attempt to cheer up her employer. “What would you like us to do with them?”

Cavallo didn’t reply immediately, in fact several tense minutes elapsed. Nobody spoke while Madame Cavallo was carefully considering her options. Finally she turned her head slowly towards the man standing to her right, the island’s General Foreman. With an expression neither angry nor smiling she gave her answer:

“Prepare the guillotine.”

End of Chapter 21

coming soon... the guillotine

Chapter 22. The Guillotine
(Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)

THE DUNGEON

Jessica had endured many more painful punishments, but never one that left her as exhausted and dispirited as this. The joking and bravado which characterised their first evening turned to despair as the four column-chained prisoners sought comfort and rest where there was none. Jessica could either face her pillar, rubbing bare breasts against the stone pillar, or turn her back to lean against it. All night long she alternated restlessly between the two positions.

Judging by the light shining obliquely into the dungeon, the morning was several hours old before somebody came to visit them. Brenda entered carrying a bucket of water and an enamel mug.

Kate plucked up the courage to ask what was going to happen to them.

“It’s a surprise,” said Brenda, stuffing bread into Kate’s mouth, then tipping the mug of water down her throat. She left before Kate had cleared her throat to ask another question. The door closed with a heavy bang, then the key was turned, reminding them of their hopeless plight.

The day passed slowly, mainly in silence, as Jessica, Kate, Rachel and Karen became lost in their own thoughts. They were more likely to hear the splash of urine between spread feet than any conversation. A network of hollow channels in the floor effortlessly drained away their spillage, as it had for countless other prisoners in the last hundred years.

The evening brought no respite save for another mouthful of bread, another mug of water. A bucket of water was thrown over Kate’s feet, she was the only one who needed that small mercy to clear away the mess she had made of herself many hours before.

Karen complained of hunger, initiating the conversation they were trying to avoid. “Pizza! I wonder if we can order a pizza. Pepperoni for me!”

“Enchiladas,” Rachel offered, “with beans.”

“Spaghetti bolognese!” Jessica chipped in, “with lots of Parmesan.”

“I’d give my right arm for a full English breakfast!” said Kate. Her comment was greeted with silence until, for the first time that day, they laughed. Black humour was all that was left to them.

Their interlude of conversation turned to the food on Rabbit Island and then to life in general on the island. Karen’s memories were brief and unpleasant but the others found many things to reminisce about. However bad, it was what bonded them together.

“It sounds crazy but I’d love to see that beach again,” Rachel said wistfully, “that warm sea, the sand between my toes, the good friends, it was fun.”

“Aren’t you forgetting about the beatings, the bondage, the humiliation, the rapes?” Karen interjected.

Rachel defended her position. “I am, I suppose. But they sure knew how to get the right reaction from me. Did you know they kept detailed notes on how we responded to their various situations? Then they tailored our treatment to what they considered our preferences. After a while it was more like forced orgasm than rape. What can I say? Sometimes I liked it! I’m sure it was helped by the drugs they gave us. I’ve never wanted sex as much as when I was on Rabbit Island. When I was on the beach with my hands locked behind me I’d often rub myself up against a coconut tree or anything else I could put my thighs around. I swear to god I was nothing but a bitch in heat on many days!”

Jessica noticed that Rachel was becoming animated in her tale, opening up far more than usual. It was as if she felt compelled to talk about it. “Sometimes when we were in the beach cabin we’d be deliberately mischievous when the pony driver came with our meals, just so he could punish us, even though it wasn’t exactly punishment we wanted. All I wanted was a man’s cock, and any way would do!”

Kate squirmed with arousal against her pillar. She knew the feeling very well. Her mind turning to thoughts of Ray, the pony driver who hit his head in a fall - the one she and Jessica rescued. She was feeling guilty that her desire for a man’s body had so easily transferred to Riccardo.

Jessica and Kate looked sympathetically at each other in the evening gloom. Each pitied the other, seeing her wrists being cut into by the iron manacles, as if they were meat hanging up to dry. When they were awake it wasn’t a problem - just stand up straight with your belly again the stone pillar and the shackles won’t hurt - but at night, when they wanted so badly to sleep, they had all succumbed to hanging by their wrists just to give their legs a rest.

They had learned the terrible difference between suffering and erotic torment.

They stood at their pillars for four nights. The last day and night being more miserable, pathetic and despairing that anything they had ever known.

On the fifth morning it changed. Brenda and Thelma - her new sidekick now that Billy was in the breeding shed - came into the dungeon each carrying a heap of old leather garments, heavy enough that they immediately dropped them to the floor once inside the cell.

“I think you’ve been standing around long enough,” said Brenda. “It’s time for a rest.”

Gradually the four prisoners roused themselves from semi-consciousness as Brenda held up a shapeless brown leather garment.

“This is a cigar,” she announced, laying it on the ground while Thelma unlocked Jessica’s shackles. “I expect after four days standing you would like to lie down.”

The words ‘lie down’ sounded like a siren’s call. Jessica was too weak to resist as she was made to lay face down on the leather sheath. Thelma pulled Jessica’s weary arms behind her and snagged her wrists together with two interlocking plastic cable ties. Her ankles were crossed and likewise joined.

Then the lacing began. From ankles to neck Brenda and Thelma laced Jessica into the leather. For five busy minutes they tugged out every millimetre of slack from the criss-crossed laces. In parts the garment didn’t close fully leaving small diamonds of Jessica’s back exposed, although not for want of trying by Brenda. The cigar had a collar that folded down over where the laces finally knotted at the back of Jessica’s neck. A small padlock threaded through two metal-grommeted holes to ensure the lacing would not be tampered with.

Jessica struggled to take in enough breath as the cigar squeezed her body like a python. She could barely bend at the knees and hips, yet despite her immobility and shortness of breath it was a relief to be lying down at last.

While Jessica was being ‘cigared’ Kate peed, having realised that it might be her last chance a while. Brenda heard the gentle splash and laughed.

“Clever girl. It’ll be your last chance! These cigars are Madame’s favourite you know,” Brenda casually informed them. She seemed in good spirits, apparently recovered from her orgasmic ordeal on the breeding frame, and not appearing to hold a grudge against Jessica for putting her in the frame.

Shortly afterwards four cigared females were lying side by side on the cell floor. “Brenda, why haven’t we been punished?” Kate asked, “I thought someone would have whipped our hides off by now.”

“There’s no point in punishing you,” said Brenda. “My instructions were to keep you secure. It was my idea to put you in cigars just in case you were too exhausted before your big day.”

Kate tried to hide the alarm in her voice. “Big day? What kind of big day?”

“The kind of big day when people are reminded what happens to those who commit terrible crimes.”

Kate lacked the courage for further questions. She had an idea what the big day might involve but preferred to retain the glimmer of uncertainty that existed as long as those words remained unspoken.

Much else would also go unspoken - Thelma was cutting four long strips from a roll of three-inch surgical tape.

Brenda lifted Kate’s chin high off the floor ensuring that her jaws were clamped as Thelma pressed the tape over Kate’s mouth and cheeks. Jessica, Karen and Rachel submitted to the same treatment.

When Brenda left the cell, and the heavy key clanged as it turned the lock, there was nothing to do but sleep.

It was many hours before they awoke, almost dusk. Jessica glanced at her neighbours - Kate to her right, mmmphing something to herself as if devising a plan, and Rachel to her left, her eyes red with tears. Jessica gave her a weak grunt of comfort, then hoped that sleep would claim her for a few more hours. The tightness of the cigar scarcely permitted even the idea of a struggle, let alone any real resistance.

The following day brought no change in their condition, and no visitor except Brenda with bread and water. She inspected the row of four cigars, all shoulder-to-shoulder just as she left them twelve hours earlier. Her heavy boots passed deliberately close to their noses, leaving them in no doubt about their lowly status.

She bent down and yet still towered threateningly over them. Then she ripped the tape from Kate’s face.

“Water! Please!” Kate croaked.

“Silly cunt! What else do you think I’m here for?” She ripped a piece of bread of her small brown loaf and pushed it into Kate’s mouth. Mercifully the water followed immediately behind it, soaking the bread and enabling Kate to swallow. Brenda caressed Kate’s face and blonde hair as she craned her neck upwards to take on as much water as possible.

“Want some juice?” Brenda asked.

“Yes please,” said Kate without hesitation.

Brenda suddenly let go of Kate’s chin, stood up, then sat down heavily on top of Karen. Karen groaned as the little air she had in her lungs was expelled by Brenda’s crushing weight. Mercifully Brenda stood up as soon as she’d removed her boots.

“Very comfortable!” she pronounced of Karen.

The prisoners were treated to a most unlikely striptease as Brenda unclipped the bib of her dungarees. They dropped around her feet directly in front of Kate, filling Kate’s view with her fat white calves.

“I meant pussy juice of course,” Brenda chuckled, “and if you do a good job your friends will have bread and water too!”

Brenda sat her buttocks down on her dungarees and shuffled her ass forward until Kate's face was pressed against the smelly folds of flesh around her sex. “Doesn’t that feel nice?”

“Uh huh.”

“Good! Now starting making juice.” Brenda rasped.

Kate’s tongue gave a tentative lick and used her chin and nose to stimulate the region. Then, as her tongue loosened and Kate became used to Brenda’s taste, she licked deeper and deeper between the labial folds, then withdrew it onto Brenda’s sizeable clitoris. When she felt Brenda’s finger gripping her short hair, Kate was happy in the knowledge that Jessica, Rachel and Karen would soon have their bread and water.

The days spent in Cervoix’s class ‘Oral Training for Slavegirls’ proved invaluable as Kate put her distaste aside as she tried to bring Brenda to orgasm. Brenda’s ever-rising moans seemed more of anger than pleasure, but her juice dripping from Kate’s chin told a truer story.

Through gritted teeth and with her clenched hand almost pulling out Kate’s hair by its roots, Brenda blasphemed her way a crude and lingering climax. Like a trooper, Kate continued to lick even after Brenda’s palpitations had subsided.

Brenda stood up, as happy as someone who’d just been expertly fucked. Only after she had put on her dungarees did she notice the prominent wet patches. It put paid to any notion she might have had of making a quick exit, knowing that she would encounter other people on her way out of the dungeon.

