Bridled Passion – Fetish – StoryVa.com – Free Sex Story

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A free sex story by StoryVa.com

Ten minutes into light canter the camp had hidden behind the wooded slope of the nearest hill. Keeping the reins in one hand, Adam gestured to the remaining two sulkies. After filing out of the Orchard Correctional Centre the ten teams of drivers and ponygirls had by and by dispersed to train in their individual speed. His colleagues signalled back over the threefold rhythm of hoof beat and bell chime. They kept following the main path as Adam had his pony sway left onto the smaller track before the solitary ash tree. The pressure of the bit to the left corner of her mouth acted as command, as gentle as compelling. Necessary it wasn’t, though, not with this mare. OCC schedule required the handlers to rotate within their respective group to become conversant with each pony’s quirks and needs for exercise. Thus it was only every tenth day that Adam could tack up Number Zero-Five, a time span that had grown almost unbearably long over the last several weeks. The Orchard did not name its stock beyond a number, but Adam had felt to do so with this one.

Under Firefly’s high-stepped trot the track meandered north, and soon the sunlight became sputtered with the shades of the first branches. After a few dozen of paces along the treeline the trail curved into the forest for good. Blinkered and not blindfolded as she was, the pony could follow it on her own, but as the undergrowth reached out to the wheels of the sulky, her driver worked the reins to constantly fine-tune her direction. Up a gentle raise with a narrow brook gurgling down moss-green boulders he finally slowed her down to a prancing walk. Not that the ponygirl was in any danger to lose her footing. It was the cosy clearing ahead, oak to oak all around, that he wished not to pass. Neither did Firefly. With a final pull Adam reined her to a halt in the middle of the glade. The pony surrendered to the tilting curb bit against her palate, yet the indignant toss of her head would have got her a pair of bearing reins with any other handler.

“A tad skittish today, aren’t we?” he teased whilst climbing out of the sulky.

Ponies didn’t talk, but the look shot at him sharply past her left blinker alloyed irritation, longing and a state of urgency into one. He disconnected her harness from the hitching bars and took the reins short to lead her across the glade. However, it was arguable who was leading whom. This spot with the fallen tree trunk near the brook had been their refuge during secret afternoons in the past, and her presence here did nothing to calm the pony. Adam liked how Firefly continued to high-step, yet enjoyed it by her side without comment. Little else transported the image of absolute obedience, of total devotion to the equine ideal than the keen rises of a ponygirl’s knees.

She pressed herself against the sun-warm, weather-dry bark. With her hands secured in a high reverse prayer between her shoulder blades Zero-Five trusted her handler in aiding her in her attempt to lean over the trunk. She became light on her hoof boots as her leather-protected midriff took a good portion of her weight. Her breasts remained spared by the dead tree’s girth, bells swinging sweet and Free on her nipple rings. A sound she had learnt to hate when put through her paces, then to Love when it had been Adam who had made her pace.

The smell of fresh sweat and rivetted leather enwrapped him. Beneath those scents a third, quite different one lingered, betraying to Adam what had already been known to him of Firefly’s state. Her bent-over pose granted access to her layered crotch strap. Alas, only the independent rear portion with its retainer ring to hold her tail opened to him. Ponies didn’t come, of that the chastity tack would make sure. Its keys were well-guarded and their use meticulously documented.

The tail plug, although Free now of its fixture, remained seated deep within Zero-Five’s rectum. Adam took hold of the base plate and exerted a steady pull. Zero-Five struggled to relax, but only slowly her sphincter loosened its grip around the stem. As it finally did so fully, she moaned under the sensation of her muscles widening to the bulbous shape, then snapping back once the tapered object was expelled. For now Zero-Five’s tail with its lavishly arched chestnut strands found its resting place on a stone, leaving a slightly swollen and slightly open orifice behind. Adam smoothed his hand along the belts and shingles of her harness, felt the Hot flesh quivering underneath until he reached her waist to steady her for the inevitable act to follow.

Lubrication had been sparse to begin with, as sloppy tail carriage was frowned upon at the Orchard. Quickly Adam guided himself between her whip-crossed buttocks lest the closing of her ring and the vigour of their shared desire lead to undue pain. Still the initial penetration drew a gasp from Firefly in its swiftness. After a moment of adaption he entered her further, and in a rate at which discomfort would not swing over to hurt yet progress wouldn’t be hampered by unmeant daintiness.

