The Mayor's Daughter: Draft Pony Read online

  “Yes, I understand,” she answered softly, crossing her legs and adjusting the hem of the short skirt as the camera lens bared down on her.

  “I want you to move around a lot, too,” he continued. “Lean forward when you should be getting really excited about something. Play with your hair. Cross and re-cross your legs.”

  “O-okay,” she whispered as she saw the red light of the camera come on.

  “Good, say hello to the camera, give a little wave, and tell me that your name is Sierra,” he began.

  “Hi everyone.” She smiled as best she could, and gave the camera a little wave. “I’m Sierra.”

  “Wonderful, Princess.” His smile matched hers. “Now tell everyone that you’re a little nervous about what you’re getting into, but that you’re excited to get started.”

  “Well, I’m a little nervous,” she spoke, letting her smile falter a little, and then return, “but I’m so excited to be here. I barely slept a wink last night.”

  “Nice touch, Princess, and ironically true. If you keep that up, I’ll make tonight a very special night for you. Now, tell everyone that you decided to do this after you had so very much fun for your birthday party.”

  “I guess that I decided to do this after my birthday party. It was just… just… so amazing that I had to come back for more.” She struggled for a moment to force the words out, the memory of the birthday torture still fresh in her mind, quickly improvising to try and salvage the moment. “I mean, it just totally blew my mind.”

  “Now, I want you to have a little fun with this one, Princess. But first, when you were a little girl, did you ever play cowboys and Indians or Cops and Robbers with any of the neighbor kids or your relatives?”

  “Well yeah, sure, we played cops and robbers some times.”

  “Who did you play with?”

  “My cousins, when they would come to visit.”

  “And were you ever the robber?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did they ever arrest you? Tie you up?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, it was a long time ago.”

  “Okay, Princess,” he spoke softly, obviously thinking carefully of what he wanted to say. “Now, I want you to tell me how you used to let them tie you up, how it made you feel strange things that you didn’t really understand, but that you knew felt good. I want you to talk as if you’re answering a question about when you first came to know that you liked being tied up.”

  “But why? What’s the point of all this?”

  “Just think about your answer, and then begin when you’re ready, Princess.”

  Jessica uncrossed her legs slowly, keeping her thighs pressed together and running her fingers through her hair for a moment as she tried to figure out exactly what she would say. It felt dirty, somehow, talking about her childhood family experiences like this, and connecting them to this horrible place, but she wanted to prolong this relative freedom as long as she could. Though still a prisoner, locked to the chair, the freedom of her arms and legs made her want to cry out with relief.

  “Wow, when did I first know?” she began, locking her gaze on the camera lens as she bent forward in the seat, hands on her knees.

  She paused for a moment, trying to appear that she was lost in thought, cocking her head slightly before smiling again and then leaning back in the seat and crossing her legs and then hugging herself.

  “I guess that I knew, on some level, back when I was about eleven, and my cousins would come to visit,” she continued slowly, trying to make it seem natural. “They were one and two years younger than me, and they always wanted to play cops and robbers. Somehow, I was always the robber, and I’d let them arrest me and put me in jail. It made me feel strange. I didn’t really understand what was going on, but I knew that I liked it.”

  “Excellent, Princess,” he beamed with enthusiasm. “Now, I want you to tell me about how disappointed you were the time that you tried to run away and the plastic handcuffs on your ankles broke.”

  She just looked at him for a moment, at first confused because no such event had ever occurred to her, and then realizing that he was talking about some event from his own past. She shuddered at the thought of who the real girl was who had worn the plastic cuffs in his childhood. Did she know about how he had fixated on that moment? Was that why he had become a police officer? She realized that he was staring at her expectantly.

  “I remember this one time…,” she began slowly, trying to let the story build, to give the sick bastard what he wanted and get to dinner. “It was the last time that I ever played cops and robbers with them. They had put these silly plastic handcuffs on my hands, and on my feet. They had me in jail, which was really just the closet, but they left the door a little ajar.”

  As she spoke, she sat upright in the chair, uncrossing her legs and bringing her booted feet together on the floor, her hands balled into fists, resting on her bare thighs as she looked down at them as if she was lost in thought. She paused for a moment in silence as if she were playing out the memory in her mind. When she looked up, she saw that her captor was staring back at her with a wild look in his eyes. She could tell that he was hanging on her every word, so she tried to play it up a bit more, feeling as though she had somehow found a weakness in his seemingly impenetrable hide.

  “So, I tried to make a break for it,” she continued, looking back into the camera. “I wanted to see what it would feel like to shuffle along in the cuffs. I think that I was looking forward to being recaptured, too, and to seeing what they might do to me then. Only, when I got up to run, the cuffs broke after my first couple steps.”

  “And how did that make you feel?” her captor asked, seemingly mesmerized by her fabrication.

  “I was crushed… crestfallen,” she answered. “The moment was ruined. My cousins were mad at me for breaking their toys. We never played again.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that sort of disappointment here, Sierra,” his words were a firm promise. “You won’t break free here.”

  “No,” she swallowed, smiling nervously. “I am sure that I won’t.”