She replaced the tape over Kate’s mouth without offering her so much as a swig of water. Then, keeping her word, she fed and watered the other three, taking her time as she waited for the wet patches to dry.

The next morning they were roused by the banging of hammers and the whine of rotary saws. Something was happening outside. They were constructing something large, to judge by the calls and shouts of workers.

A stage! Jessica definitely heard them talking about a stage. Cameras and lighting were also mentioned. A look between her and Kate was enough: They knew they would be taking part in whatever kind of show it was, and that Madame Cavallo would have her retribution.

The cell door opened, and two burly men dressed in construction workers’ checked shirts and jeans entered. “There they are,” one said as if he had spotted the wooden planks he was looking for, although by then the girls looked no more attractive than a wooden plank, and smelt a good deal worse.

High up on the back of a cigar there is a leather grab handle. Lifting one woman in each hand them men dragged them from the cell, their bound and encased feet trailing on the floor behind them. For Jessica, with her fractured ankle, the pain was excruciating as she was bounced up a short flight of steps to ground level.

A ponygirl trailer was parked outside waiting. They were secured onto its flat bed and netted over. Four bound-up bunnies constituted a light load, Jessica thought to herself as the pony trap lurched unsteadily into motion. The gentle ‘hyar’ of encouragement by the pony driver was unmistakable. Jessica had heard it hundreds, perhaps thousands of times. No longer did she wonder what had happened to Riccardo. Her spirits lifted. Surely he wouldn’t let anything terrible happen to them, would he?

The ponygirls picked up their pace as they headed for the doctor’s surgery, but Jessica still wasn’t impressed. She could do much better than these... if they would only give her another chance.

Rubbing leather-encased shoulders with Jessica, Kate’s thoughts were not about ponygirl performance, but pony driver performance. She was convinced Riccardo was planning something to help them, perhaps taking them to another part of the island where he would help them escape. It wasn’t to be. They stopped at the surgery. The infamous surgery.

They called them cigars, but Jessica thought ‘worm’ would be a better name, a helpless brown wriggling thing at ground level. Watching the parade of shoes passing by inches away from her nose she was left in no doubt about her worm-like status. A familiar pair of white heels stopped in front of them. Kate craned her neck to look up the slim white-stockinged legs. The stocking tops and garter fixings came into view even before the hem of the dress. It was very familiar to Kate, the nurse’s uniform she had commandeered from this very same nurse last week. Kate envied her and longed to be wearing the tight white dress again, however unlikely that now seemed.

“You’ll all be dressed splendidly for your last day,” the cheerful nurse reassured them.

Jessica was the first to be unlaced from her cigar. The nurse and the other handlers didn’t hide their disgust as Jessica’s body odour was unleashed, as if somehow she might have taken care of her personal hygiene.

She was led from the room, almost too weak to walk. After a cold shower and scrub they started to dress her. Much to Jessica’s surprise she was being rigged out as a ponygirl - Rabbit Island style - even though they knew about her swollen ankle. She stifled her scream as her ankle was fitted into her ponyboot. Surely they didn’t expect her to run?

The leather harness was lifted over her shoulders to be strapped around her torso. Her arms were hammerlocked behind her and buckled into a relatively comfortable position. Her hands were made into fists and wrapped in the tight netted bags so there was no chance of wriggling fingers ruining the aesthetics of a ponygirl’s rear view. All the while somebody was applying make up to her face and rouging her lips with a bright red gloss.

The bridle was fitted, Jessica opening her mouth and taking the bit between her teeth and feeling the threaded prong of her tongue bar slip through the hole in the middle of the bit. The bridle straps prevented the removal of the steel and rubber bit but they still spun the wing nut onto the thread of her tongue bar. She didn’t and couldn’t resist, so conditioned was she to complying with her pony dressing. It wasn’t enjoyable like when Riccardo was doing the dressing, but after a week in hell it felt oddly reassuring to be in ponygirl tack. Against her better judgement she became hopeful.

The handlers and the nurse weren’t experts at ponygirl dressing but they managed it. Jessica stood resplendent in formal ponygirl attire, complete with plumed headdress and butt-plug holding a plaited tail of her own hair. They led her outside.

Riccardo was no longer there. A four-pony carriage had replaced his ponygirl trailer. Behind the driver were two bench seats fancing inwards, wide enough for two people on each side. Kate, Rachel and Karen were already seated, bound and gagged in their costumes, each very different from the other.

Just as they were helping Jessica into the remaining seat alongside Kate somebody called out:

“Let the ponygirl run behind!”

The suggestion was taken and Jessica was attached to the rear of the carriage by a three-metre rein. They set off back to the main building.

The pace wasn’t as fast as Jessica feared, she could keep up well enough, because it was an intermediate speed designed for a ceremonial trot. The four ponygirls up front, healthy and well-drilled, executed their high steps with a precision that Jessica couldn’t match, not without a searing pain in her ankle. It didn’t matter, nobody demanded anything of her except to stay on her feet and not hold up the carriage.

In front of Jessica sat Kate, looking back at her sympathetically. Her mouth was covered with surgical tape, her eyes transmitted a rare anxiety, as if she had to tell her something.

They soon reached the main building complex with its attractive lawned gardens. There was to be a show, judging by the all equipment on view. When the carriage stopped, Jessica saw two cameramen filming them from various angles. Handlers helped the three prisoners down from the carriage giving Jessica her first look at them.

Kate was dressed in the same tight-fitting nurse’s dress that she wore during her rescue but with a couple of crucial additions. As well as her taped mouth she had her wrists taped behind her. Even her fingers had been taped together just in case she harboured any more ideas of escape.

Rachel looked surprisingly elegant in a navy blue and gold evening dress and high heels. Her bondage was just as elegant: cleave-gagged with a silk scarf, and further silk scarves binding her wrists and elbows together.

Karen’s attire was more predictable. She wore a black wet-look corset and stockings that accentuated her bust and shapely figure. She was ball-gagged and tightly bound with white cord.

They were made up for the cameras, Jessica realised - something for all tastes. The handlers were also made up for the cameras in a sense. They wore black half-masks that covered the head and upper half of the face, like executioners.

The half-acre lawn area had been transformed into an arena, with stages and props spaced around it. At the building’s side was a small luxurious grandstand, accommodating perhaps thirty people. At their centre, in something akin to a royal box sat Madame Cavallo. Flanking each side of her were two petite women covered from head to toe in a close-fitting fabric. The only gap was a postbox sized opening for their eyes.

Today was a special day, with each event to be fully savoured by the assembled connoisseurs. These men and women had travelled thousands of miles to attend Cavallo’s invitation-only event. The yachts in the harbour showed they had bank balances to match their extravagant tastes.

Jessica and her three companions were made to sit down on a long bench, secured with a thick chain threaded through all their bound arms. They were to star in the show’s finale. Before that came the warmup acts.

How typical of Madame Cavallo to open her show with a crucifixion, just like the regular Friday bacchanals!

A naked young woman was being laid out on a wooden cross, her limbs and body thoroughly roped to it so that she would be firmly and safely held to the cross once it was in the vertical position. She didn’t utter a sound as the nails passed through the palms of her hands and into the hard wood. Nor did she make a cry when her feet were nailed. Four men hoisted the cross up into its vertical stand. The woman winced with pain as the rope bit into her flesh as it took her full weight.

Polite applause and murmurs of appreciation emitted from around the grandstand.

“We’ve created permanent piercings in her hands and feet,” Cavallo explained to her nearest neighbours. “They’ve almost completely healed so this slave can be a full-time crucifixion exhibit, providing she is properly secured. As you can see she is quite skinny so there is very little weight to be supported.”

“Is she for sale?” one of the guests asked.

Cavallo smiled coyly. “Not officially, but we all have a price. Speak to me later.”

Now the crucified woman was presiding over the lawn, the show commenced.

A woman was crawling into view of the grandstand, led by a handler on a collar and leash. He took her to the middle of the lawn. Kate recognised her as one of her companions during her bitch-dog episode, horrified to discover that this woman was still with the dogs more than a month later. The iron bitch-frame awaited her in the middle of the lawn. She crawled onto the device, meekly allowing the handler to secure her wrists, knees and ankles into the frame’s worn leather straps.

All the while a cameraman circled her looking for the best shots - the caress of straps around her slender limbs, the ambiguous expression of humiliation and lust upon the woman’s face. He closed in on her dangling breasts just as the handler yanked her nipples downwards to meet the frame’s cruel serrated clamps. The live pictures were fed straight to a Diamond Vision screen on the far side of the lawn. It was a modest display by current standards, having served in a football ground for several years before being replaced by more modern technology. Madame Cavallo picked it up for a song several years ago.

“She’ll perform without the frame, but she seems to prefer being strapped in,” Cavallo commented to her fellow spectators, “and who are we to deny her that small pleasure?”

The bitch-woman squirmed in what can only be described as anticipation. Facing neither the grandstand nor the large screen she seemed oblivious to her surroundings as she waited for what had become her only pleasure in life. The barking dogs in the distance caused an involuntary wiggle of her ass, captured by the video cameras of course.

The first dog, a brown Doberman, was led onto the lawn, obedient but eager and lustful. Its handler ensured that the bitch woman received a rough slobbering pussy licking before allowing the dog to mount her.

The second dog, an English pointer, pointed the way to the bitch’s orgasm although his brief performance left her gasping in pre-orgasm madness. Her face, mouth gagged with a bitch’s regular bone and leather strap, the dilated pupils of her eyes darting involuntarily from side to side, showed large upon the screen for the delighted appreciation of the audience.

The third dog, a fat Saint Bernard, mounted her. Whether it was through her training or her own needs was open to debate as the woman finally reached her orgasm whilst still being vigorously pumped by the dog. She ‘woofed’ loudly throughout her orgasm just as she had been trained.

While the crucified woman hung on her cross, and the bitch-woman slumped satisfied yet dejected in her frame, the next event got under way:

It was the striping contest. Two men, two whips, and two naked females fixed into adjacent frames, stretched taut like canvasses awaiting the brush strokes of a painter. Except that the colour of the stripes came not from a painter’s brush but from beneath their own skin.