In the spirit of this he paused but briefly once fully sheathed, then retreated against the incredible heat and tightness engulfing his manhood. Had Firefly remained stoic during most of the instroke, jaws clenched around her bit, the ponygirl now became vocal through a variety of groans and huffs. As to maintain the original breach, Adam refrained from pulling out completely, instead repeated his advance more forcefully this time. Instantly he was welcomed by strong bucking and the arousing sensation of involuntary rectal contractions — tell-tale sign that the haughty pony before him asked to be broken in. Adam’s right hand took hold of the reins again. They worked wonders at steering her through woods and boulder fields, and they would control her just nicely during a sound buggering. Firefly tilted her head back to counteract his pull, but could do so only for so far an angle. With her neck fully bent the pony had to submit eventually to the cruel curb bit whose twin ports were harrowing tongue and palate alike. But clinging to titillating defiance, she rose with her back hollowed to compensate the strain. Adam, experienced handler that he was, would have none of this. Leaning into her, his Free hand searched and found her left breast and the ring in its tip. Each pony, no matter the length of her stay, was to be ringed as a means to provide anchorage points. For an additional lead to the septum. For those adorable bells. For the nipple chain, fiendishly designed to work along ways the reins could not. Ensuring a good grip at the implement, Adam contorted Firefly over the trunk more severely than ever to plant his thrusts to utmost depths. Trapped between the reins’ demands and the intensity of the chain hold, the ponygirl finally offered herself to be tamed in this most depraved fashion. The handler increased his pace to the equality of a full gallop, and the maddening bells of a mare ridden hard out-chimed the whispers of breezed foliage and the murmur of the brook.

The grass, damp in the oak shades, was a blessing to Fiona’s heated body. Lying on her side, freed from bit and bridle, she recovered from the futile, yet delightful insemination of her bowels. Although not being able to reach Orgasm through Anal stimulation, the intercourse and the heavy petting that had accompanied it had taken care of the worst. After seven weeks of daily tail regime Fiona had lost her bodily resistance and her reservation against the dark arts of sodomy.

“We have to go back soon,” Adam stated into the silence of the glade.

He was sitting close to her, back against the fallen tree. That the trunk hadn’t disintegrated into splinters under their latest performance was astonishing. Fiona wouldn’t be able to trot in a straight line for several days.

“How soon?” she cooed, looking at him from eyes the colour of the sea without moving her head.

“Soon-ish.”

With a lazy finger he traced the welts on her shaped bottom and thighs, some of which laid on by him. Again she flashed her eyes.

“You were mean today.”

“Behave, and you won’t get whipped.”

“If I behaved, it would look suspicious!”

“If I did not stripe your bum, it, too, would look suspicious.”

Fiona scowled in played anger, then her humour left her with a moan.

“That redhead bitch will be driving me again tomorrow. Can you please hint to her that she does not use enough lube?”

“You mean you are especially sore after a stint with me? I’m flattered.”

“Just tell her I’m not used to having big things up my arse.”

“And you are still wondering why you keep getting the whip?”

All jokes aside, the OCC was rather light on the corporal factors of ponification, as far as turning young female delinquents into temporary beasts of burden went. Adam had started his career as a handler at another site, actually the one that used to be the first of its kind. Things had been far tougher for the girls sent there to be reformed, and still were. Gruelling by design, each stint under the buggy whip left the ponygirls panting near collapse. Mouthing off to handlers was a flogging offence, so was literally anything that could be considered instigation. The OCC wasn’t meant to play in that league. The peculiar concept of correcting wayward girls through the hardships of ponydom had caught on and been expanded to deal with lower forms of misdemeanour as well. Although being reasonably easy on Fiona, Adam did not shield her from every little ordeal.

“Listen!”

In alarm she pressed herself up onto one rolled-back shoulder, her bells joyful as ever. The sound, sweet and treacherous, made her freeze in the motion and kept her balancing awkwardly. Adam had contented himself with checking the circulation and had not freed her arms from their demanding bondage position. The hard beat of hoofs in canter reached the glade from the south-east, yet faded again without ever carrying the lighter chime of a pony in proximity.

“That’s from the stretch along the bluff,” Adam relaxed after some intense moments.

“The track where you have tested that sexy new whip on me the other day?”

“You remembered? How sweet!” He chose to ignore her attitude. “That has most likely been Zero-Two. She must have met the main path back to the Orchard by now.”

