Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition (14 page)

Silo Duty

Only a hundred
yards away, inside the taller metal silo, in total darkness, the three black
clad figures struggled vainly to gain some understanding of what was happening
to them. They had been off-loaded from the Rover and carried, one at a time,
into the barn and placed on a cold cement floor of a small room outside the
silo. Once all three were squirming on the floor, seeking to loosen the hog
ties, Roger removed their individual rope bondage, replacing it with a chain
harness arrangement that left them more helpless than the hogtie.

Their ankles
were shackled together with only an inch between them. Twin chains led from the
ankle cuffs to thick steel bands locked around the very top of their thighs,
fitting snugly into the small region at the top of the leg that was somewhat
thinner than the rest of the thigh. The chains were very short and forced their
bound ankles into close contact with the back of the thighs, fully bending the
knees and putting the prisoner into a required kneeling posture. Attached to
the thigh bands were thick, locking steel cuffs that secured the prisoner’s
hands at the inside of their thighs. The cuffs were connected by a single chain
link, binding thighs and hands into a tight configuration and permitting little
contact with anything except the black Lycra cat suit as it smoothly
encapsulated the body. From the handcuffs, a single chain rose to the heavy
steel collar that locked the Lycra hood in place.

The position
enforced by this harness of steel was not necessarily painful, at least not in
the short term. Bent at the waist with their head chained forward and down to
the knees, ankles closely linked together and fastened up behind their buttocks
and their hands locked into their crotch, the three girls found that they could
do little more than wiggle and possibly roll over onto their sides. They could
not sit, stand or kneel. To finish the bondage, Roger snapped wide steel cuffs
around their arms, just above the bent elbow. These cuffs were joined by a
chain across the bent backs of the girls. Once attached, Roger turned the
turnbuckle in the center of the chain, reducing the chain length and dragging
back the arms until there was no slack movement possible. The wrist cuffs held
the arms tightly into the crotch and the elbow shackles pulled arms back and
snug against the ribs. Only toes and fingers continued to flutter helplessly.

When he finished
harnessing each, Roger grabbed a shackled ankle and dragged them, one at a
time, through the raised metal door, into the silo. Here, he secured each to
the wall with a short length of heavy steel chain connected to their collars.
The three prisoners could not see or speak. They heard very little and had no
contact with each other. They simply knew that they were now in a cold, damp
place that smelled of decomposing material of some kind. They lay on their
backs or on their sides, futilely moving their chained feet and trying without
success to find another more comfortable position. They chewed on their leather
gag pears, working their strained jaws within the constriction of the gag
harness. They pushed vainly with their tightly bound elbows and tried to get
traction on the damp floor of the silo, but struggling was quite useless. The
harness was an ingeniously restrictive device and before they left the silo,
each girl would have learned that there were probably very few things in this
world more uncomfortable than being where they were.

“You three have
a few hours to play here,” said Roger with a serious tone he reserved for
offending students. “By tomorrow morning, you should be a bit more interested
in learning and less inclined to break the rules.”

The three hummed
the same incomprehensible tune that Roger had heard so many times before.
Translated, it went something like “…please don’t leave me here. I’ll be good.
I’ll do anything you say…”

Roger was
unimpressed with the muffled pleas, although he knew quite well how the three
were already feeling, almost immobile and suffering from a myriad of
discomforts.

“You should have
thought about that before you all got into bed together and started fooling
around with the sex toys,” Roger said, laughing a bit as he headed for the silo
hatchway. He thought about how surprised the trio must have been when The Head,
making her unpredictable late night rounds, had walked in on the three engaged
in group girl sex the night before. The ever present willow switch or riding
crop, (he wasn’t sure which), had been used to thrash the three girls into
submission, then, after the dorm supervisor was summoned, locking metal gag
branks, manacles and shackles were affixed to the three weeping students as
they were stuffed into separate cages on the dorm floor for the rest of the
night. They stayed that way until Roger removed them from the cages, forced
them to don the black Lycra body suits and hog tied them into the Rover.

