Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition (13 page)

Karen had other
ideas. She consulted with her pals and used the intervening minutes to elicit
suggestions from her friends, some of whom had apparently suffered the cat on
other occasions. She took some slow practice swings, using one or more of her
instructor buddies, who were fully clothed, as test targets to improve her
swing, get a better aim at the targets, improve the impact and alter her
stance.

The buzzer
sounded and Karen took up a new position on Marcy’s left, delivering a sweeping
backhand stroke with the cat. The impact was heard and it was not like the
first one. All nine of the knotted tails sailed in unison through the warm air
and into the twin mound targets. The knotted ends reached around to strike brutally
at the outside of the right breast. The center of the tails struck across the
right nipple, marking it above, across the very center of the stiffened nipple
and below. The narrow, more compacted end of the tails, the part nearer to the
base where they met the attached handle, struck across the left nipple in
unison. Marcy jerked away from the blow, a second later giving a low howl from
behind the gag plug. As the cat pulled away from her seared flesh, a few bits
of skin actually came away with it and a second later the whipped girl began a
horrified twitching and shaking, her body whipping between its pinioned wrists
and feet, the beaten tits swinging up and down, from side to side, the head
jammed back with ponytail fluttering in the air. Whines and suppressed screams
came through the gag plug and flooded the room. Her chained tongue twitched,
her fingers fluttered, her head nodded frantically back and forth, swinging her
ponytail around her harnessed head. This display continued until the buzzer sounded
again and a happy Karen struck once again, this time stranding slightly more in
front of the victim, striking with a short, downward blow that equally covered
the tops and front of both targets. Marcy’s swinging action and muffled shouts
of pain continued as her breasts exhibited a delayed blossom of welts and
streaks of blood. While the cat’s blows caused more or less superficial wounds,
the impact carried the effect much deeper. Small streams of blood were soon
running down the hanging girl’s nude body, intermingled with sweat, saliva and
tears.

By the sixth
blow, Marcy was no longer yelling. Only soft moans came from behind the gag and
harness. She hung limp in the chains, her feet dragging on the floor. Her chest
was a mess of welts and shallow, seeping wounds. At this point, Karen, after
getting permission from the supervising instructor, (The Head had left after
delivery of the first two strikes), took a long, thin, braided leather tie and
fastened it to the base of Marcy’s ponytail. She then pulled the girl’s limp
head back, stretching the long thin leather strand down her back, through her
buttocks, between her bound legs, through her vaginal slit and up her belly,
then, holding it tight, wrapping it twice around Marcy’s tiny waist and tying
it off slightly below the navel. As she pulled the leather tight, she whispered
into Marcy’s right ear. “You haven’t felt a thing yet, Honey. Later, as I get
tired, I may get off target a bit, so prepare yourself for the next six!”

Then next six
were worse than anything Marcy had imagined or witnessed in the past.

When Karen
whispered about being “a bit off target” she understated what followed. As the
clock buzzer sounded for the seventh blow, Karen took a running charge towards
the hanging girl and swung the cat wildly with all of her strength as she
stopped short at Marcy’s side. The nine tails literally whistled through the
air and impacted not on Marcy’s chest, but across her tightly clenched
buttocks. The tails came away leaving long red streaks from hip to hip. “Oops,”
said Karen as she caught her breath and the number seven card went up on the
wall. “I got carried away. Sorry,” said Karen to her gathered audience of
students and staff. She sat down and drank from her water bottle as the clock
ticked off the minutes until the next stroke of the cat.

Marcy hung
limply from her chain. She made only tiny sounds behind the rubber plug gaga
and bit. Her tears had dried and her eyes were closed as she realized that she
faced another five strokes and more than an hour remaining in this position.

The next blow
was more or less on target, but Karen calculated her swing enough to assure
that three or four of the tails landed well below the beaten breast of her
target, nicely marking Marcy’s flat stomach with broad horizontal welts and
even crossing the lower apex where her bound thighs met her sex. Marcy’s
response was again nominal. She was now at the point in the beating where the
victim becomes more or less passive and just waits for it to end, enduring each
blow without much reaction, too exhausted to complain or resist. But Karen was
still plotting and following her original strategy that she had not confided in
anyone. The eighth stroke was carried out with a fine charade of Karen
apparently stumbling as she delivered the wide, powerful swing. The tails seem
to falter and landed mostly on Marcy’s stomach and hips.