Madame Cavallo reassured her guests that these two women really deserved their upcoming punishment, but felt no obligation to go into details.

Each naked woman had separate ropes around each wrist and ankle, connecting their limbs to the four corners of an upright frame, like a wide doorway. The crank and pulley system built into the frame clicked and clacked as a handler turned the cog. The women’s feet gradually lost contact with the ground as their wrists were pulled to the top corners of the frames. Then, as the heavy ropes pulled tighter still, their ankles were drawn towards the bottom corners until all slack had been removed, leaving the women tethered in mid-air like sails on a mast. Pain was etched on their faces as they struggled for breath.

After a brief pause, allowing the human canvasses to catch their breath, the cranks were turned one further notch. Gasps came from the women, and several from the grandstand too, fearing that their limbs might dislocate at any moment.

The rules of the striping competition were simple. Taking alternate turns the two men would lash the whip against their chosen targets trying to make distinct horizontal welts at approximately two-inch intervals. Drawing blood was permitted but not encouraged; that was better left for the flaying contest that evening, where those with a penchant for blood and suffering properly indulged their passion.

The red striping of female flesh commenced. Each lash of the whip garnered either polite applause or muttered disappointment from the grandstand, depending equally on the sound of the whip crack, the mark it made and the women’s screams. When they were evenly striped from shoulder to ankles the frames were turned around so that they faced the grandstand, although by that stage the women knew and cared little about the change of orientation.

The whipmasters grabbed a bottle of water each and shared a private joke as they oiled their whips during the five-minute half-time interval. They resumed their positions, and without prompting the spectators quietened for the second half. This time their whips worked upwards from shins to breasts.

After the third lash against the thighs, the whipmasters turned to the grandstand, as if waiting for permission for their next very special stroke. It was granted. In tandem they lowered their whips and lashed upward between the splayed legs of their victims. Their cries of agony came in tandom also, but were largely drowned by applause.

The men continued to stripe the women, at the hips, belly, rib cage, and finally their breasts. One of the whipmasters caught both his woman’s nipples with a single blow. She seemed to jerk; then hung her head, the pain too much for consciousness to endure. The whipmasters received the applause and took their bows. Judging would commence in half an hour, when the flushing of the slavegirls’ skin had receded enough to accentuate the full glory of their striping.

Cavallo had just the thing to entertain her guests in the meantime - a ponygirl parade.

Jessica had kept her eyes shut throughout the whipping and wished she could have blocked her ears too, but the sight and sound of ponygirls renewed her attention to proceedings.

The first pair to make a circuit were nothing special, though the sleigh bells on their boots made a harmonious rhythm reminiscent of the ponygirls on Rabbit Island.

The next pair were better drilled, stepping with a precision that even a casual spectator could appreciate. The driver was Riccardo, but he didn’t even glance in the direction of his former ponygirl and the slavegirl that he had frequently dallied with. Jessica and Kate could only stare, though Jessica reminded herself that Riccardo was always incredibly focussed during pony displays.

Receiving polite applause from the grandstand - these people were here for much stronger action - Riccardo parked his ponygirls on the outer edge of the lawn.

Next to appear was Madame Cavallo’s pride and joy. A ponygirl threesome, so incredibly lithe and graceful; slim and yet powerful too. An uninitiated observer mightn’t notice immediately that their slimness and the snug fit of their leatherbodies was due to their being upper-amputees. Jessica admired their precise paces, admitting to herself that she would never be as good as them, yet failing to acknowledge how bizarre it was that she wanted to attain such a skill, and at such a price.

It didn’t matter anyway. Jessica was only trying to take her mind off the stage equipment on the far side of the lawn. A French guillotine and a hanging noose loomed large and threatening over all the previous events. Jessica’s mind was in turmoil, her vision a blur, as she tried to concentrate on the intricate stepping of the armless ponygirls. Not even Kate rocking anxiously beside her could attract her attention. She yearned to stand up and shout that she was willing to go through with the operation after all, better to lose your arms than your head, she told herself!

The armless ponygirls trotted to the edge of the lawn, joining their inferiors, turning to face the scene of the execution. Even before they had settled into their position a booming bass drum sounded, slow and portentous.

A group of masked men took Jessica and Kate to the scaffold. One man on each arm proved not enough as Jessica violently twisted herself from their grasp. Another man came to assist, pushing Jessica from behind and forcing her up the stage. Kate followed with equal unwillingness. The bass drum continued to bang so slowly it could scarcely be called a beat.

They forced Jessica to her knees, pushing her head between the two wooden retaining sections. A brutal hand pushed her neck down into the semi-circular cut out. The upper piece dropped with such weight that for a ghastly moment it felt like the guillotine blade itself. With her neck trapped between two-inch thick wooden planks and her body strapped into a harness all Jessica could do was wait, unable to comprehend that this horror was really happening.

Just two yards away Kate was being prepared, fitted with a double dildo harness. Two cameramen were capturing every detail of her struggle, focusing on a close-up of Kate’s pussy as the monstrous phallus was forced into her. The handlers strapped it neatly beneath her dress, tidying the white skirt so that she was presentable for the cameras. Then she was noosed, and forced to stand on her tiptoes on a small block of wood. The soles of her high heels struggled to find a grip as the coarse rope noose was pulled tight, choking her even before it took her weight.

One of the cameras left Kate’s trembling body to follow the noose upwards, detailing her exquisitely awful predicament. The rope was threaded through a series of pulleys and towards the guillotine, finally tied onto the lever which would release the guillotine’s blade.

When Kate toppled from her precarious perch, as she surely would once her vibrating dildos were switched on, the last thing she would see was the blade slicing through Jessica’s neck.

Madame Cavallo was delighted by her idea, and the way it demonstrated that the actions of one slave can have a terrible effect on others. It was no coincidence that so many slavegirls and ponygirls were present to witness this ultimate punishment. It was something they would never forget.

The bass drum ceased. The drummer removed the shoulder straps and rested it on the ground with its heavy beaters. He then picked up the snare drum, looping the strap around his neck, took a drumstick in each hand and waited for a signal. It came from the video director once he was sure his three cameramen were positioned and taping.

The rasping drumroll started. Many in the grandstand shuffled in their seats in anticipation at this rare spectacle, whilst groans of horror came from the slaves.

The executioner approached Kate from behind, brutishly grabbing her breasts through the fabric of her dress; kissing her, even biting her on the neck. Then he reached between her buttocks and switched on the vibrators.

Kate gasped, eyes wide open in terror as she tried to breathe. The executioner left the stage, leaving just her and Jessica. The latter’s fate was utterly in her hands, the ultimate test of her endurance and self-control. The vibrations inside her were insistent, irritating and unsettling. Did they really think she might be turned on by such treatment? An orgasm in death?

She adjusted her feet on their narrow perch, almost slipping. Just as she regained her composure somebody pushed her from behind, her flailing feet lost contact with the platform. It felt like her ribs were cracking.

The tug of the noose lessened rather than increased. Kate became aware of commotion all around her. People were rushing towards the stage.

A gunshot sounded, followed by a loud scream of pain. Kate immediately sensed it wasn’t Jessica. Then the executioner ran in front of her holding half of his mutilated and blood-spurting hand in front of him.

“It’s me Kate,” a voice in her ear said, “stop struggling or I might drop you!”

Riccardo continued to hold Kate’s panicking body against his knowing she would be hanging if he let go. And needing both hands to hold her, he couldn’t remove the noose.

Kate looked down in amazement as a fist fight erupted immediately below her in front of the stage. A man she’d never seen before, a giant of a man, flattened two of the execution gang with successive swings of his formidable fists. She could have sworn he winked at her.

She recognised the next man as he leapt athletically onto the three-foot high stage. It was Vince. It took a moment for Kate to register the significance. Why was Vince on La Plata?

With genuine urgency Vince lifted the top slat from Jessica’s neck and helped her unsteadily to her feet.

Jessica saw Kate wide-eyed in panic, knowing that a noose around the neck and feet not touching the ground wasn’t good.

Vince loosened and lifted the noose from Kate’s neck. Riccardo’s relief was audible as he’d been holding Kate in mid-air for more than a minute. He turned her to face him and hugged her again.

“Excuse me. Your man just shot one of my men!” Cavallo shouted out to a middle-aged man standing imperiously amid the chaos that had descended on her carefully choreographed video movie.

“He’ll live!” Master Alex said pointedly.

Cavallo was indignant. “You weren’t invited to this event. This is for specially invited guests only. You’ve ruined my movie!” Her black-clad sidekick on her right shook her fist at him.

Alex merely smiled. “I’ve come to collect my slaves. My need of them is clearly greater than yours.”

Whilst Alex and Madame Cavallo conducted their conversation in front of the disarrayed grandstand his four bewildered slaves were hustled down to the dock area. The specially invited guests were dispersing - a gala supper awaited them.

They also had inspections to do: The striped women were still stretched out in the frames, the girl on the bitch-frame, the crucified woman and all the ponygirls. The gallows and guillotine demanded inspecting too. Some guests were muttering that the dramatic conclusion to the afternoon’s event had been staged and there never was to be a real execution.

Alex climbed the few steps into the grandstand up to Cavallo’s level.

“Have you seen what they did to me?” Cavallo sniffed, glancing at each shoulder. Alex offered his genuine condolences, promising to punish the offenders severely when they returned to Rabbit Island. As he listed a series of imaginative and bizarre punishments that Kate and Jessica would be made to suffer Cavallo’s mood lightened considerably.

The damage done, her festivities all-but-ruined, she nonetheless invited him to stay for supper. Alex accepted. It would have been rude to refuse. Besides, he had known her since she was ten years old, back in the days when her father ruled La Plata (and her) with an iron fist.

Another man was also invited to dine at Cavallo’s table. A distinguished grey-haired man in his sixties, he was the owner of the largest yacht in the harbour, the one on which Alex and Vince had sneaked a ride. Ranulph Markham cared little for Madame Cavallo, receiving the invite to her deathly festivities because of his connections and influence in their slave society, certainly not because of any friendship between them.

“Have you met my Siamese twins before?” Cavallo asked, nodding at the small lycra-clad women flanking her. The one to her right waved cutely with her right hand, the one on her left with her left hand. “You could say we’ve become quite attached this last few days. They are my new arms.”