The glade was well-chosen, but failed to protect the rogue ponygirl and her conspiring handler from anxiety once their carnal hunger had been sated. At all costs their escapades had to remain a secret. Not only could Fiona’s one and a half months served so far be invalidated; indiscretions of this most spicy kind opened doors to all sorts of accusations ranging from bribery to abuse of power.

“We better get ready, too, if we don’t want to rush.”

Adam reached over to fetch her plug. He re-tailed her whilst she remained lying on her side with her knees pulled up, the easier to slip the rubber bulb back whither it belonged. Despite his care the ripple of a wince ran through Fiona. More lightly than before, yet sensually all the same, she gasped through lips swollen from the bit. Stifling a smile, he remembered her on her first day all those weeks ago with guilty glee. Up to the last moment Fiona had truly believed the tails to be attached to the back of the harness. It had been Adam’s task to disabuse her of this notion, and with due gentleness. Not having been pierced in this fashion ever before, the baulking pony hadn’t held back her consternation.

“Easy now, Firefly,” Adam teased in reference to their first encounter.

Not only was Fiona far more experienced by now, she also loathed her secret pony name.

“Just enjoy it whilst it lasts,” she snorted.

Adam caressed the curvatures of her body.

“I intend so. Maybe you could come back. Trespass into another haunted asylum.”

Exploring the abandoned complex had earned her the eight weeks under bit and bridle.

“It was a sanatorium, and it wasn’t haunted.”

“Right. Just patrolled.”

She gave him that look again that had got her into trouble with quite a number of his fellow handlers. She wasn’t curbed for no reason.

“It had a nice lakeside grove, you know?”

Although part of their banter on the surface, Fiona’s reply wasn’t totally whimsical. Keeping their future trysts clandestine was a necessity. Keeping them far from the OCC was a given. Nothing was close to the Orchard but trees and sky.

“I did peg you as the outdoor type. Surely you will miss something?”

“My boots. They are Hot.”

It was not the most obvious choice. The knee-high hoof boots forced her onto the very tips of her toes until her calf and insteps burnt with strain. Their eponymous resin hoofs, reinforced with real horse shoes, made high-stepping murderous on her thighs. But before all the demanding footwear rendered her a full cubit taller. Long in the legs by nature, Fiona saw in her shadow the semblance of a mythical sylvan creature.

“What about this one?”

He tugged at her tail. Fiona gave a short burst of laugh.

“No-ho!”

“So you don’t like having something up your sweet bum?”

“I haven’t said that…”

His fingers played across each rib in their travel to her breasts.

“Will you keep your rings?”

“Will you keep your whip?”

His index finger hooked into her nipple chain.

“Why, will I need it?”

Following the slight yet constant pull Fiona rose gracefully onto her beloved pony boots without her arms for balance. She did so by adopting a kneeling pose as waypoint, every move as elegant as it was docile. A performance meant just for him.

With her standing up, it was easier for Adam to refit the secondary crotch strap. Buckling it drove the tail’s internal portion even deeper into her rear, as the anticipated moan confirmed. Earlier jaunts had left Fiona a tad bridle-sore, so her headgear was far less welcomed. Straps moulded to the female flesh soon crossed her face, carrying the blinkers as well as the bit. A heinous device with the sole purpose of inflicting pain, yet lacking all sensuality of the whip, its erotic appeal was recognised by Adam to a far greater extent than it was by Fiona. She flinched as the knurled metal came to rest against the tender corners of her mouth.

“Don’t be such a filly.”

As Adam kept pulling the neck strap through its roller buckle, the complicated curb bit pushed into her mouth without clemency, its rear port aiming at the entrance to her throat. Only with lips dragged back to her molars it had finally found an acceptable position. Adam buckled the neck strap for good and fiddled with some of its lesser counterparts. Then, to Fiona’s utmost if expected dismay, he tightened her chin strap down to trap her lower jaw in a futile bite on the bit’s swivelling rubber-coated tubes which protected the teeth but allowed the mouthpiece to work unhindered.

Bereft of any and all means to evade the dreaded curb bit’s action, a freshly bridled ponygirl was hitched to her sulky. Her handler took a few last seconds to wipe pieces of rough oak bark off her front, then swung himself into the cart. A crisp lick from his buggy whip to the firmness of her right buttock set Firefly into motion.

Light from a sinking sun saturated the main path back to the camp. Here, out of the forest’s constriction, Adam encouraged his ponygirl to fall into a stretched gallop by ample use of that sexy new whip. The sexy old whip had long since found its way into his private collection, waiting and eager to be used on a pony no longer under the yoke of the Orchard.

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