  Her answer seemed to break the spell, and he paused for a moment, adjusting the settings on the video-camera. He locked eyes with her again.

  “So, now we’re at the end, Princess,” he spoke softly. “I want you to explain to the camera that you’re surrendering yourself to this dungeon for one year, and that you understand that there will be no turning back once it begins. Tell the camera that you understand that there will be no safeword, and that there will be no mercy. Tell me that you want me to turn you into a ponygirl.”

  “Please, why does it have to be that horrible pony stuff?” Jessica pleaded, pouting as best she could, trying to cling to that weakness she had seen in him earlier. “I’ll do whatever you want. You can… you can… you can keep me in the handcuffs, but why make me do those other things?”

  “Princess, you’ve been very good,” he warned. “Please don’t spoil it.”

  “I understand that I am giving myself over for a year, and that once it starts, there is no turning back,” she spoke fearfully, trying to seem nervous, but not to expose the terror that gripped her. “I want… I want you to make me a… a ponygirl. I don’t want a safeword, and I don’t want or expect mercy. Once you begin, I know that the end only comes one way. But, you should know one thing.”

  “And what’s that, Princess?” he asked, raising a brow.

  “You better hope I don’t break the cuffs this time,” she spoke icily, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

  “Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head about that, Princess.” He laughed as he turned off the camera and walked back to her, twirling a pair of the hated cuffs on his index finger. “How about that dinner now?”

  Chapter Nine

  Dinner Date

  Jessica walked across the room with her captor, boot soles scuffing on the concrete floor, his grip firm on her arm. She was weary to the bone, and
her wrists ached as she tugged unconsciously at their tight cuffs, but she couldn’t help but feel good about the promise of food to come. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation of the meal. She couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d last eaten. She worried about the events of the last hour or so, and the use to which he would put the videotape, but what else could she have done? If she had resisted, it would only have led to more pain and torture. Better to play his game, follow his sick rules, and hope for an opening.

  “You’re not allergic to anything specific, are you?” he asked her as they approached a heavy wooden table with two matching chairs next to each other on one side. “I’d have asked your father before picking you up, but it would have just made him suspicious.”

  “No, I’m not,” she answered, looking up at him as they walked, meeting his eyes to look for any sign of deception. “And what do you mean, suspicious?”

  “Well, your dear old dad no doubt assumed that I would be killing you, not kidnapping you, Princess.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, to call him a liar and rage against his cruel lies, but then closed it quickly without a word. There was no point in angering him, she realized, trying to let the anger she felt wash away. Arriving at the table, he stood her in front of one of the chairs and she immediately tried to pull away from him. Her heart sank as she saw that it was fitted with a number of thick leather straps, but that was the least of the problems she had with the chair. In the center of its seat, she saw a long wooden protrusion, slightly curved and standing upright as it waited for her.

  “No, please,” she whimpered softly as he held tight to her arm.

  “Princess, be a good girl,” he responded softly.

  “But why? Please, can’t I just eat in peace?” she asked, her lower lip beginning to quiver.

  “You need to get used to the idea of having your holes filled whenever I please, little one,” he answered, his eyes narrowing. “If you keep fighting me, I’ll shove it up that tight ass of yours instead.”

  Resigning herself as she struggled to sniff back her sobs, she let him lower her down toward the waiting shaft. She gasped as she felt it make contact with the lips of her pussy. His fingers came into play, then, lightly opening the blossom of her sex and guiding the wooden prong inside her. She grasped at the back of the chair behind her with her bound hands as it filled her, wincing as she came to rest on the seat with its uncomfortable sense of fullness. Jessica pressed her booted feet into the floor to try and rest as little as possible against the thick intruder in her pussy.

  Reaching behind her again, he locked the ring on the back of the belt in place as it had been for the interview. On the table in front of her, she saw an empty plate and a wine glass. On each side of the plate, a silver cuff rested, attached to the heavy table by a short chain.

  “You said… You said that, if I was good… that if I cooperated with you…” Jessica’s voice was cut off by a choking sob as he began to spread her right thigh wide, toward the arm of the chair and a waiting leather strap. She came to rest more firmly on the wooden prong, feeling it press deeper inside her as the support of her foot was taken away. “Please, I’ll be good… you don’t need all this.”

  “I know I don’t need it, Princess,” he chuckled softly as he buckled the strap around her thigh, just above the knee. “If you’d prefer, though, we could get you back into your pony gear and let you eat from the trough again.”

  “No, please no,” she sobbed, tears welling in her eyes as he spread and strapped the other thigh, the short skirt riding up to bunch around her waist as her legs were spread wide and forced to remain there. The spread of her legs shifted the position of the wooden dildo inside her pussy again, letting it press harder into her.

  “Then just focus on the moment, as I’ve told you,” he whispered in her ear as he reached behind her to release the cuffs from her wrists, “and remember that it could always be a lot worse than it is right now.”

  Biting her trembling lower lip, she brought her freed hands around in front of her, rubbing her sore wrists for a moment, and then struggling with the skirt. He stood behind her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder as she arranged the skirt as best she could with her legs spread. Without looking up, she could feel his eyes on her, drinking in the sight of her.

