Summer School & After School: The Ponygirl Omnibus Edition (20 page)

      
The
ass fucking went on longer than the previous rape of her cunt and Lucy almost
gratefully found that she was again lubricating the entire area between her
spread legs. The tight, agonizing penetration of her ass was now a slippery in
and out action. This constant battering began to take its sensual toll as the
Bishop gained his second or third wind, shouting the phrases of the ancient
exorcism rite loudly as he continued his quest to get his huge dick all the way
up into Lucy’s ass and seemingly driving it until it was in her screaming
throat.

      
In
time, it ended. The Bishop finally shuddered in orgasm and Lucy,
accommodatingly, came as well, although not for the first time in this session.
The ass reaming brought her to a body-wringing climax twice before the last,
gargantuan efforts of the fat Bishop subsided and they sang a sort of final
operatic duet of orgasm before he pulled out and sat unceremoniously on the
stone floor, breathing heavily and swearing to himself.

      
“God
damn, God damn, that was fine. So good in fact that contrary to my custom, I am
not going to leave you with my famous miter brand on your belly, just above
your luscious cunt.” The Bishop gathered his meager wardrobe while he babbled
on. “No cunt that fine should be soiled with fire. You did a superb job, my
dear. Superb. Now I must hurry and get the fuck out of here before Mother
Bolia
comes thundering down here and demands another
donation.”

      
Seeming
about to turn away and head for the door, the Bishop ran his hands lightly over
her sweat and cum-stained ass one last time. Suddenly, he impulsively seized
the handle of one of the irons in the brazier and brought its hot, glowing end
firmly against the skin of Lucy’s left buttock. She screamed a new scream;
blood-curdling, ear shattering, filling the chamber with her pain, surprise and
horror as the Bishop held the iron in full contact for several seconds, then
dropped it on the floor. The hot iron made a hollow, ringing sound as it fell,
but that sound was lost in the continuing high warble of Lucy’s screaming.
Gathering his cloak around his gross body and not looking back at the smoking
impression of a Bishop’s Miter, well centered on the left buttock of his
screaming victim, he prepared to leave the chamber.

      
“You
promised,” moaned Lucy, as the Bishop started through the door. “You promised.”

      
“I
promised nothing,” he grunted, stopping and half turning around in the smoky
room. “What I said was that contrary to my custom, I was not going to leave you
with my famous miter brand over your cunt. The one you now have is much larger
than my customary one and it’s on your lovely ass, so enjoy it, my dear. Enjoy
it. God bless you and I do hope we get to fuck again. Next time, perhaps on the
rack?” The Bishop turned again and exited the chamber, leaving the door open.

      
Lucy
prayed, begging for the pain to stop or for someone to help her. In a few
moments, Sister Angel appeared, as if summoned by the girl’s pain racked cries.
But Angel only reinserted the gag, jammed the old and cold
dildoes
back into their original holes and fastened the harness even tighter than
before. Then she busied her silent self with a set of chains that she hooked
into Lucy’s nipple rings and connected to a wall ring. She drew the chains
tight until they pulled the girl’s breasts away from her chest wall, stretching
the nipples mercilessly and forcing Lucy to try unsuccessfully to move closer
to the wall to lessen the tension. Lucy moaned into the gag as Sister Angel put
the leg spreader bar back in place, adding a few more inches to the length.
Lucy’s feet no longer touched the floor. Sister Angel appraised her work,
tweaked a tightly stretched nipple and left the chamber.
      
Lucy moaned and prayed for relief, but
none came. The fire in the brazier died down and the room grew cold. Lucy hung
there, the sweat and semen running down the inside of her legs and drying into
crusty ridges, waiting for something to happen and wondering what the Hell she
had done in her life to bring her here. Being kidnapped, tortured, raped and
endlessly abused for months on three continents and then, as a grand finale,
being branded by this psychopath was the ultimate humiliation. None of this was
what she had expected. She knew that being naturally, although secretly,
submissive and willing to be constantly abused by others, she had never
imagined that as a bottom she would undergo such torment. In her mind, she had
always thought that
doms
and subs were on earth to
enjoy each other, not to constantly bring pain and anxiety to the subs. These
thoughts, coupled with not even being able to have a decent orgasm unless some
maniac was reaming her ass while she was helplessly chained to the ceiling just
didn’t seem right.

