This story is a loose sequel to “Bridled Passion”.

The cold touch of steel to her lips sparked a new surge of excitement through Firefly. Revelling in it, she willed her mouth shut to prolong the moment — and to tease her handler. Adam just kept the bit pressed against her lips, knowing that she was playing coy and would surrender to it timely.

“Feeling feisty today?”

Firefly lifted her pony-booted right foot and brought it back down for a snappy solitary hoof sound. An obedient filly, replying to her handler instantly and in an appropriate fashion. That the answer itself defied this very action only added to their mutual game.

A behaviour such as this was of course unacceptable for a soon-to-be reformed mare of the Orchard Correctional Centre. After all, it was here that judicial and equine discipline became one. Zero-Five, as the plucky pony was officially named, shared said behaviour and far more intimate ones exclusively with Adam. Were the other ponygirls and drivers not already in the state of gathering before the stable building, her current escapades would be toned down to salacious glances past her blinkers.

Adam, bit still positioned in one hand, ran his other down Firefly’s harnessed body to deal a keen tug on her crotch strap. The wedgie that ensued pushed the well-seated tail plug even deeper up her rear. A mixture of blunt and sharp pain which immediately fragmented into pleasure of equally confusing qualities caused her to part her lips for a fervid moan, and the fiendish metal slid in with no further resistance met. Firefly even made a show out of how obedient she could be, opening as far as the pre-tightened chin strap would allow and keeping her tongue flat.

It was a bitey spade bit that settled far back in the corners of her mouth and would shift the focus of their horseplay very quickly as spunky defiance gave way to sweet submission. The common pony trick of manipulating a bit with the tongue was rendered useless by the hateful dual port pointing back and forth. Sharp-edged as those spades were, their ability to translate rein tension into pain was nothing any ponygirl could tolerate for any length of time.

To gain full advantage of this instrument, Adam deftly roller-buckled Firefly’s bridle to tightness. Shortening the chin strap made her bite the rubberised sheaths of her bit with no chance of preventing it from rotating if the reins ordained it so. Erasing non-existent play from her cheek rings pulled the steel even more firmly into her tender lips. Simply imagining the level of dominance Adam could execute over her body rigged up like this drove a groan past her oral bondage.

“Exactly my thoughts,” Adam whispered over the click of the last bridle lock.

That Firefly had been tailed before being bridled was a dead give-away of certain other thoughts her handler-turned-lover liked to entertain in her presence. To hear her breathless gasp unobstructed as the plug lodged itself in behind her anal sphincter had a downright aphrodisiac effect, she reckoned not without hard data to back it up. And more than once Firefly, bent over the tailing rack at the far wall, had sensed his struggles not to rip the freshly embedded tail out again and pounce forwards to eat her arse in the wildest way imaginable.

That memory rekindled did little to curb her own current arousal, doomed as it was due to her crotch strap acting effectively as a chastity belt. In a lewd rhythm she clenched and unclenched the muscles around her rectal intruder, and only realised with an embarrassing delay that she was doing so for quite some time. Having never experienced herself as anoerotic, it was not without astonishment that the thoughts of her final week at the Orchard revolved around this delicate topic; that she had taken to wonder in half-jest in what every-day situation it was socially acceptable to walk about with a tail arching gracefully from between her buttocks.

Adam hooked the reins to the loops at the end of the bit’s shanks. Twin spikes of pain into her tongue and palate resulted from a quick test, confirming the evil contraption to be functioning as desired. Out of reflex Firefly tried to escape its absoluteness by tilting her head back. She immediately recognised her mistake, as evading bit action was frowned upon and invited counter measures widely unpopular amongst the ponygirl community. Such as martingales.

It was with a set of those that Adam approached, and with an innocent smile thanking her for that perfect excuse. Once connected to a nipple ring by one end, the two martingale belts run up to be secured to the same respective shank loops as the reins. Needless to say that the belts’ lengths were soon carefully adjusted, thus lifting Firefly’s breasts by their piercings even if she did not angle her head back. Compensating the pull of the reins now came with a pair of stern ramifications that left her hot and bothered. At least she could dangle her head a bit in between to lessen the strain on her nipples, even if that meant compromising the panache of her posture.

