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Ponygirl and Beast of Burden

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I absolutely love ponygirl pics. I think there is something so degrading and so controlling about a sexy naked girl in practically impossible to walk in boots (ballet boots or purpose made pony hooves) high stepping (lifting her knees straight up as high as they go).

A big fantasy of mine (and a theme I repeat a lot in art I get commissioned) is the girl(s) is bondaged to a pony exercise circle ring or a treadmill with no hope of release; getting sweaty and exhausted with their massive tits bouncing everywhere. The stuff that goes through a girl's mind when she is worked to exhausted with lots of handicaps is a huge turn on for me - she is forced to exercise relentlessly for hours on end but knows there is no hope of escape, moaning as her trainer crops her ass and tells her to double the pace. You know what a really hard gym session is like? Imagine an immensely punishing one that doesn’t end!

I think a lot of my ponygirl addiction came from EmmaS, particularly this picture of her training the too unfortunate sisters on a ponygirl ring. It's a picture thats inspired me to do many commissioned artworks and even stories with sisters being kidnapped and trained.
Matching Ponygirl teams are always great. Those with overly large breasts are better. Very big tits have that cross of human attractiveness and farm animal anatomy. I have to admit, there's also something with the idea of having Ponygirls with massive breasts that are set aside from the regular human world because they're registered working livestock instead, probably a frustration to both the Pony and onlookers that want their way with them as humans. Having women forced-exercise and developing their muscles is also a turn-on for me.

BTW if you haven't found it yet, there's also a Pony themed thread in the fantasy forum. Equine Elegance


Assistant executioner
This is from Ian Smith's novel Pony Girl in which slavery is openly practiced in Sanxta, an isolated town in an otherwise uninhabited area of a Persian Gulf state. Jane, a curvy young English girl who has been forced into slavery, has been leased out by her masters back in England for 6 weeks pony duty in Sanxta. She's kept naked as she labors as a human taxi pulling a cart around the city. Her riders are free to use the whip on her and they of course do, sparing neither her back, ass, legs thighs or breasts, and there's the occasional lash between her legs too. In this segment of the novel, Jane and her fellow slaves must compete in nude pony girl races before a stadium full of spectators.

You will be doing two races, both of them a full circuit and a half, so you start at the starting post, go all the way around the track, past the starting post again and on to the finishing line, he said. Your drivers will direct you. Now go to the stable boys and get harnessed.

The girls all obeyed, although none of them looked happy about it. Jane read rebellion in Jennifer’s eyes, but then the aristocrat, or ex-aristocrat as she should now be called, fingered her welted bottom and thought better of it. All of them had learned that same lesson at some time. Jane did not want to do this, in fact she very rarely wanted to do any of the things that were demanded of her; but she knew only too well that refusal would bring terrible consequences, after which that same obedience would once more be demanded of her. Whatever her feelings, she had no choice. Ever.

There were eight or nine stable boys, looking keen to get their hands on the voluptuous girls. One of them snapped his fingers imperiously at Jane. Immediately she went over to him. It was not wise to disobey, doubtless none of the others would be any better. She had quite forgotten what it was like to be treated with gentlemanly courtesy, and she was unlikely to find out again in a hurry.

He was a young Arab. He looked down a list he held, and asked her casually, what’s your name, pony?

Boobs, master. She hated being at the mercy of a youngster, and having to call herself by that awful name.

But again, she had no option. She could be punished even for neglecting to call him master!

Hmm, Boobs, let’s see, he muttered, running a grimy finger down the list. Oh yeah, here we are. Number sixty-two. Stay there a moment.

He joined most of the other stable boys hunting around a pile of number plates and came back with two grey metal plates bearing what was apparently her number. They were slotted in either side of the cart. Almost instinctively, Jane stepped forwards and stood in front of the cart, turning her back to it.

Why do they call you Boobs? he asked conversationally as he began to fix a collar around her neck.

Jane coloured. It was bad enough just being here, nude, being harnessed. Have to talk to him made her feel worse, and about such topics made it worse still. He was quite possibly aware of the embarrassment he was causing her, but either didn’t care and why should he or was actually enjoying. But once again she did not dare decline. My breasts, master, she managed.

He paused in his task to look them over. Yes, you’re quite nicely endowed, aren’t you? And they look nice enough. He reached out a hand and touched, then stroked, then squeezed. Then he moved his hand back and gave her a slap on her right breast. He wasn’t gentle, and it hurt, but naturally she knew better than to complain. She kept her response down to a slight wince.

Yes, I’ve gotta admit they’re pretty good. Nice shape, and quite firm. He went back to fixing her collar.

Again, she did not dare not respond, hideous though the conversation was. Thank you, master, she said quietly.

He took a strap from the side of her collar and passed it over the top of her head, then fixed it to the collar on the other side. How long have you been a slave, pony?

Nearly two years, master. It seemed like two centuries!

Enjoy it? Another strap was going behind her head, at right angles to the one over the crown.

No, master. As if any other answer was likely.

No? Still I’m sure your masters and their friends enjoy you.

I suppose so, master. What a cruel world it could be!

Well, that’s the main thing, isn’t it? Open wide.

Jane obediently opened her mouth wide to take the hated bit. It slipped between her sensuous lips, and as he secured it to the straps around her head she clamped down on it with her even white teeth. Two-way conversation was no longer possible; the bit did bring that blessing.

A wide, black leather strap was passed over her stomach, leaving both breasts and her black hairy triangle fully exposed. It had obviously already been used today, because it was wet with cold sweat. He did the straps up behind her back, where they were much thinner. Another strap came down from the collar to the waist band. He now produced a crotch strap, with three front securing straps and a rear one. However, Janes attention was more caught up with the very small soft dildo on the inside. It would not fill her, but she would certainly feel it! How could she race with that inside her?

He followed her stare. You like your tickler? Well, to be honest I ain’t sure you’re supposed to have one for this race. You’re a novice, aren’t you? She nodded. Ye boss, he called out rather louder; are we fitting this lot with ticklers? No? Sorry, pony. He unscrewed the dildo and disconnected it, to her relief. Still, he said, just so you remember what it’s like.

A couple of rough fingers found her entranceway, and one pushed unceremoniously inside. Not expecting it, Jane squealed a little, although because of the bit it came out as guggummmphfff. She also staggered backwards for a moment before regaining her balance. Then she had to just stand there as he poked around for a few moments. Fortunately, he couldn’t spare too long. His fingers went away and the crotch strap replaced them. Her pubic hair spilled out around the sides; it was thin enough, and designed as such, to ensure that nothing was hidden.

He motioned her to step backwards a little, and duck under the raised front horizontal bar of the cart. This was to be a pushing race. She reached out to grasp the bar, conscious for the fact that she was sweating under her armpits as much from tension as from the considerable heat. She watched him handcuff her wrists to the bar, then move behind her to attach straps from her waist band to the cart, and reins from her head straps, the other end of which he put in the seat of the cart. She was now ready for her driver, bent over at the waist at an angle of about forty degrees. He adjusted the straps so that she couldn’t straighten herself even if she wasn’t holding the bar, then gave her a meaty slap on her bum.

Have a nice race, pony, he said, and walked off.

All she could do was wait.

Pony Girl 001.jpg
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