Now, he made
sure they were settled in the silo for the night and then went to check on
Dori. He was especially looking forward to taking her for a ride.

Meanwhile, Dori
had found two horses, put them on cross ties, bitted and bridled them and put
the saddle pads in place, adjusting Roger’s saddle correctly and making sure
the horses’ feet and legs were in good shape. She then gave each a horse’s mane
and tail a brief brushing and then went to check the tack room again, looking
for a saddle for herself. She had more or less settled on a magnificent, but
well used Hermes saddle when the tack room door opened and Roger strode in, all
smiles and grins.

“Everything
okay?” he asked.

“Super. Make
sure you check your girth, Roger. I tightened it, but you may want it
differently,” Dori said, still looking longingly at the Hermes. “Can I use this
one?” she asked hopefully.

“Ah, ‘fraid
not,” Roger said with a frown. “That belongs to The Head.”

“Oh, sorry. Then
help me pick one.”

“Right. Let’s go
into the storage area.”

“Where is that?”
Dori asked, puzzled because she had not seen any other equipment area in the
barn.

“Through there,”
Roger pointed to the side door that had a sign on it reading: “Storage area.
Off limits.” They both went to the door and Roger unlocked it with one of his
many keys, reached in and turned on the light. The small room held crates and
boxes, some of them quite large, but Dori saw no saddles.

“You sure there
are saddles in here?” she asked, puzzled.

“Well,” Roger
said laughing, first we have to get you ready to ride, presenting her with a
set of hinged handcuffs.

“Oh no,” Dori
shouted, backing away and looking crushed. “Not again. Please Roger, I am not
up for another Samson ride today. I thought we were going riding for real. You
lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie. I
promised a ride,” Roger said, calmly. “But you have to be properly prepared.
Now, hands behind your back, please.”

Grudgingly, Dori
put her gloved hands behind her back and felt Roger adjust them so that her
palms were facing outward, then closed the cuffs snugly around each wrist.
“There,” he said. “That’s a good girl. Now for a gag.”

“Ah, Roger,”
Dori whined. “Please, not again. I was thinking we’d have fun. This is not
fun.”

“It will be.
Just cooperate or I’ll have to take you over to the silo and have you join the
rest of the crew spending a night lying around in silage.”

Roger picked a
large leather plug gag off the hook behind the door and fitted it quickly and
expertly into Dori’s mouth. She had to open wide and stretch her jaws to make
it fit, but it popped in behind her front teeth and she knew that even without
the securing band, she could not get it out without help. She quietly whined
behind the full plug, staring at Roger with hateful eyes as he tightened the
wide strap behind her head and pulled it tighter, forcing the plug deeper into
her mouth.

“Okay, dear
Dori,” said Roger, guiding her towards one of the large crates. “Here’s your
ride.” He pointed to the crate and unlatched the metal fasteners on the side of
the top.

“Ummmmph.
Uooooo. Ummm noooh,” Dori shouted into the gag.

“Oh yes. You’re
going for a ride, just as I promised, sweetheart. A long one, so let’s get
moving. We’re burning daylight.”

Roger lifted off
the lid and revealed the inside of the crate. Dori tried to back away, but
Roger was already binding her booted feet with a short leather strap. Once her
ankles were strapped together, a second strap went around her legs above the
knee and another below the knee. Then another wider strap went around her
elbows and pulled them together. Roger then took a longer, thinner strap and
ran it under her right arm from the back, up and behind her neck, down and
through the left armpit and then under the elbow strap. When he pulled it
tight, the tension pulled the elbow strap up slightly. This was standard for
such restraints and assured that the elbow strap was not going to slide down
and come off. Dori moaned as he tightened the shoulder harness.

“There, that
should do for the moment,” Roger said, humming a little tune as he worked.

Dori looked into
the crate not liking what she saw. The inside was a mass of straps and soft
foam material roughly in the shape of a girl, with a wider area for the hips
and smaller sections cut out for the head and feet. At the head was some sort
of harness she couldn’t comprehend from where she stood, but it was pretty
clear that she was going to be put into the crate and the straps she could see
would hold her in there until she was released.