She dozed.

      
The
next morning, when the guards entered the cold chamber, they discovered that
the Red Bishop was gone. They removed the exhausted Lucy, applied some soothing
ointment to the brand and to her damaged wrists, then took her to her cell,
with a pit stop for personal hygiene on the way. They locked a collar around
her neck, cuffed her hands behind her back and inserted a new gag without a
bit. Then they left. Lucy went immediately to sleep.

      
She
dreamed of the night before, waking from time to time to see if it was real and
lamenting that this school, (if that’s what it was), was certainly a lot different
from the one in Vermont. It was something of an epiphany for her. She realized
that the big difference here was that there was no pretense of having inmates
experience the psychological nuances of equestrian skills. While offering
torment and sexual abuse such as she had just experienced, Lucy already knew
that
Valania
was dedicated to the odd and demented
joint objectives of constant torment while bringing each inmate to the pinnacle
of pony skills in each of the designated areas of discipline. The twisted
curriculum was set for completing training in the key areas of pony skills,
enhanced by brutal reinforcement. Until the inmates mastered all of the skills,
the abuse continued. The study plan included the following:

Equitation
- learning, by getting subtle
incentives from the whip, the basic strides: walk, trot, canter, gallop

Carting
- perfecting,
through negative reinforcement punctuated by the occasional flogging,
impalement or both, one’s skills at pulling two wheeled carts with one occupant

Coaching
- with spells
of hard labor, learning to operate as a member of two, three, four and six pony
coach teams.

Showing
- Demonstrating
all required pony skills in the ring with performance with and without a lunge
line.

Assimilation
of “Special Skills”
- Which amounted, much to the Sisters’ annoyance, to the ability to satisfy the
donors and special visitors, mostly male clergy, who frequented the Cloister
for meditation and counseling with various students.

The latter
course of instruction was Mother
Bolia’s
specialty.
She joined the order at the age of 23 after five terrible years as a forced
prostitute in a Rome brothel supposedly run as a home for wayward girls. The
High Roller society in and around the city also knew it as a great place to get
anything you wanted in the way of sexual favors.

More than sixty
terrible months of enforced sexual activities with anyone who had the money to
pay for it convinced
Bolia
, (not her real name, of
course), that the cloistered life of a nun was infinitely preferable to that of
the city whore. Therefore, when one special customer, a young priest who was
serving in some minor capacity in the Vatican, asked her if she’d like to move
on into something more ecumenical and out of the city,
Bolia
enthusiastically murmured an affirmative grunt while orally massaging his dick.
The priest moved quickly, getting approval for his plan shortly after he
brought his superior to the house and they shared
Bolia’s
talented body for an entire night. The next morning, she left the house in a
large luxury car with tinted windows and a Papal emblem on the registration
plates, each of her hands immediately engaged in the crotch of the two priests,
gratefully rewarding the men for freeing her from the Roman whorehouse.

Thus, it was
with this professional skill set that
Bolia
moved
into the cloister and in due time, became the Mother Superior.

Lucy, the pony
girl, was as adaptive as the next inmate was, but she just didn’t seem to
accept the mental training provided by Angel, Mother
Bolia
and other sisters. Part of this was because all training was done by
illustration, not by verbal communications, which of course, made learning a
bit more difficult, but also compensated for the language barriers among
students and Sisters. Since there was no spoken language, they learned by
demonstration, reward and punishment. These techniques worked better on some
students than on others. Lucy was among those who did not learn well by this
method. As a result, she received punishment almost continuously. The whipping
posts in the courtyard and cellars became a standard fixture in her life and
she visited these almost daily, often dragged to the old wooden posts and bound
there for even a minor infraction.