Silly filly…

Adam stepped out of her limited field of vision to hitch the sulky to her harnessed waist. The lightweight cart burdened her insignificantly, but it allowed for quite a different force to be applied. Firefly’s head went up without any effort on her part, even tilted some degrees back. Bearing reins were cruel, all the more so in combination with martingales and a firm hand on the bit reins. But they did wonders to a ponygirl’s head carriage, taut as they were between the back of the bridle and two mounting points at the sulky’s frame. That cheeky rascal was mean today!

Wallowing in her helplessness, Firefly had lost track of her handler’s exact position. At least until she heard that one sound that stirred her up beyond believe. That honey-sweet chime she would recognise blind and deaf in a winter gale.

Adam resurfaced in front of her. Another smile. Now distinctively mischievous.

He did not need to present the nipple bells, nor the serrated clamps from which they were swinging. Firefly closed her eyes as the stainless rows of teeth slid over her ringed and stretched nips. Against all instincts she pushed her chest out to get more flesh between those vicious jaws, the better to share their pressure. Alas, that pony trick, too, was thwarted by her handler’s experience. Predicting her movement Adam simply let the clamps mimic it. They sunk into the nerve-rich tissues with their full might, gaining even more power from interacting with the respective piercing ring wedged between the teeth.

Firefly exhaled in fitting sharpness, yet held out. Adam adjusted the clamps to the exact point he knew marked his pony’s limit of endurance, then tightened them just a tad more to truly challenge her. Firefly felt her knees weakening, and not from the fierce pain alone. She had never been wetter in her life.

Adam double-checked her tack with special attention to her bridle, her crotch strap and the severe binder that kept her arms folded in a reverse prayer. Naturally there was all the time a buckle here and a lacing there too loose for his liking. If not knowing it better, Firefly could swear half of them did not even do anything. They did all do something, though — getting tighter, for example.

An acoustic signal, blared out by a PA system outside the stables, announced that all drivers and ponies due for morning training might assemble. Firefly felt Adam adding his weight to the sulky and shaking the reins out. A click of his tongue, and her training kicked in despite the sensory overload to which she was subjected. High-stepping in a perfectly paced walk, Firefly set the cart and herself in motion. As her horse shoes tattooed the gait’s slow beat onto the floor tiles, her plug made itself known with a vengeance. She had been dry-tailed today for no other apparent reason than titillation. A technique rightfully considered harsh, it provided an intense sensation proportional to the vigour of the pace. Yet it never failed to make the tail feel like a part of herself. No slipping, no vagueness. Just a flowing arch in sync with the rest of her body. Already worked up from getting tacked, Firefly noticed the slickness around her crotch strap becoming evident.

Another tongue click, and a soft rein-slapping to her shoulders asked for a light trot through the stable gate. Far was it from Adam to spare her the whip, as the layers of welts on her skin testified. He seldom wielded it for just pulling out of the stable building, but made sure to flick all the right spots during the subsequent drives through the woods.

Of late he had taken a shine to one of the metal-tipped buggy whips so in vogue with the drivers of certain other correctional facilities. Originally acquired for in-depth dressage and to uphold discipline in troublesome mares, the whips had since been adapted by vanguard handlers for everyday stints. The damage those could do the unprotected flesh of a ponygirl, especially when stretched tight for castigation along a whipping post, was well documented.

Just anticipating such a weapon to lay waste to her hide at any moment kept every exposed part of Firefly’s skin tingling in fearful lust. She trusted Adam, would even ask him one day to draw her a scar with it where others might choose needle and ink to eternalise their love.

Between those thoughts, her tail’s presence and the maddening chimes of her bells Firefly was at acute risk of having her wetness running down her inner thighs and into her hoof boots. The bit agitated the right, then the left corner of her mouth to make her discover her place amongst her fellow fillies — some of which shared similar levels of tack, yet none of them the prospect of making forbidden love with their handlers on hidden glades.

That dreadful spade bit in her mouth brought her to a stop, demanding unconditional submission. With all slack gone from the intricate belt work, an overstimulated Firefly was all too willing to render just that. Her nips were glowing by now, agonizingly clamped around rings which transferred an unyielding strain towards the shanks.

As she waited for today’s training to commence, downright longing for that initial lick of the whip that would set her free, Firefly could not start to fathom how any girl would not want to be a pony.

The End