She didn’t show them exactly how attached they were - this was a practical arrangement not a sexual one. The thick belt drawn tight around Cavallo’s narrow waist was their securing point. A single set of handcuffs attached to the back of the belt held one wrist of each twin. Having been waited on and pampered all her life Cavallo was adapting quickly to her new life.

The other female making up the dining foursome (the twins didn’t count) was Lucinda. Alex exchanged an awkward greeting with the bronze-necked beauty. She wasn’t at all what he expected, which isn’t to say he was disappointed.

During supper Alex admired how well the twins were managing to feed their mistress, even managing a knife and fork between them. Cavallo accepted their mistakes and fumblings graciously. She was as gracious in public as she was cruel in private.

If Alex and Ranulph Markham could hardly bear to look at Cavallo, they couldn’t take their eyes off Lucinda - that beautiful face atop her impossibly long bronze-encased neck. Cavallo readily extolled Lucinda’s praises, explaining how her kindness and loyalty had helped at such a terrible time.

Alex needed no further convincing as to Lucinda’s qualities. He and Lucinda exchanged many fleeting glances during dinner each one accompanied by a knowing smile. Seldom had Alex been so immediately taken with somebody. It wasn’t just with her unique beauty, but her coolness and bravery too. She had telephoned him almost daily during the last few weeks, keeping him informed of unfolding events and nervously relaying Riccardo’s messages. La Plata’s only telephone was in Cavallo’s private quarters, so she had been taking considerable and repeated risks. She also influenced Cavallo’s thinking that Riccardo, having promised to stop interfering with La Plata’s affairs, should be allowed to resume his innocuous job of pony trainer.

“I can see that Lucinda is very special. How much will you sell her for?” Markham enquired.

Far from being rude, in these circles it was good manners to enquire about the value of another’s slaves, and there was a certain pleasure in having such a conversation in that very slave’s presence. Having been a slave all her life, and sold once before, Lucinda was more curious than embarrassed as she waited for Cavallo’s considered answer.

“When I sell her it will be for half a million dollars,” Cavallo answered. Markham nodded. It was about what he expected. Lucinda had no idea what such an amount of money meant. For all she knew a cup of coffee might have cost a thousand dollars.

“Interested, Alex?” Markham asked.

He raised his eyebrows. “Very! She’s beautiful, intelligent, charming, loyal and unique. It would be a bargain.”

Lucinda smiled coyly and blushed. She had a good life on La Plata but found herself wondering what life could be like on Rabbit Island with Master Alex and, of course, Riccardo.

She had to continue wondering. After an hour and a half Alex and Markham took their leave of Madame Cavallo having consumed a bottle of wine each.

When Alex kissed Madame Cavallo goodbye her twins wrapped their arms around him in lieu of a Cavallo hug. They got that wrong. Their mistress never hugged men, not even Alex.

Alex and Markham declined the offer of a ponygirl ride to the harbour, opting for a satisfying post-prandial fifteen-minute walk instead.

To say Jessica and Kate were pleased to be leaving La Plata was an understatement. Kate’s vibrator was still running as the walked down to the harbour. She crumpled to the ground as an orgasm rippled painfully through her. She stayed there writhing and panting for several minutes before being helped to her feet by Riccardo. He was as eager to get away from La Plata as anybody.

Riccardo dusted her down. “Feel better now?” he asked rather condescendingly. Kate could only nod in the affirmative. She did appreciate his hand around her waist as she staggered the rest of the way.

The four rescued slaves waiting on the rear deck seating weren’t in good humour when Alex stepped aboard Markham’s sleek 150-foot yacht an hour after them. Riccardo followed Alex’s instruction not to release them until he returned, obeying to the letter in leaving them all gagged, dressed and bound. Meanwhile the ship’s captain entertained him on the bridge.

Jessica was accustomed to spending a day in harness while Kate’s nurse’s uniform and tape were the least of her problems compared to the dildo still strapped into her. The batteries had long since expired.

Rachel, in her dress and silk scarf bondage was suffering nothing more than tiredness, thirst and hunger.

Karen, in her latex corset, stockings, high heels, ballgag and very tight ropework biting into her flesh was faring worse, with pain and stress etched on her face.

Riccardo made them stand to attention when Master Alex approached.

Alex inspected their weary bodies, surprised to find anger instead of gratitude in their eyes. His supper date with Cavallo hadn’t helped. He addressed them as a major might address his soldiers: “I have promised Madame Cavallo that the slaves who carried out those dreadful deeds shall be severely punished.”

Four heads dropped in collective despair. He continued: “And several months ago Madame Cavallo promised to care for my slaves and to ensure they were kept safe. So I think we’re even now, don’t you? You will be punished in due course, but only when we return to on Rabbit Island. Now you’ll be taken to your quarters, unbound and given food and rest. It looks like you need it.”

Vince led the way through a luxurious cream leather and teak-panelled stateroom. Kate, Karen, Rachel and Jessica following eagerly behind with two words bouncing around in their brains: Food and rest!

As Jessica walked past Alex he grabbed her, pulling her backwards onto his chest, holding her body against his. He groped her with deliberate crudeness, a finger worming its way between her padlocked labia. He nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck as if savouring her sweaty aroma. She smelt the alcohol on his breath as he whispered something in her ear.

Jessica angrily shrugged herself from his grasp and walked quickly away to catch up with her companions.

Alex liked Jessica’s face - a lot - but admired even more the view of her rear, particularly when, as now, the perfect curve between her sturdy thighs, hips and trim waist was accentuated by pony strapping and a tight waist band.

And now she had a new point of interest: Between her thighs, descending from her butt-plug, was the plaited pony tail made from her own hair. He preferred Jessica’s luxuriant thick hair to be on her head, but felt an erotic tingle when sensing the humiliation she must feel at the shaving and relocation of her crowning glory.

Jessica’s hands, netted into fists and fixed to the belt in the small of her back, were straining for freedom. Perhaps she wanted to strike him? He didn’t mind. What was the point of restraining a female who didn’t need restraining?

Jessica needed control and restraint in so many respects, and Alex, seeing her for the first time in several months, suddenly remember how much he enjoyed giving her what she needed.

The scarves knotted around Rachel’s wrists and elbows had become so tight that nothing short of a sharp knife could release her. Vince also cut through the tape of Kate’s bondage. Then he closed the door on the small bedroom leaving Rachel and Kate to release Jessica and Karen. It couldn’t come soon enough.

The bedroom, on the lowest of the ship’s three floors, contained two pairs of man-sized bunk beds. The accommodation consisted of a built-in dressing table, drawers and a wardrobe, and an en-suite shower room. They each showered hastily, not wanting to deprive others of that pleasure for a moment longer than necessary.

The door knocked, a key turned, and a man entered the room carrying a tray of food: a platter of sandwiches, other snacks and a selection of drinks.

Kate’s eyes studied the slim young man in his smart maroon uniform - clearly one of the ship’s crew. She smiled. “You don’t need to knock. We haven’t any clothes to wear, so we’ll be naked no matter how much warning you give us.”

He retreated from the room with a nervous smile, overwhelmed by sight and smell of the four freshly showered naked bodies. The door locked behind him. For a few moments they stood and stared unbelieving at the feast he had laid before them... then the scramble started.

Kate noticed something else on the tray and squealed with delight “Oh my god! Champagne!”

The bottle had already been uncorked, so Kate quickly slopped it into the plastic glasses. A half bottle didn’t go far between four but nobody was complaining. They settled back on the bunks, eating, drinking, talking and laughing loudly until a hand banged several times on the door.

“Keep it down,” said Vince’s commanding voice. They chuckled quietly like schoolgirls.

Kate saw that Jessica seemed pensive after their burst of euphoria wore off. “What’s up, Jessi?”

“Oh! It’s Master Alex. He annoyed me.”

“I saw him grab you, the horny devil. I expect he was pleased to see his favourite ponygirl again!” teased Kate.

“Madame Cavallo was right!”

“Don’t be silly, how can she be right about anything?”

“While I was strapped to the operating table, she spoke about him. She said his method of torture was far worse than anything she could devise.”

“That sounds unlikely, Jessi.”

“She meant mentally and emotionally. That he would screw me up badly.”

Kate sighed. “Well Jessi, looking at you right now, I think maybe she had a point. But would you rather be on La Plata where men are cruel and women are crueller? Besides, I really don’t think they’d have us back.”

“Of course I don’t want to go back. I just wish he wouldn’t mess with my mind.”

“It’s gone!” interrupted Rachel, who had been staring out of the porthole for some time. La Plata’s peaks had disappeared from the dark horizon. “I never thought I’d be glad to return to Rabbit Island!”

“It’s only the lesser of two evils, it’s not paradise,” Karen reminded her. “You’ll soon be strung up, whipped and fucked. Their chains are like anyone else’s chains!”

Rachel might have corrected Karen on that point except she wasn’t the arguing type. She knew Rabbit Island’s handcuffs had smooth, rounded edges that didn’t cut into her wrists like La Plata’s. She fingered the handcuffs which were fixed by a chain to the headboard of each bunk. The foot of the bunk had a similar arrangement for the ankles. They were the same type as Rabbit Island’s.

The precise low frequency throb of the ship’s engines seemed louder as the revs increased, and as their conversation petered out with tiredness. Each retired, defeated by exhaustion, to her bunk. Kate and Jessica were side by side on the lower bunks. Karen, on the top bunk, switched of the main light to leave just the faint red glow of emergency lighting.

Jessica slipped her hands into the cuffs and quietly ratcheted them closed.

While the slaves slept in their quarters, the men drank and talked in the luxurious stateroom on the floor above them.

“When Lucinda told me they planned to do mock executions ‘a la Tosca’,” Riccardo recounted, “that’s when I knew it was serious. She said Cavallo had promised it would only be pretend executions. I explained that Tosca the opera wasn’t like that. Just like in the opera they were only pretending to pretend. Typical of Cavallo’s humour!”

“So true! When Ranulph received his faxed invitation I knew we’d be at the event in perfect time, invited or not!” Alex shook his head. “I still can’t believe she was going to do it. In fact, not until the very last moment did I believe it!”