  “I’m going to go get dinner.” He ruffled her hair. “When I get back, your hands should be in those cuffs next to the plate. If they’re not, you don’t eat.”

  Jessica listened to him walk away, and then turned to see him step into one of the walled off areas of the mill. With her captor out of sight, her hands immediately went to the belt behind her back. She struggled with the lock, and the hasp of the belt itself, but neither would budge. Squirming in the seat, she tried to slip the belt and skirt down over her hips, but it was definitely too tight to move. Her mind cried out in frustration; so close to freedom, but kept from escape by just the belt. Giving up on escape for now, she turned her attention to the cuffs on the table.

  “Fucking bastard,” Jessica hissed as she held the cool cuff in her hand, contemplating putting it on her wrist.

  It was a meaningless addition, really, her mind told her. Escape was no more impossible cuffed to the table than her current condition, but she hated the thought of adding to her confinement. But then, if she didn’t do it, she didn’t eat, and she felt confident he would carry through on that promise. Swallowing her revulsion, she closed the first cuff in place on her left wrist. Playing out the length of the chain, she discovered that she could not reach her mouth. She began to lean forward and then stopped abruptly as the chair’s cruel prong pressed hard into the inside of her pussy from the motion. Moaning softly, she reached across the plate and closed the other cuff on her right wrist. Looking down over her body, breasts rising and falling gently beneath the camouflage top, she tugged at the straps on her thighs. Her booted feet swayed in the air, unable to reach the ground.

  A few moments later, Jessica heard her captor returning, and then smelled the food that he brought with him. Her stomach grumbled at the delicious scents. He set the new plate down on top of the bare one, and she was reminded of the times that her father brought her to some of the nicer restaurants in town. The food looked delicious; a small steak drizzled with some kind of sauce, roasted spears of asparagus, and candied carrots. Everything was cut into small pieces, and he placed only a fork resting next to the plate.

  “Dig in, Princess.” He told her, sitting down next to her in the other chair, and beginning to open a bottle of wine. “I know you’re famished.”

  Jessica forced herself to eat slowly, afraid that eating too quickly might make her sick after the long period of hunger. With each bite, she brought the chain to the table taut, trying to keep her need to bend forward to a minimum. She held tight to the very end of the fork as she maneuvered the food between her lips. Still, the wooden stake in her pussy was a constant irritant. She also wanted to extend the dinner as long as possible, and avoid whatever less pleasant scenario awaited her next. The food tasted as good as it looked and smelled, and she chewed each bite slowly, luxuriating in the texture and flavor. It was awkward eating in the cuffs, and she struggled to keep the chains from dragging into the food, bending forward toward the table with each bite.

  “Drink up, Princess.” He poured her glass full of a ruby-colored liquid with one hand, and she tensed as his other hand moved to the inside of her thigh, caressing it gently.

  Trying to ignore the casual groping of her thigh, and the way his hand began to wander down toward the place between her legs, she picked up the wine glass and took a careful sip. The drink was strong, its rich warmth seeming to coat her throat and fill up her nostrils with scents of blackberry and oak.

  “Is that wine?” she asked, taking another sip, trying to divert his wandering hand.

  “It’s port, actually, which is a kind of wine,” he answered, his hand moving to the outside of her hip and up to her bare waist, fingers playing along the
bottom edge of her top. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s not like any wine I’ve had before,” she spoke quickly, a flutter running through her belly as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of the shirt. “It’s fruitier. I like it.”

  “I’m glad. You can have as much as you like.” The palm of his hand was now flat against her stomach, slowly sliding upwards under the material of the tank top. “What do you usually drink at those parties that made your father so upset, Princess?”

  “W-wine coolers mostly,” she stuttered, placing the empty wine glass down on the table as his hand moved up toward her breasts.

  Jessica whined softly as his hand cupped her bare left breast beneath the shirt. She jerked her hands in their cuffs reflexively, but he kept her pressed back against the chair so she couldn’t reach. She felt him begin to play with her nipple between his thumb and index finger.

  “Have I told you how perfect a body you have, Princess?” He leaned in close, his voice nearly a whisper. “Do you have any idea how much self control I’ve had to exercise so far?”

  “P-please… please don’t do this…,” she sobbed, yanking at the cuffs in helpless frustration as he lightly twisted her nipple.

  “Just eat, baby.” He smiled warmly, still cupping her breast in his hand, but not pressing back any more. “I’m just enjoying myself.”

  Sniffing back tears as his hand continued to fondle her breast, she turned her attention back to the food, trying to focus on it but unable to ignore his roaming hand. When he re-filled the wine glass, she took it gratefully and drank it quickly. Exhausted and humiliated, she yearned for the blessed release that she normally avoided when she drank. As she ate and drank, he continued to explore her body with his fingers. His hand was everywhere; on her face, on her hips, in her hair, on her legs and then between them. She jerked against the leather straps as his finger glided lightly along the lips of her pussy and to the base of the prong that filled her.