These posts,
which dated back for centuries, were cut from massive hardwood trees deep in
some European forest and specifically designed for their intended function.
Nearly ten feet high, the posts were at least two feet thick and buried
immovably deep in the cloister’s rocky ground. At specific intervals from its
foot to the top, each post had one inch round holes bored through, some from
front to back and others from side to side. In addition, also at useful
locations, iron rings attached to deep screw eyes were set into the hard wood.
Innocent in appearance, the punishment posts populated the courtyards and
interior rooms of the cloister. According to lore of the order, there were
exactly one hundred and three of these massive posts on the premises. In
addition, according to the same myths, at times in the history of the Cloister,
all one hundred and three of them had been populated by offenders of some rule
or law of the VSR. The concerted wails and painful cries of this multitude of
post-bound sufferers had resulted in the code of silence and restraint that the
order adopted. Anyone bound to the post was thus silenced in the extreme.

Sister Angel was
a proponent of post discipline. She strongly demonstrated her preferences for
disciplinary and training sessions with her subject tightly bound to the post.
Therefore, it was quite normal that she worked hard to find the position that
got the most response from the stringently bound Lucy. She often subjected the
girl to a forward-facing regimen, which involved forcing Lucy to climb a short
ladder that leaned against the post and turn around, placing her naked back
against the post. Lucy’s arms went around the post and Angel pulled her wrists
back and tied them together, then tied them to the highest ring at the top rear
of the post. Angel had several techniques for this kind of punishment, but at
this point, she decided to incorporate a seldom-used feature. From an
iron-bound trunk in the courtyard, Angel removed a thick piece of old and
stained hardwood, about the same size and thickness as a woman’s forearm, with
one end narrowed and two holes drilled through it, at about midway, about two
inches apart. Also from the trunk, she removed a large, carved wooden plug in
the shape of an inverted mushroom and another slightly longer wooden replica of
a penis. It was no accident that the bases of these two objects fit neatly into
the two holes in the larger piece of wood. While Lucy watched in horrified
fascination, Angel assembled the device, then laboriously eased herself up the
ladder and drove the narrow end of the arm-shaped wooden branch into a hole in
the post directly below Lucy’s spread thighs. With signs, Angel instructed Lucy
to step off the ladder and align her pussy and butt hole with the twin
projections on the arm.

      
Shaking
her head and weeping openly, the girl refused to move.

Angel,
gesticulating with more insistence, finally reached up and pulled one of Lucy’s
feet from its precarious hold on the ladder rung. The girl’s body slumped
downward, supported by only one leg and her pinioned arms, catching the
projecting arm and its double
dildoes
between her
thighs. She screamed behind the gag, but could not avoid wiggling and straining
to allow first one and then the other prong to find its painful way into the
tightly clenched openings between her legs. To aid this blind maneuvering,
Angel pulled Lucy’s other foot from the ladder and then yanked the ladder away,
leaving Lucy no foothold and bringing her down onto the narrow perch with both
hard dongs entirely enveloped by her cunt and asshole and her feet flailing the
air, seeking some sort of additional support beyond her agonized, bisected
pelvis.

Always ready to
assist, Angel repositioned the ladder behind Lucy and climbed up to wind more
course rope around Lucy’s narrow waist, pinning her to the post. Next, she
pulled the impaled girl’s thin ankles individually up behind her and tied them
to a single ring at the back of the post, at roughly the same height as her
waist. Then she again removed the ladder, no longer having any need for it.
This left Lucy hanging with her hands pulled up high on either side of the wide
post; her straining legs spread apart and folded back, her split crotch soundly
centered on the wooden perch and all of the desirable areas of her lush body
exposed to Sister Angel’s further whims.