A silence descended as Riccardo, Vince, Alex, Ranulph Markham and Cormack, his handsome giant of a bodyguard, considered the possibility. “But we’ve never had our arms amputated by a slave,” Vince reminded them.

“Nor have we wanted to amputate a slave’s arms,” Alex added, “and on that subject, I’m going to check on the slaves now.”

He’d had his fill of alcohol on La Plata and late in the evening he was fully sober, even though the others had continued to drink - Markham, Cormack, Vince and particularly Riccardo still drinking in some quantity as they mused on the day’s events.

Alex opened the door into the slave’s darkened room. The four bodies were motionless.

He seemed to instinctively know which was Jessica’s bunk, as if by smell alone. Bending down to his knees he spoke softly to her, even though, or perhaps because, she was sleeping.

He wanted to touch her, but didn’t. He sighed and spoke softly in her ear.

“I meant what I said, Jessica. I really did miss you.”

Chapter 23. Slave to Fortune
(Even Ponygirls Sometimes Get the Blues, by Aurelius)

The story so far:
(Ch. 19) The Breeding Shed
(Ch. 20) Escape from the Breeding Shed
(Ch. 21) The Operation
(Ch. 22) The Guillotine

It was like a nightmare from which there was no escape. Jessica tried to open her eyes but couldn’t. Her hands and feet were locked in shackles that held her body stretched out on a slab. People were doing something to her nipples, tugging on them. Her hips were held down. She sensed they were about to operate.

“That’s better. Now I’ve got you,” said the female voice above her - her captor. “You’re never going to get away from me again!”

It had to be Madame Cavallo, but somehow the voice didn’t fit. Hands, obviously a woman’s, lovingly cupped her breasts and then something rubbed against them almost tickling. It felt like rope.

“Jessi, are you awake?”

Her mind was playing tricks. The voice sounded like Kate’s. Why then, Jessica wondered, is she torturing me? She felt a mild pain in the ribs as if someone was digging something into her.

“Wake up!” The voice demanded through gritted teeth, the probing of her ribs became incessant, infuriating, and Jessica could do nothing to repel it. If she wasn’t blindfolded and gagged she might have pleaded for mercy at that moment. She had to try.

“Stop!” Jessica said, surprising herself that she was able to speak. She opened her eyes and met blinding daylight, not the darkness she expected. The gag and blindfold were only in her dream.

Kate was smiling at her. “Good morning Jessi. Did you sleep well?”

Jessica gradually gained consciousness. “I thought I was being operated on.”

“No more operations for you. We’re safe now. Remember?”

Jessica looked around the room and suddenly remembered: The ship! Sitting astride her hips was Kate, her face lit up with joy.

“What are you doing?” Jessica asked.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

Jessica chuckled. “This is what you call waiting? And this rope?” She was referring to the length of rope running through her nipple rings and tied off at each end to one of Kate’s wrists.

“There was nothing else to play with,” Kate explained. Perfectly rational behavior, she thought.

“Damn it Katie, you’ve cuffed my ankles too!”

“Sorry Jessi, I was bored. I saw your feet poking out from the sheet and the ankle cuffs lying next to them. I couldn’t help myself, but I fixed them loosely so it won’t hurt your bad ankle. Anyway,” Kate added mischievously, “It wasn’t me who cuffed your hands, was it?”

“Well, I thought it was required, like in the ponygirl quarters. I did it before I went to sleep.”

“Oh Jessi, you’re such a good obedient slave, and sexy too!” Kate teased.

Jessica frowned. “Sexy? Look at me! Hair like an army recruit, the thighs of Bulgarian weightlifter, and this metal contraption in my mouth making me speak funny!”

Kate laughed. “I’d give you one if I were a man! I’d ram my throbbing cock into your cunt and fuck your brains out!” Kate bounced herself on Jessica’s loins as if to demonstrate. “And I’d keep you chained to my bed as my personal fuck toy.”

“Oh, that’s just great,” Jessica sighed, “even my best friend wants to make me her sex slave! What hope is there for me?”

“None whatsoever,” said Kate. She leant forward, almost face-to-face with Jessica, and spoke in barely a whisper, “not until we escape!”

“Katie, you forgot to add ‘again’.”

“Until we escape again. Properly. Once and for all!”

“I suppose you’re going to overpower that Cormack guy and take control of the ship.”

“Perhaps. But I may need to seduce him first,” Kate winked. “You know. Get to know him, build up trust.”

“Size him up. Feel the strength of his muscles. Find out if he’s as good a fuck as he looks.”

Kate feigned a look of shock, but not disgust, at the suggestion. “Why, I ought to punish you for saying such a thing, but I’m too damn tired. I think I’ll go back to bed.”

She snuggled into the gap between Jessica’s body and the wall until she’d made a comfortable nest for herself. The rope connecting her wrists to Jessica’s nipples remained. “Mind if I sleep here for a while?”

Jessica yawned contentedly. “I don’t have any choice, do I?”

THE ENVELOPE

“You seem preoccupied,” Markham observed to his breakfast companion as they sipped orange juice. “Something in the envelope they gave you yesterday?”

Alex looked up from the papers he was reading. “No, everything’s fine. Do you think I was right to leave one of my slaves with Cavallo as compensation?”

“It seemed reasonable in the circumstances. It’s hardly compensation, for what happened to her, but it was a good gesture. What was her name?”

“Mandy.”

“I don’t recollect her.”

“Nor I. I didn’t know her well.”

“Don’t worry, Alex. I’m sure she’ll be fine on La Plata. I think we’ll see a kinder, gentler Argenta Cavallo from now on.”

“No jokes about being armless please Ranulph. I’m still concerned about Janie, one of her previous victims, and what the hell we going to do with her on Rabbit Island.”

“The same thing you do to all the others, old boy,” Markham said with his throaty chortle. “You worry too much lately. Try not to get emotionally involved. I’ve said it before; you should get yourself a companion slave like my Linsey. Then you’ll have an outlet for these kind of feelings.”

“A companion slave?” Alex shook his head, “It’s not practical. I travel too much, and I’m not as wealthy as you are.”

“What else is in the envelope?” Markham enquired, trying to read the upside-down printing in Alex’s hand.

“As well as the DVD of Kate on the bitch-frame we watched last night, there are other photos, some nice ones of the ponygirls. They’ll go up on the wall in the ponygirl quarters. The Island’s ponygirls have a strange curiosity for their photographs for some reason.” He laid them out on the table for Markham to view. “There’s also a couple of padlock keys. One is for Jessica’s padlock I assume.”

“You hope!” Markham winked at him.

“And medical reports on the four slaves. All are in good health, although with her ankle fracture Jessica won’t be resuming her ponygirl work for several weeks. It’ll take that long to reactivate the activities of the island anyhow.”

“Looking forward to it Alex?”

Alex leant back in his chair and smiled. “The new and improved Rabbit Island. I can’t wait!”

SLAVE TO FORTUNE

What better way to keep everything ship-shape than to have four beautiful naked women scrubbing the decks? Markham’s ship, ‘Slave to Fortune’ was gleaming.

In truth, it was no more arduous than any housework. Nearby Riccardo and Alex were also busying themselves on the deck as they waited for sunset.

Kate had renamed Riccardo ‘The Hosemaster’ as he hosed the decks while the women scrubbed them. He didn’t seem to mind the name, and even Alex had taken to calling him by it.

Riccardo found a blast of cold water from the high-pressure jet proved as effective as a whip in keeping the slaves on the job. It was easier to aim and required almost no effort compared with a whip. It was also more fun, he discovered, while attempting to give Jessica an enema from six feet away.

“There are four more things to be cleaned.” Riccardo announced, just as they thought everything was done. The slaves groaned, their arms aching, unaccustomed to work after their week of immobility. He pointed his finger at each of them in turn. “One, two, three, four! You first Jessica.”

He made Jessica kneel doggie-style in the middle of the deck then slipped a choker chain over her head and handed Rachel the leash. Then he rinsed a sponge and pushed the whole thing into Jessica’s mouth; to prevent her swallowing soapsuds, he explained lamely. From that moment, their previous playfulness developed an edge of sexual tension, which Jessica’s body language did nothing to dispel as she anticipated her sponge and hose bath.

Equipped with fresh buckets of warm soapy water the other slaves gave Jessica a bath like nothing she had every known. Perhaps it was the sunshine, the luxury of the Slave to Fortune, and the informality of Riccardo and Alex that made them participate so wholeheartedly in Jessica’s cleansing.

Riccardo reminded Jessica’s cleaners that they should get into all her crevices. Kate had anticipated his command and took up the prime position at Jessica’s rear end. She rubbed the sponge vigorously on Jessica’s sex as if removing a stubborn stain, pushing provocatively against Jessica padlocked labia with each stroke. Jessica’s back legs began to collapse in response to the stimulation until she was sitting on Kate’s hand. Riccardo intervened with his bare foot rising between her legs, obliging her to lift her ass up.

“She’s never had puppy training,” Kate joked.

“Unlike you, Kate. I remember that time on Rabbit Island. What a fine puppy girl you made. A natural bitch I’d say. Then on La Plata you went up to the next level.”

Kate quickly returned her attention to scrubbing Jessica as if she wasn’t listening, but Riccardo wasn’t done:

“You were equally memorably in the bitch-dog program. We were watching the video of you last night. What a spirited performance you gave until you changed from resistance to willingness! You certainly have a way with your canine admirers.”

“And all the time I was thinking of you,” she muttered bitterly, not intending that anyone should hear.

“It makes me want to roll my sleeves up and get stuck in myself,” Alex joked, lightening the mood again in an instant. The sight of Jessica kneeling on all fours and dripping in soapsuds had stirred him more than he expected.

He walked around her to take in the front view. Jessica’s dark eyes looked up at him, not with their usual defiance, but with a mild confusion. She managed to mmmph an acknowledgement to him from her sponge-filled mouth. White soapsuds flowed sensuously from her hair and face. Alex coughed, and quickly brushed his hand against the front of his shorts.

After a refreshing high-powered rinse by Riccardo the Hosemaster, Jessica had her chance to reciprocate, or gain her revenge, on Kate. As an experienced bitch Kate managed to hold her doggie position despite determined and provocative sponging from Jessica.

