Ponygirl's BDSM Training

The tack room of the private training stable smelled of leather oil and warm hay, the aisle lit low over packed dirt. Annika, twenty-eight, already wore her own pony harness from the morning drills, hoof boots planted and tail quiet, while she watched the novice who had booked the ring. Tamara was twenty-four, naked but for the collar Franklin had locked on at the door, and the consent form she had signed lay on the bench beside the new gear. She had requested ponygirl transformation in plain words: bit, hooves, tail, cart work, and hard use by both trainers, with an experienced pony there to correct her form. Franklin, thirty-two, read the last line again and set the paper down. Silas, thirty-eight, his assistant and second trainer, shook out the breast harness.

“Hands behind your back,” Annika said. Her voice had the clipped authority of a pony who had earned every strap on her own ribs. Tamara obeyed at once, shoulders back, tits lifted, cunt already shining. Franklin fitted the harness under and around her breasts, buckles snug, leather cool on flushed skin, until the straps framed her nipples and held them out. Silas knelt and worked her feet into the hoof boots, lacing each one tight so her ankles locked into that high line that turned a step into a prance.

“Bit,” Annika said.

Franklin held the gag where Tamara could see the thick rubber-wrapped bit and the bright rings. “You still want this in your mouth?”

“Yes,” she said, breathless. “Please. I want to be your pony. I asked for all of it.”

He slid the bit between her teeth. She closed on it and moaned when the straps cinched behind her head. Spit gathered at the corners of her mouth at once. Silas checked the cheek pieces while Annika circled, tugging a rein ring square, pinching a loose waist strap until it sat where a hand would find it. Then Franklin coated the medium tail plug, the size Tamara had circled herself, and pressed the slick bulb to her asshole. Tamara bent without being told, back arched, presenting, eager. The plug stretched her open and seated with a wet pop. Horsehair brushed the backs of her knees. A string of arousal swung from her pussy and snapped on the dirt.

Silas ran gloved hands over every band, collar, chest, waist, and thighs, tugging and adjusting. Franklin tested the bit rings and the lead clip. Annika slapped the new tail once, light and exact, and watched Tamara jolt and drip harder onto her hoof boots. “Head up,” Annika said. “She’s wet enough to lunge.”

Annika took the lunge line herself. She had already shown the high-step in the aisle, knee driven up, hoof boot striking, back straight, tits proud under leather, and now she clipped the line to Tamara’s bit rings and walked her into the training ring. “Match me,” she said around her own bit, the words thick but clear. Franklin stood at the center with a dressage whip across his boot. Silas kept to the rail, watching the novice’s harness and the way her new tail twitched.

Tamara tried. The first circuit was clumsy, boots scuffing, tail swinging wild. Each exaggerated stride shoved the plug deeper and twisted it, and the sensation climbed her spine until her thighs shook and her cunt smeared her legs. Annika corrected with a sharp tug. “Higher. Head up. You are not a girl in costume. You are a pony, and ponies prance.” Franklin’s whip tapped the inside of Tamara’s thigh, a placement more than a punishment. “Knee. Again.” She lifted. The plug dragged. A broken sound leaked around the bit, wet and grateful.

On the second pass Silas stepped in close and cupped one harnessed breast, thumb rolling the nipple while he checked the strap. “These need to bounce clean,” he said, and he pinched until she whined through the rubber. “Pretty little pony tits. Keep them presented.” They sent her around again. Sweat shone on her ribs. The tail was dark at the root from how hard she clenched when the plug shifted. Franklin stopped her with a hand on the rein. “Posture goes soft on the turn. Again.” He set her shoulders, pressed the small of her back until her ass tipped the way he wanted, and sent her on.

Silas caught both breasts on the next lap, squeezing them through the leather, rolling the nipples until they stood stiff. Tamara’s knees nearly buckled from how good the plug felt when she high-stepped into his hands. Annika did not let her fold. Another tug, another circuit, hoof boots striking closer to rhythm. Franklin cropped the air beside her flank so she heard the whistle and corrected before leather landed. By the fourth lap she was dripping in a steady line, spit soaking the bit, eyes bright and already deep in it.

Annika halted her in front of the two men. Tamara pushed her muzzle into Franklin’s palm, and the words came out mangled, wet, and clear. “Harder,” she begged through the bit. “Stricter. Use me. Please crop me, hitch me, fuck your pony. I want all of it. I want you mean. I asked for this. Don’t hold back.” Franklin looked at Annika. She nodded once. “She asked. Give the pony what she begged for.”

They hitched her between the cart shafts in the yard, traces buckling to the rings at her hips, reins shortened so her head stayed proud. Franklin loaded the cart until the traces drew taut across her ass. “Pull,” he said. Tamara leaned into the harness and stepped. The hoof boots made every stride costly. The plug rocked with the work. Annika walked at her flank with a crop and laid the first stripe when Tamara’s knee dropped. The crack was clean. Tamara yelped around the bit and lifted, pulling harder, cunt clenching so the tail plug shifted and made her sob.