“Okay, Dori, now
the riding hood,” Roger chuckled as he produced an evil-looking leather hood
with a mass of straps hanging from it. Dori shook her head and tried to avoid
the inevitable capture of her chin as it was forced into the hood. Roger pulled
the front up over her forehead and then began to smooth the leather form around
her face and head, pulling the hood tighter as it encompassed more and more of
her head. Her single braid was enclosed in the small hole at the top of the
hood and the two breathing tubes were fitted perfectly into each nostril. The
hood was snug. It was tight. Once it was mostly on, Roger tugged on the sides
and made sure the nose plugs were fitted in place and the mouth plate, a
thicker pad of leather, fit correctly over the gag. There were no eyeholes and
soon Dori’s face disappeared into the darkness of the hood, soft whimpering
sounds coming from behind the double gag and mouth pad. Roger busied himself
with the lacing behind her head, pulling each set of laces tighter and then
knotting it off, as if it was permanent. To remove it, someone would have to
cut the laces. Finally, Dori stood with her head totally encapsulated in the
sealed hood, the nose hoses hanging down and the air she breathed whistling
through the tubes. The hood not only encapsulated her entire head, it also it
had solid pads over each ear to curtail hearing and a thick collar that wrapped
around her neck and was locked in the back. For Dori, it was a form of nearly
total sensory deprivation. She could breathe, but she could not see, speak or
hear. The pressure from the hood seemed to increase with the time spent in it
and although she had endured discipline helmets and hoods before, this one
seemed more extreme, more punishing.

Roger reached up
and grabbed a rope that hung from an overhead rafter and was secured with a
large metal hook to the nearby wall. He brought the hook over to Dori and
looped the end through a heavy “D” ring in the top of the hood, then took the
slack out of the rope by pulling on the other end and cleating it to the
sidewall again. Dori now stood erect in the room with her head held high by the
rope and hood. Her toes still touched the floor. Barely. She struggled a bit
but there was little slack in the straps on her arms and legs and she soon
stood still, waiting for Roger’s next humiliating move.

“I’m afraid that
you got dressed up for the wrong kind of ride, Dori,” Roger said. “This
standard outfit is coming off, so you can help me or hinder me, but when I’m
done little Miss Dori will be a stark naked statue. Want to help? Stand still
so I don’t cut you.”

Without any
hesitation, demonstrating that he’d done this many times before, Roger slowly
stripped Dori of everything but her boots. First he unsnapped the metal
fasteners at the top of each shoulder on the down vest. The vest was easily
removed without freeing Dori’s arms. With a pair of large shears used to trim
horses’ tails and manes, he cut the sleeves of her turtleneck shirt from cuff
to collar and pulled away the shirt. Then, he slid the shears under the left
shoulder strap of her white spandex bra.

“Just can’t
figure out why someone with tits like yours would wear a padded bra,
fashionable or not,” Roger said seriously, as he put his fingers inside the
lightly padded bra cup, apparently measuring the thickness of the thin
material. “You sure don’t need this stuffing. It hides your nipples except when
they are really perky. What a shame,” he added, reaching down into the cup and
squeezing the nipple hard enough that Dori jumped and squirmed in her bonds.
The shoulder harness and the way her wrists were cuffed forced her breasts out
even further than usual and Roger was obviously enjoying himself as he stripped
her. He snipped the bra shoulder straps neatly, but then waited to see if the
breasts would break free of the bra cups, enticing them a bit with a poke of
his gloved finger. When they stayed in the cups, he quickly cut the strap in
the back, not bothering with the three metal hooks that had held the garment in
place. The bra fell away, leaving the cuffs and leather shoulder harness still
in place. Roger made a game of brushing up against the tense nipples as he
worked, now and then pinching and squeezing them to see her reaction. He cut
the jeans where they joined the boot tops, then slit each leg up the side seam
to the waist, removed her belt and pulled off the ruined jeans. Dori grunted.