The ninth stroke
was clearly calculated and impacted the hanging girl’s bare back, with strong
impressions being made by most of the tails on the area from shoulder to
shoulder.

Stroke number
ten was a surprise hit again on the breast and elicited a shudder and jerking
motion from the bound girl, then silence.

Number eleven
came slightly before the clock buzzer sounded, so that Marcy had not
anticipated the blow and went spasmodically wild for a moment after the impact
on the back of her bound thighs.

“Really,
Walker,” the Supervisory Mistress called loudly from her observation chair.
“That’s quite enough. Make sure your last strike is where it is supposed to be
or I’ll recommend that you and Marcy switch places for another twelve.”

“Yes, ma’am,”
said Karen contritely and she sat down to await the last buzzer. She sweated
heavily and her shirt and breeches were darkly stained with her own salty
perspiration as well as randomly marked with blood and sweat from her victim.
When the buzzer sounded, Karen arose, the cat hanging loosely at her side, and
walked to Marcy, who of course, could not see her because of the forced
position with her face turned towards the ceiling and her ponytail bindings
keeping her that way.

“You will
remember this one, bitch,” Karen said, loud enough for all to hear. And then,
standing within inches of the target and without hesitation, she brought the
cat up in a full overhead roundhouse swing and lashed the hanging breasts
violently. The full spread of the tails landed squarely across both nipples and
along the rib cage on Marcy’s left side. Behind the gag harness, Marcy screamed
a final scream and then collapsed in her chains, hanging limp from her bandaged
wrists. Karen dropped the cat and walked out of the chamber. Grooms and
instructors stepped forward and set about releasing Marcy from her bondage. The
entourage of students and staff wandered off for evening tea, exchanging estimates
of how long it would take Marcy to recover from the thorough beating she had
just received and debating Walker’s technique.

Now, in the
basement below the Head’s office, Marcy waited for the inevitable. She didn’t
know what she had done, but assumed that Boswick or Wright’s spy network had
spilled the beans, so to speak, about the little fiefdom she was running at the
hog farm.
Well,
she thought.
It had to end sometime.

Suddenly, she
heard a soft noise.
Someone was
coming down the stairs, slowly, carefully. Marcy held her breath.

A
Different Kind of Ride

Dori
was bored.
Summer was passing too quickly and she had hoped that sooner or later all of
this training would at least result in some real horseback riding, but thus far
it had not happened. The semester was almost half over and she was still
getting beaten, screwed by mechanical horses and machines and treated like a
criminal prisoner. Yes, she had to admit that she had learned a great deal
about herself, about sex and about other women and men, but that was not why
she had come to summer school and the present routine was getting a bit
monotonous. So, it was with this complaint in mind that she was surprised when
Roger the handsome young groom sat next to her at the lunch table one day and
asked her if she was interested is going for a ride that afternoon.

“Riding?” Dori
asked, wrinkling up her forehead and gulping down a mouthful of milk. “You’re
kidding, right? I’ve had enough of Samson, thanks.”

“No. I have some
time this afternoon and thought you’d like to join me.”

“Yeah, sure,”
Dori said sarcastically. “Which mechanical monster is free today?”

“If you want to
go, be outside the dorm at the front entrance at three,” Roger said. “If you’re
not there, I’ll leave without you. Oh, and it’s a C uniform. “C” for Casual.”

“Okay,” Dori
responded without much enthusiasm. She had a ballet class that she’d have to
skip, but if Roger was telling the truth, it would be worth it, just to get out
and really ride for a change.

Three o’clock
found her at the dorm entrance in the prescribed “casual” uniform, which was
simply basic boots, jeans, a turtleneck sweater and down vest, hard hat and
gloves. She was a bit surprised when Roger drove up in one of the long bed
Range Rovers and motioned her to get in. At first she thought he was alone in
the vehicle, but as she climbed into the shotgun seat, she noticed that there
were three others in the back. There was no back seat, but the three, (whom
Dori knew were students), were lying on the floor on their stomachs, hog tied,
hooded with heavy harness gags and blindfolds. All three girls wore only a one
piece black Lycra body suit, a single glove over their arms and hands and a
wide leather belt. It was clear that under the suits they wore no underwear. Dori
studied the three wiggling bound bodies for a moment and looked questioningly
at Roger, who had already put the Rover in gear and was driving towards the
forest.