“Again,” Annika said, and cropped the other flank, then the swell of her ass, while Franklin called the pace. Silas jogged beside the shafts, palms sliding over Tamara’s bouncing tits, squeezing and slapping them so they stung and swung. “Good pony. Pull. Show us that ass work.” Tamara hauled the cart the length of the yard and back, high-stepping because the crop demanded it, whimpering every time the plug punched deeper. When Franklin called halt, her thighs were slick to the knees, the welts pink and neat, and she shook in the traces like a pony worked exactly as hard as she had begged to be worked.

They left her in harness, bit, hooves, and tail. Franklin bent the sweating ponygirl over the mounting block, chest down, ass up, hoof boots planted wide. Annika took the reins and held Tamara’s head at the proper angle, neck arched. “Stay in your pony posture. You get fucked like this or you don’t get fucked.” Tamara nodded frantically, pushing her soaked pussy back as Franklin freed his cock. He was thick, already hard from watching her pull, and he dragged the head through her slick folds, teasing, while she whined and tried to impale herself.

“Greedy pony,” Franklin said, and drove into her cunt in one hard stroke. Tamara screamed around the bit, the sound breaking into a mangled neigh that Annika rewarded with a firm hand in her hair. He fucked her standing, hard doggy over the block, hips slamming, balls smacking her clit, the tail plug jolting in her ass with every thrust. Wet sounds filled the yard. Her tits swung in the harness. Silas stepped to her head, cock out, and tapped it against her spit-slick cheek. “Open wider around that bit. You’re getting your throat used too.”

Tamara opened as far as the bit allowed, tongue out under the rubber, and Silas fed his cock past the bit into her mouth and toward her throat. She gagged and took him, eyes rolling, sucking what she could while spit poured down her chin. Franklin did not slow. He pounded her pussy in long mean strokes, one hand on the harness, the other smacking her welted ass. Annika kept the reins taut. “Whinny.” Tamara tried, the sound vibrating around Silas’s cock. “Louder. Ponies don’t get to be quiet when they’re being bred.” She whinnied, sloppy and loud, and Silas groaned and fucked her throat harder, ruthless with the depth.

They rotated before either man finished. Franklin pulled out of her sopping cunt, a gush following his cock, and worked the tail plug free. Tamara’s asshole fluttered open, pink and ready. Silas left her throat shining and lined up at her pussy. “Ass for me,” Franklin said, slicking himself in her juice. “Cunt for Silas. You stay in posture and you whinny when we tell you.” “Please,” she sobbed around the bit. “Both. Fuck your pony’s holes. I want it so bad.”

Silas shoved into her cunt while Franklin pressed into her ass, and the stretch of both cocks tore a raw, delighted wail out of her. They found a rhythm, one driving in while the other drew back, then both burying deep so she was split and shaking on the block. Sweat ran into the welts and stung, and she loved the sting, pushing back onto both cocks like she had been built for the hitch and the breed. Annika stood at her head, crop on Tamara’s shoulder, reins tight, forcing the arch to stay perfect. “Head up. Back straight. Stick that ass out and take your trainers. Whinny.” Tamara whinnied, high and broken, and the sound cracked into a moan when Franklin sank to the root in her ass and Silas ground against her clit from inside her pussy. “Again.” She did it louder, spit flying.

The two cocks worked her without mercy, Franklin’s thicker length owning her ass, Silas’s driving her cunt so full she could feel them rub through the thin wall inside her. Every thrust knocked a wet slap out of her body. Annika cropped her shoulder when the arch slipped and praised nothing, only demanded the neigh again, and Tamara gave it, ruined and shining, a pony in the middle of being bred by both trainers at once.

Franklin fucked her ass in short brutal strokes while Silas hammered her cunt and pinched a harnessed nipple until she sobbed. “Come on our cocks, pony,” Franklin growled. “Milk us.” Annika snapped the reins. “Whinny and come. Now.” Tamara broke. Her pussy clamped on Silas, her ass fluttered around Franklin, and she whinnied through the orgasm, thighs quaking, cunt gushing down Silas’s cock. The clench dragged both men over. Franklin buried in her ass and came in thick pulses, flooding her. Silas slammed deep in her cunt and unloaded, hot and heavy, grinding while she kept whinnying because Annika had not given her permission to stop.

Franklin and Silas pulled out and left her bent over the block, ass and cunt both drooling cum, harness soaked. They unbuckled the breast straps, the thigh bands, and the hoof boots, and worked the bit from her aching jaw while she stayed presented, shaking, still open. Cum leaked down her thighs in thick strings and pattered on the dirt between the discarded hoof boots. Silas wiped his cock on her tit before the last strap came off, and she chased it with her tongue, hungry, not finished. Annika tossed the tail plug onto the tack bench and slapped the welted ass once, proprietary, not soothing. Her holes clenched on nothing, greedy, still fluttering from the double load. Franklin pushed two fingers into her sloppy cunt, stirred the load Silas had left, and made her lick them clean. “You pulled, you pranced, and you took both cocks without dropping your form,” he said. “Next session we hitch you heavier and breed this pony longer.” Tamara laughed, wrecked, and reached back to spread herself. “Book it,” she said. “I want my trainers’ cocks stuffing my cunt and my ass until I’m drooling out of both like the filthy pony I am.”