THE SUN LOUNGERS

The afternoon of cleaning and being cleaned ended. Jessica was happy with the instruction that she should rest awhile on a sun lounger. She laid down and got comfortable while Riccardo secured a light shackle to her left ankle.

Alongside her on the other lounger was a woman Jessica had seen briefly earlier in the day. She too wore a shackle around her left ankle, a sign perhaps of their equal status, Jessica assumed. She was reading, but put down the heavy novel and offered her hand for a feminine handshake. “Hello. I’m Linsey. Mr. Markham’s companion slave.”

“I’m Jessica. A Rabbit Island ponygirl.”

Linsey’s eyebrows lifted, as if impressed. For the first time she was meeting a real ponygirl.

Jessica understood she was English to judge by her accent, and was around her own age. Although quite pretty (slim and shapely with long auburn hair) it wasn’t Linsey’s natural looks that attracted Jessica’s attention, but her body, or rather the designs upon her skin.

“I like your tattoos,” Jessica said as her eyes roamed the length of Linsey’s slim body.

“Thanks. I’m not finished yet,” Linsey explained. Brilliant, colourful designs of birds, butterflies, flowers and fruit caressed her body, literally from head to toe, in a continuous ever-changing pattern. Jessica was particularly impressed with how the design swirled around one breast leaving the other unmarked as it swirled under her arm and reappeared over her shoulder, up her neck, culminating in a delicate red rose on her cheek.

“All I have is a little rabbit and my slave number at the top of my thigh,” Jessica said, almost apologetically, then she remembered: “Oh, and a brand on my buttock also.”

“Rabbit Island, huh? When Mr. Markham first captured me, he said I’d be shipped there if I didn’t respond to slave training.”

Jessica felt defensive. “It’s not so bad. There are much worse places. It wasn’t the Rabbit Island guys who did this to me,” she pointed a finger at her cropped hair, then opened her mouth to show off her T-bar.

“I’m glad you’re happy there,” said Linsey. “Luckily I passed the training, and a year later Mr. Markham decided to make me his companion slave. Now I travel everywhere with him.”

Jessica was confused. “You’re a slave, right?”

“Well yes, but I’m his slave and his companion. I want only to be with him, to serve him, and to make him happy.”

Jessica looked at Linsey sympathetically. “I think you’ve been brainwashed.”

“So they say. They used hypnotism, drug therapies, behavior modifications, torture and god knows what else. What they didn’t expect was that I would fall in love with Mr. Markham anyhow.”

Jessica wasn’t convinced. Perhaps Linsey was right, but more likely the brainwashing was so successful that she couldn’t even accept it as the reason she loved Markham.

“Do you want to stay a ponygirl?” Linsey asked.

“I’ll be released in a year,” Jessica said confidently. “Then I won’t be a slave any more. Master Alex promised me, and I believe him.”

“So you don’t want to be somebody’s companion slave?”

“No.” Jessica said curtly.

“I can’t imagine you as a free woman. You have the soul of a slave. I can see it in you.”

Jessica was bristling. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“It’s more than a compliment, Jessica. Some women can only find true contentment through being owned by one man, and by a man who knows what you need sexually. Most women settle for marriage where a woman feels she belongs to somebody, but with companion slaves the belonging is absolute. I always wear his chains and I’m forever marked as his property. I’ve never been happier.”

Jessica sighed. “I’ll take your word for it, but for me it’s another year of ponygirl life then I’m going back to New York: The real world, family, a job, friends. Before I go they’ll put me through a memory cleaning process that will erase this whole experience from my mind.”

It was Linsey’s turn to look sympathetically at her companion.

EVENING ENTERTAINMENT

Jessica loved the Slave to Fortune and begun to feel more like a privileged passenger than a slave. Perhaps Cavallo’s Silver Lady was as luxurious but on that ship she only traveled ‘steerage’, bound securely to a bunk in the bowels of the ship for the whole journey.

Now she was in the main lounge, an area fitted with expansive cream leather seating and teak woodwork. She returned a smile with Rachel and Karen sitting on the floor across from her; scarcely able to believe her change of circumstance merely a day after her neck was on the guillotine.

She looked at the bright silver manacles around her wrists, as finely engineered as the ship itself. They matched the collar she wore. The wrist manacles were joined only by a long chain that threaded through a loop in the front of her collar, passing through each of her nipple rings on the way to her respective wrists. With her arm movement virtually unrestricted, it didn’t feel like bondage, more as if she had become somebody’s erotic toy.

Opposite, Rachel seemed equally content. She wore a belly chain, her hands cuffs to each hip like prisoner chains, except these were infinitely finer. Alongside her was Karen, with her hands were joined together in the same kind of manacles, fixed to her collar by a short chain that held her hands just below her breasts in an attitude of prayer.

The evening unfolded as a casual affair with men coming and going, sometimes sitting in the lounge, sometimes moving to the outside deck for more intense or private conversations. Ranulph Markham seemed more interested in cooking, and was often heard in the galley joking with his chef. Not a sound came from Jessica. She had been lectured beforehand that the slightest noise would be rewarded with a ballgag. The thought of ruining her current presentation with something so vulgar was a serious threat. She squirmed in private embarrassment recollecting the evening she was ballgagged at Master Alex’s side, when she dribbled all over his thigh.

Just as Jessica wondered what happened to Linsey and Kate, the former appeared, accompanied by Cormack and a large coil of white rope. Meeting no physical or verbal resistance, Cormack fixed Linsey into a kneeling ball-tie, her breasts squashed into her thighs by the tight ropes that encircled her. She had submitted willingly, which is not to say she was happy about it.

Supper was called, and Jessica’s rumbling stomach hoped she would sample what was brought from the kitchen. However there was one thing that she wanted even more than food, and she hated herself for it.

He acted so casual, joking lightly with Markham about how he’d been slaving away in the galley to prepare supper. Why was her heart pounding as Alex continued to joke even after filling his plate from the buffet table? He hadn't even glanced at her, apparently finding the sight of Linsey’s tattooed and thoroughly trussed body much more interesting.

Then he sat down next to her as if the seating arrangement was never in doubt. Jessica inwardly sighed with relief. Ashamed and embarrassed by her short hair and tongue bar she considered Alex’s action a welcome boost to her self-worth.

She turned her head to flash him a smile which proved not a tight-lipped as she had planned. Linsey’s talk of belonging to someone began to make sense. Perhaps, Jessica thought fleetingly, she really did want to belong to someone.

“You’ll need one of these,” said Markham, offering Alex an object similar to a graduate’s mortarboard. Markham addressed Jessica for the first time. “Sit on your bum, girl, ankles to the side, back straight, face forward.”

She felt herself flush with embarrassment at having to be informed of this slave’s etiquette, by such an important man, although Markham’s tone wasn’t unkind. He placed the foam mortarboard on Jessica’s head. The bottom of it was moulded to fit snugly over her skull. Above her Jessica heard the chink of cutlery on china as Alex put his plate on her head.

Jessica’s mortifying recollection of the dribbling ballgag episode could pale into insignificance compared to spilling the plate’s contents into Alex’s lap, or worse still, onto Markham’s furniture. She noticed that Rachel and Karen had been similarly equipped, their faces mirroring the trepidation she felt.

Markham had opted for a slightly more traditional table - Linsey’s back. The plate rested neatly onto her ropes whilst her bound hands held his wineglass as if she had done it a hundred times.

The topic of conversation was food, specifically Thai cuisine, leaving Jessica to concentrate on sitting upright and not embarrassing herself or Master Alex. While he ate, Jessica stayed motionless, a human table.

Later, Alex lifted the plate and started feeding Jessica with his leftover morsels.

“You don’t need to feed her, they can lick the plates from the floor,” Markham suggested.

“It’s okay, she can’t lick with the T-bar in her mouth. Besides, I enjoy feeding her,” said Alex. It was something Jessica had never heard him say before. She felt his fingers in her mouth and sucked on them. Her eyes closed as she tasted his fingers as well as the tasty oriental food. He put a piece of chicken in the palm of his hand and felt Jessica’s lips remain longer than necessary as she took it. If Alex said he enjoyed feeding her then Jessica ensured he wasn’t disappointed.

Markham put his plate on the floor for Linsey to lick clean as if she were a pet dog. “You know, not much human furniture is really practical, but these snack tables work very well.”

“I agree on both counts. Ever tried a body bed?” Alex asked him.

“Heard of it but never seen a real one.”

“I tried one at Rishiki’s estate near Hironaki. He lays six women across the base of a bed, alternating their direction. There are wooden cutouts for ankles and another that goes above the breasts,” Alex explained. He placed a karate-chop hand on top of Jessica’s breasts to illustrate. “The sides of the bed are boxed in, so you don’t see any heads, arms and feet.”

Markham seemed skeptical. “It’s a great way of showing off but is it comfortable? I imagine it must be rather bony.”

Alex raised a finger. “Ah, but that’s the clever part. Rishiki selects them for body shape and keeps them fattened so there’s a nice layer of flesh on their ribs and hips. Their bodies are covered in a light sheet but you can still feel their breasts lining at the sides of the bed, and if you dig down with your fingers you can feel their little cunts beneath. It really was a soft bed, and very warm too. The rise and fall from their breathing was very relaxing.”

“Hmmm. Perhaps I’ll fatten up some slaves and give it a try,” said Markham, his interested piqued by Alex’s description. “I can’t remember. Have you seen my door-belle?”

Alex shook his head.

“You really should come to England more often! I have a woman kneeling at the front door all strapped up in black leather, including a harness ballgag. She has large bells hanging from her nipples and a small vibrator up her anus wired to the doorbell. When you press the front door buzzer, she receives a shock that makes her to wiggle her breasts causing the bells to make a delightful jangling sound. That’s what summons the butler to the door. Most visitors are so amused they demand a further demonstration from the girl.”

Alex laughed. “Sounds great! What a shame we don’t need a doorbell on a ship or I’d volunteer Jessica here for the job.”

Jessica was almost amused. It sounded a lot less effort than being a ponygirl.

The plates were cleared from the room and Linsey was partially untied, leaving only her hands and feet bound. Markham patted the space to his left inviting Linsey to join him on the plush seating. She managed to wriggle her way onto it, snuggling up to him with an expression of joy on her face. Markham kissed her with genuine affection.