“What’s with
them?” Dori asked, moving her eyes towards the three in the back.

“Part of my
job,” Roger answered with a grin. “You get to take a ride. They get…well, they
get the usual at barn number four.”

“Barn four?”
Dori asked. “Never heard of it.”

“You have now.
We’ll be there in a few minutes. Sit tight and enjoy the tour. Wright says you
are entitled to, as she put it, “a change of venue”, so you must be doing
something right.”

Dori relaxed
slightly. If The Head authorized this trip, she would be less likely to get
hell for skipping ballet class. Maybe, just maybe, this would work out okay.

Barn Four was a
really old, weathered structure in a part of the school grounds that Dori had
never seen. Two cylindrical silos, one half the height of the other, painted
with a silvery coating, were the only distinguishing characteristics. The
buildings were surrounded by the usual three rails and wire fence and Roger
stopped the truck and asked Dori to open a gate, then they drove up to one door
in the barn, shut off the ignition and got out of the truck.

“What about
them?” Dori asked, wondering about the three bound figures grunting and
groaning in the back. The trio had their heads pulled strictly back by thin
leather cords connected from the “D” ring at the top of their gag harness to
their bound, bootless ankles. More cords held their legs together at above and
below the knee and their elbows were secured with wide straps held in place
with a shoulder harness. Despite a great deal of humming and whining from the
gagged mouths and a lot of jiggling and shaking, the three were not going
anywhere, Dori thought.

“You’ll see.
Pretty much the usual discipline for late night infractions. One of the seniors
caught them having a three way in one bed up in the dorm. Punishment is no big
deal. Nothing you haven’t already experienced yourself, I think,” said Roger,
as he unlocked the steel door and reached inside to turn on the lights. “In you
go,” he added.

Dori knew from
the smell that the barn contained real horses. Once the lights came on and she
was inside, she felt as if she were in a whole new world. The barn was modern
in every way, clean enough to eat off the floor and climate controlled for
temperature and humidity. She was still thinking about the girls in the Rover.

“Were the three
in the dorm?” she asked out of curiosity, since as far as she knew, being
unbound while in bed was a thing she seldom experienced.

“Yeah, well they
are in a different program, I think,” was Roger’s intentionally vague answer.
They both stood just inside the barn door.

“Well, what do
you think?” Roger asked, leaning against the nearest stall door.

“Beautiful,”
Dori said, obviously impressed. The barn was magnificent by any standards.
Everything shone. Varnished wood, polished chrome and brass hardware,
immaculate floors and ceilings and beautiful wood fixtures. No cobwebs, no stray
straw or hay. Not even a barn cat in evidence.

“Wow,” added
Dori.

“Okay. Here’s
the deal,” said Roger. “I have to get our three little misbehaving passengers
set up in silo comfort for the next twenty four hours or so. You, my dear, will
get the mounts organized and I’ll be back in about 30 minutes, maybe longer.”

“I, I don’t know
enough about this place to do that,” said Dori. “Where are the horses? What do
you want me to do?”

“You’ll figure
it out, Dori. Our mounts are in stalls four and six. The tack room is down and
on the left. Full bridles for both. My saddle is on stand number six. I’ll help
you pick one out for you when I get back,” he said, smiling his infectious
smile. “Put the horses on cross ties down there and if you get done, a little grooming
won’t hurt…the horses, not you. You look peachy. See you in less than an hour.”

“Peachy,” Dori
asked, squinting a bit in the bright overhead lights. “Peachy?”

“Yeah,” said
Roger, patting her gently on the ass. “Your butt looks like a fresh peach…if you
know what I mean.”

“Okay, I get it.
But these are school jeans, not mine and they do sort of slice the butt in
half, if that’s what you’re talking about. I could stand them less tight,
that’s for sure.”

“They fit fine,
Love. No worries.” Roger was on his way out the door. He stopped for a second
and said: “After all, you won’t be wearing them all that long,” and he walked
out the door.

“Where are you
going?” Dori shouted after him, ignoring the last comment.

“I have to take
our little black clad friends over to the silo for a visit. They have some
things to do over there and I think they’ll be busy all night.” Roger, laughed
again, turned, unlocked the door and left. Dori heard the truck door slam and
the engine start, and then the Rover was gone and she was left in this
marvelous barn with, well, at least a few real horses, she thought.