Jessica had drawn her own conclusion about Riccardo’s and Kate’s non-appearance. Knowing of their mutual attraction it seemed obvious they would spend private time together at the earliest opportunity. She was happy for them.

Then she heard a sound, actually a shout, which was the last thing she expected to hear on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

“Hyah!”

It was Riccardo’s pony-driving shout.

Master Alex clamped his hand over Jessica’s mouth just as the door opened. A ponygirl entered, with erratic, ill-disciplined high stepping into the middle of the room followed by Riccardo holding her reins and shouting encouragements to her.

All the men in the room laughed uncontrollably. Jessica would have too had Alex not kept his hand over her mouth. Kate continued her artless high stepping as Riccardo tapped her with his whip. Jessica doubted she ever looks as red and flustered as Kate at that moment, even after a ten mile run.

“I’ve just been breaking in my new ponygirl,” Riccardo announced. “What do you think?”

Alex laughed. “I think you have your work cut out. She’s too small and far too rebellious for a ponygirl. And look how she’s sweating up already!”

“Well I had some difficulty getting her into the harness. She became very excitable.” He grabbed Kate from behind, embracing her. “Easy girl!”

Kate tried to stand still but could barely manage without Riccardo’s help. Wearing Jessica’s high arched pony-boots was like balancing on stilts, and she was never good in heels. Having ginger extract smeared on her butt-tail before insertion wasn’t helping her composure either, although it gave her the highly agitated effect Riccardo was looking for.

Alex removed his hand from Jessica’s mouth after reminding her not to speak. She smiled broadly at Kate then Master Alex, enjoying Kate’s unlikely pony transformation as much as anybody.

“You need to give her something to help her calm down,” Markham said, “and we all know what’s best for calming a woman’s nerves.” He turned to Cormack, “do we have a strap-on dildo on board?”

While Cormack briefly disappeared to retrieve a suitable item, Riccardo made Kate kneel facing the leather bench seat. He pushed her perspiring torso against its surface and spread her knees. That position did little to calm her, knowing what was about to happen to her.

Cormack returned, walking straight over to Jessica. He knew from the outset what the plan was. He released the chain holding Jessica’s collar to a retaining ring on the seat front and helped her to her feet. Jessica looked anxiously at Alex. He returned a reassuring smile.

Cormack had a sure touch with women and strapped the dildo around Jessica’s loins without meeting the slightest resistance. He made her kneel down behind Kate, her knees on the floor between Kate’s.

Kate couldn’t keep still as the ginger inflamed and irritated her rectum. Sensing that her best friend was about to give a public fucking wasn’t helping her composure either.

“Shall I push it in for you?” Cormack suggested to Jessica as she looked warily at the phallus bobbing waywardly from her crotch. With his guidance Jessica pushed forward until it eased smoothly inside Kate. Unused to having a pony’s bit between her teeth Kate gasped and gargled to enliven the scene even further.

Seeing Kate squirming beneath her, obviously in a state of some arousal Jessica jogged her hips forward. Kate grunted, biting hard into the bridle bit. Jessica pushed again, her hands holding onto Kate’s netted fist-shaped hands locked in the middle of her back.

Alex and everyone else had disappeared; at least that was how Jessica felt as they stood up and refreshed their glasses behind her.

If Kate’s cries and grunts seemed almost painful, it didn’t dissuade Jessica from her task. She knew how robust Kate was, particularly during sexual intercourse. To withdraw without bringing an orgasm was as likely to incur Kate’s wrath as it was the displeasure of her masters. For her part, each thrust put pressure on the padlock that joined her labia together reminding Jessica of her own physical needs.

As Kate’s inevitable orgasm arrived with a gargling, squealing voice of accompaniment Jessica couldn’t help but whisper friendly teasing endearments in her ear. Jessica had spent almost a year as a ponygirl and never been fucked in harness (which isn’t to say she’d never had an orgasm), but for Kate it had taken less than an hour. So typical of Kate’s luck, Jessica thought.

“She’s broken the silence rule,” Markham noted to Alex after catching Jessica’s endearments to Kate. “What kind of gag would you like to put on her?”

Alex thought it rather harsh, but rules were rules, and he was happy to play the game. He had another idea: “First I’d like to take her onto the deck for punishment, a long overdue punishment.”

He helped Jessica to her feet and led her, surly and silent, onto the lower rear deck.

JESSICA IN SUSPENSE

“Wait here!” Alex said, leaving Jessica alone with the moonlit ocean waves gliding past. She waited, looking out to sea, an empty sea with nothing but a dark horizon to orient her. The ship felt like an island, a world of its own floating in space. Her chained hands were able to reach down to her artificial erection, still wet from Kate’s juices. She lifted a wetted hand to her face and sniffed.

A noise, a loud ‘clomp’ of something dropping to the floor startled her. It was Alex and an alarming quantity of neat hanks of rope.

“Turn around,” he instructed, making her face away from him. He unfastened the buckle of the strap between her legs, and the one at the back of her waist. She smiled coyly as he cast it aside to restore her nakedness.

“I like seeing your hands chained like that. It’s elegant.” Alex said.

He took hold of her hands pulling them towards him, causing their collar chains to rattle through her nipple rings. She didn’t even flinch. He unlocked her bracelets, also pulling free the chain threaded through to her collar. He placed them carefully in a blue felt bag. The collar followed.

“They look expensive” Jessica commented, the first words she had spoken to him in many months.

“Not too expensive. Around two thousand dollars, which isn’t much compared to the price of a good female slave.”

Jessica stood naked and free except for a labial padlock in front of the man who controlled her destiny and dominated her thoughts. She didn’t know whether to punch him, kick him, jump overboard, or kneel at his feet and beg him to end her torment. His open arms helped her make the decision, she walked into his embrace and pressed her face against his shirt, feeling neither love nor hate, nor anger or joy. They stood like that for a few moments. It wasn’t the passionate embrace of reunited lovers, nor even of close friends, merely two individuals with something peculiar in common.

“What are you going to do to me?” Jessica asked.

“Right now I’m going to tie you up, but you probably guessed that already. We can talk while I do it.”

Jessica was more relieved than worried when she felt her wrists drawn together in the middle of her back. How strange that the final tug of knots around her wrists could settle her mind like it did! Choices could be a terrible and dangerous thing for a slave. Without choices she could relax. Tonight she was Master Alex’s slave again. It was that simple.

He unwound another hank of rope. “I’ve been to Japan recently and studied shibari, the art of rope bondage. Now seems like a good time to practice.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Japan.” Jessica commented wistfully.

“Perhaps you will one day.”

“If you sell me?”

Alex tugged hard on the rope he’d just wrapped around her breasts. “You know I’m not going to sell you! Next year you’ll go through the memory reversal program and if that works out you’ll go home. Nothing has changed.”

Jessica sensed his mild irritation. An enslaver and abuser of women, and yet apparently a man of his word too.

“I’m sorry Sir. I was confused. What will happen when we return to Rabbit Island?”

“You’ll be a ponygirl again, probably for the rest of your time. No complications, no surprises, no being lent to other islands. Back with your friends enjoying all the island has to offer.”

She laughed at his irony, just as he intended. “And will there still be whips, Master Alex?”

“For as long as necessary,” he reassured her in the same vein.

“What if my ankle doesn’t heal? What would you do to me if I couldn’t perform as a ponygirl?”

“Sell you for dog food probably.”

She hated his deadpan ripostes. His tone of voice for jokes sounded the same as his normal conversation.

He interrupted Jessica’s pouting silence. “What are you getting at, Jessica? You know your ankle will heal fine. I’ve seen the x-rays and medical report.”

“Could I become a companion slave?”

Alex laughed. “Slave Linsey’s been putting ideas in your head. You think it’s easy, sitting around looking pretty, dedicating your life to a single master, giving him that doe-eyed look of adoration every time he glances at you.”

“No,” Jessica protested, “That’s not what I...”

“Companion slaves like Linsey undergo the most intensive and harshest training you could imagine. She was almost destroyed before being shaped into the person you see today. She’ll never be free. She’d sooner die!”

“Sorry Sir, I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

“I’m not angry, Jessica, just irritated that having been promised your freedom within a year you should be thinking of such things. Besides, there needs to be a master who wants a companion slave, someone who chooses you as his lifelong slave.”

“It must be nice to belong to somebody. I’ve seen the way Mr. Markham and Linsey look at each other.”

Alex had had enough. “Jessica, what is it with you? After you’re released, you can get married. Any man would want you as his wife. Then you’ll be known by his name and the ring on your finger will indicate that you belong to him!” He noticed Jessica’s eyes welling up. “Now, don’t start crying or I’ll give you something to cry about!”

“I’m not crying. I’m just a little emotional and confused. Sir, yesterday I nearly died, and now I’m on a beautiful ship sailing back to Rabbit Island. And Kate is with me, and Riccardo,” she hesitated, “and you too.”

“It’s good to have you back Jessica. I really did miss tying and teasing you.”

“Is that the same as missing me?”

“No Jessica. It’s totally different. You misheard me yesterday. No more questions please. If you want a gag, just ask.”

Jessica didn’t. Alex finished off the roping of her torso leaving her arms locked behind her in the Japanese style that resembled a ponygirl’s strapping. He pulled the rope between her ass cheeks and threading it through the labial padlock, tugged until she winced with pain, then tied it off at her waist. He knew the crotch rope wouldn’t stay there for long but enjoyed the pleasure of the tying and the exquisite grimace it produced on Jessica’s face.

The next stage was her suspension. Jessica looked up to see the ropes from her shoulders and chest fixed to an O bolt in the overhanging part of the deck above them. Alex made her stand on tiptoes to secure her at the desired height.

He kissed her on the lips forcing hers open. He resistance was weak. She felt his tongue exploring and teasing her, tickling her taste buds.

“Just checking you’re at the correct height. It’s fun kissing you with that T-bar in your mouth. Perhaps we’ll keep you that way. That’s how the Rabbit Island committee would like to see the ponygirls fitted out.”

“I can’t wear a ballgag,” said Jessica.

“No problem, we’ll use special bit gags.”

Jessica couldn’t help but smile. “Sir, there’s something else I can’t get in my mouth.”

Alex looked puzzled for a few moments. “I see what you mean,” he responded thoughtfully. “It’s a good thing I’m the manager of a slave island with plenty of mouths to choose from.”

Now it was Alex smiling. He pulled Jessica’s right leg behind her so it was fully bent at the knee then tied a rope from her ankle to the O bolt above her head. After he repeated the process on her left ankle Jessica was floating in the air, her weight evenly distributed by the rope harness.

He stood back checking that everything was safe and secure and watched Jessica’s bound torso hanging perfectly upright and swinging slowly like a pendulum in response to the ship’s mild yaw.

“Dance for me,” he said.

“Dance? You’ve suspended me in mid-air like I don’t have feet, now you want me to dance?”

“Dance, Jessica,” he insisted.

She tried to move, finding she could pull her knees forward a couple of inches, before the ankle ropes pulled them backwards again. She repeated it, imagining she was walking towards him. The padlock dangled prominently beneath her sex, tantalising yet denying them both. The crotch rope cut into her, giving more pain than pleasure, but it didn’t stop her. She would endure the pain and wanted him to notice.

Alex’s arousal was obvious as Jessica’s dance of self-inflicted pain continued. She gained in confidence feeling secure in his elaborate rope-work as she lured Alex towards her. But she was wrong about what had drawn him. It wasn’t so much her body but the look on her face - her intense focus, her desire, her seriousness.

“Do you think you can get off with a crotch rope and that padlock rubbing against you?”

“If you want me to I’ll try.”

Alex reached into a pocket a removed a small brown envelope. He pulled a small key from it. “I have a better idea.”

The padlock clicked open. He carefully extracted the round staple from Jessica’s moist lower lips. Jessica gasped in pain and anticipation.

He held it in front of her eyes. “Nice padlock. Perhaps we’ll keep it. A souvenir of your time on La Plata?”

Before Jessica could answer, he tossed it over his shoulder and into the sea. “Perhaps not!” He dropped his shorts, and Jessica’s mid-air dance became desperate as she tried to widen her knees, to open herself to him.

He gripped her upper arms and kissed her hard. Then he squatted a few inches down, coming up with her skewered on his cock. She moaned, open mouthed with long-denied pleasure. Her body, her whole being became concentrated on the area where their bodies were joined.

“Does that feel good?” Alex asked, thrusting once.

“Mmm.” Jessica hummed, straining forward to kiss his lips. He leant back a little to deny her.

“You’re like a popsicle on my stick,” he said, thrusting again.

“What flavour?” Jessica gasped.

His lips found hers, pushing them apart for his invading tongue. With hers locked down by the T bar, even her mouth had to yield as Alex explored and tasted her.

Finally, he released her from his kiss. “Honey!”

The teasing was over, and so was Jessica’s long wait.

THE SECOND KEY

Later in the evening Alex noticed Riccardo pacing the deck as if the world were upon his shoulders. He leaned on the balustrade next to him. They looked out to sea, neither rushing to speak.

“How’s Jessica?” Riccardo finally asked.

“Slightly emotional, but the same Jessica, which is good. I’ve left her in suspension for the crew to enjoy. I’ll untie her shortly and send her to bed. And what about Kate, I thought she’d be stowed away in your cabin by now?”

Riccardo seemed pensive, almost embarrassed. “I have a small problem.”

“Surely not? Go see Ranulph. He has all the right pills,” Alex reassured him.

“Thanks, but the reason I can’t perform is more physical than that. I know exactly what the problem is.” He unbuckled his belt pushing his shorts down to his knees. “It’s one of Cavallo’s innovations.”

Alex knelt down to look at the clear perspex device locked on Riccardo’s flaccid penis, noticing the small padlock joining its parts together in front of the scrotum. He was trying not to laugh, thinking of Riccardo’s similarity to Jessica. “And you can’t get it off?”

Riccardo sighed impatiently. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? Even with a hacksaw blade I couldn’t cut through it!”

“What about using a key?” Alex suggested. He dug in his pocket for the second small envelope. “I was wondering what this one was used for. Almost threw it overboard earlier.”

Riccardo almost wept with joy as he snatched it from Alex’s hand, pulling up his shorts as he dashed towards his room.

“Be gentle with her!” Alex shouted after him.

Gentle with Kate? Riccardo glanced over his shoulder incredulously, as if Alex had gone crazy.

JESSICA UNDONE

“You don’t look too exhausted,” Alex commented as he examined Jessica’s suspended body.

“That’s because I can hardly move a muscle the way you’ve tied me,” Jessica explained without rancour.

“Only your internal muscles,” Alex joked. “How many men had you tonight?”

“Three. The captain, first mate, and a crewman.”

“Did you have an orgasm?”

“Twice sir.”

“Excellent. I expect you feel better now.” Alex said.

Jessica was unsure whether he was mocking her or expressing genuine concern. She was still confused by the manner in which he had taken her earlier, as if deliberately achieving his satisfaction without regard for her own. In previous times on Rabbit Island he was obsessed with her orgasms, stating that they signified victory for him and defeat for her. Or he might comment that her orgasm proved she was becoming a better slave. That particularly irritated her, which was partly why he said it. (The other reason he said it was that it was true.)

Perhaps he was testing her? How would a companion slave react, she wondered. She’d be trusting, uncomplaining, and eager to serve her master in any way he saw fit.

Alex tenderly wiped her inner thighs with a tissue then rubbed the semen stained tissue over her labia until her body reacted with an involuntary twitch. “I can’t believe they removed your pony piercings,” he commented with evident annoyance. “That’ll be the first job when we get back.”

He released her from suspension then slowly loosened the grip of rope on her body. Suddenly he asked: “Would you like to know what happened to Nancy?”

“Nancy? Yes! Where is she?”

“She’s in Bangkok being looked after by my friend Charlie, the guy that kidnapped you for Rabbit Island. Her escape didn’t exactly go to plan, although she got further than you and Kate did. We had to buy her back from kidnappers who were holding her for ransom deep in the jungle.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Sitting in a cage and watching television with Charlie right now I would guess.”

“You’re bringing her back to Rabbit Island, right?”

Alex nodded. “To be punished.”

Jessica frowned, recalling the punishment that followed her own escape.

“You survived and so will Nancy.”

She smiled. “It’ll be good to see her again.”

“It’ll be good to see all of you together again.”

Jessica agreed. “I can’t wait!” The sarcasm she intended failed to happen.

Alex had freed her of all ropes, except that their deep impressions lingered all over her torso like exotic bondage art. Alex liked it and wanted to return to the main lounge to 'show her off'. The rope marks, not her, he clarified.

“I feel kind of undressed.”

Alex looked at her quizzically. “You are undressed!”

“I mean not being bound.”

“Are you scared?”

Jessica pondered for a second. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Scared of what you might do?”

“No sir. Scared of what I should do.”

Alex gestured to the dark expanse of the Pacific all around them. “Escape? Attack me? Jessica, it’s not chains that make you a slave. It’s your obedience and submission; and understanding that rebellion brings punishment and unhappiness, while obedience will bring rewards. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Ashamed? Those last words seemed to buzz around in the air, annoying her like a persistent mosquito. She resented the banality of the statement, and wondered why Alex said it.

He stood quiet, impassive and patient, expecting that the next word or gesture be Jessica’s.

She held her hands together, palm-to-palm, offering them to him, and looked not at his feet but directly and intently in the eyes, as if to say ‘I’m not ashamed’.

Alex picked up a rope and wrapped it around her offered wrists, using the trailing end to lead her back into the main lounge area. The rope connecting them seemed alive, charged with something powerful, confusing, and reassuring too.

In the lounge they noticed Linsey lying sideways, hogtied on the seating, her cheek resting on Ranulph Markham’s thigh. He stroked her hair idly, coiling it around his finger, but his attention was on Vince.

Karen Galtz sat on the floor at Vince’s feet. Her collar and its connecting chains to her separate wrist cuffs didn’t hinder her in the task she was diligently performing for Vince. Nor did the ballgag she wore. Whilst Markham listened and Vince talked, Karen wrote his words in shorthand in a notebook as he recounted the story of Nancy’s escape, her kidnap, and subsequent rescue by him and Alex. Markham suggested it would make a good story, and Karen as a journalist was keen to record it.

Alex sat down, and Jessica, without prompting sat on the floor between his legs, confident that obedience brings rewards.

Vince’s story was occasionally interrupted by noises elsewhere on the ship. Riccardo and Kate’s noise came from his room, while Cormack was putting Rachel through her paces on the open deck. Jessica heard their screams yet wasn’t concerned. At that moment it felt like a happy ship.

LYING IN BED

Jessica had just got into bed when Kate entered the room.

“What ya doing Jessi?” Kate asked, seeing Jessica snap the ankle restraints on herself.

Jessica smoothed the covers over her, locating the shackles at the top of the bed. “Master Alex said we had to fix ourselves to the beds before we sleep.”

Kate pouted. “Aw, that’s not fair. I wanted to have my revenge with you tomorrow morning for raping a poor little ponygirl as if you were one of Brenda’s girls.”

“I was only following orders. Besides, your high stepping was a disgrace to a ponygirl uniform. You deserved it!”

“Dyke!” Kate teased, as she went to the bathroom. After completing her hygienic essentials Kate climbed into her bed across from Jessica and grumpily fixing the cuffs on her wrists and ankles. She turned over a couple of times, exploring the extent of her movement and resigning herself that there was no escape from her self-inflicted bondage, nor any sensual pleasure while she slept. Her fingertips weren’t able to reach further down than her nose. She looked across the three-foot gap at Jessica, now similarly fixed. “Jessi, I know you’re a bondage whore who’ll do anything Master Alex tells you, but why exactly are you smiling like that?”

“I lied. He only asked me to chain myself, he didn’t mention you.”

Kate pulled on her chains. “You bitch. You crazy bitch! Just you wait, I’m gonna get a double revenge on you when I get out of this.”

By then Jessica was laughing to the point of tears, and Kate, resigned to her predicament, soon joined her.

End of chapter 23

coming soon... return to Rabbit Island, new arrivals

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