The Mayor's Daughter: Draft Pony Read online

  “It’s a rough life for a draft pony, Princess,” he continued after pausing to let her wide eyes take in the full spectrum of the room. “Would you like to be one?”

  Jessica quickly stomped her foot twice, using the support of her captor’s arm around her shoulder.

  “I didn’t think so,” he chuckled, turning her and leading her toward the other stable opening. “It’s a hard life, bound so tight all night, and working hard all day.”

  The next opening revealed a starkly different room that the first. It was painted in a pale pink, and the floor was carpeted. In one corner, there was some kind of mattress piled with soft pillows. In place of troughs, there was a low table, on which an empty plate and bowl rested. She thought she felt her bladder spasm, yearning for release, at the sight of a white porcelain toilet in the corner. Tellingly, though, she saw a pink leather collar sitting on the bed-pillows, attached to the wall next to it with a long chain. While this room lacked much of the horror of the previous stall, she recognized that she would find no true freedom here.

  “Some ponies, special ones, get to be show ponies.” He drew her in closer, rubbing her upper arm as he spoke. “It takes hard work to be worthy, but those who are chosen live much better lives than the draft ponies. Instead of hard labor, they practice their showmanship, and their beautiful bodies are pampered in their off hours. If you work hard and practice your high-stepping, you might just get to be a show pony, princess. Would you like that?”

  Trembling with rage at the way he talked about her future, Jessica brought her foot down once hard, paused for only a moment, and then brought it down again. If she could have spoken, she’d have told the sick bastard exactly what he could do with his little pony fantasy-world, but she had to settle for this other form of defiance, turning down both of his offers. She felt his grip tighten on her arm, and then he turned her roughly to face him, his eyes cold slits behind the mask.

  “Then draft pony it is, princess,” he hissed angrily. “You don’t get to take the test today, which means you’ll be working for the rest of the day, and spending your night at the post.”

  Jessica cried out with clenched teeth as he turned her and hurried her across the room, stumbling with the short chain between her ankles, to one of the large wooden cogs she had seen set in the floor when she first arrived. Closer to it now, she could see a ponderous stone wheel set beneath it, and that the arms of the cog had been outfitted with rings and straps.

  “Tonight, after you’ve spent the rest of the day turning this wheel, you can ask yourself if it was worth it,” he hissed as he turned her back to one of the spokes of the cog. “When your limbs are so sore you can’t stand, and then when I beat you until you pass out in pain, you can decide whether or not you’d like to try to qualify for the show pony life. Maybe, I’ll give you another chance tomorrow.”

  Jessica breathed hard through her nose, a flutter running through her belly at his words, and as she felt him attach leather straps to the midpoints of her bare thighs. As he moved up her body, attaching more straps from the cog to rings on her hips, back, and then to the back of her head harness, she leaned forward against them, using them to help balance in the hoof-boots. When the rest of the straps were attached, she felt him remove the cuffs from her ankles. She tried to relax, to save what was left of her meager stores of energy for the trial that no doubt was before her. Her captor stepped into her view, holding the cattle-prod again.

  “The cog that you’re attached to doesn’t move without your help, princess,” he spoke, his voice icy, as he worked, attaching the handle of the prod, its point gratefully facing away from her, to a metal arm that also projected from the center of her cog. “This arm, however, moves independently of what you do.”

  “Hhuck Hyou,” Jessica groaned with clenched teeth, the bit in her mouth robbing her curse of most of its impact.

  “Maybe later, beautiful.” He winked at her as he finished attaching the prod in place. “The arm is set to move in the same direction as you, and at a speed which I consider quite reasonable.”

  He pressed a button on the arm and stepped back to watch as the prod began to move slowly forward, away from the bound girl’s trembling body. Breathing deep, trying to gather her strength, Jessica leaned further into the straps that held her.

  “If you work steady, and at a reasonable pace, you won’t even know that the prod is there.” He returned to her side and gave her ass a hard swat. “If you stop, however, or work too slowly, it will catch up with you. I think you remember what that feels like.”

  Laughing, he pinched her ass hard, and she squealed into the gag. She watched as the prod slowly moved away from her, knowing that before long it would circle around and reach her from behind unless she got moving. Bracing herself, she pressed forward with her legs, straining to get the cog in motion, but it remained immobile. Panting through her nose, biting down hard on the metallic bit, she thrust herself into the work, pulling at her braces with all of her might. Still, the cog and its stone wheel remained still. Sobbing, she collapsed in the straps, her body coated in sweat and shaking from the exertion.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, pet,” the man in black chuckled, “did I forget to take the brake off?”

  Laughing, he pulled a lever, and Jessica heard a clicking sound. When she pulled at the straps again, the cog moved, albeit slowly and with great resistance. Pressing her reluctant legs back into service, she drove the cog, trying to keep the moving arm that held the prod in sight in front of her. It was hard to find the right stride to draw the heavy wheel behind her. The damned boots didn’t give her a lot of solid purchase with which to pull. When she tried to lean too much into the braces and pull with her whole body, the attachment to the reins on her head threatened to pull the vile bit back further into her mouth. She discovered that, with the straps on her thighs, it helped to lift her legs up higher as she walked, to get the most use out of those muscles that could be the most effective at pulling. She wondered if this was what he had meant when he talked about ‘high-stepping?’

  As she labored, she noticed a couple video-cameras that were set up to take in her Herculean effort, tucked behind ceiling supports, a red light glowing on each that told her that they were recording. Was that the next step for her father if he failed to cooperate? Send him a picture of his little girl all done up like a horse and being subjected to hard labor? In other circumstances, she might have laughed at the thought, wondering if her cold and distant father might have thought that some hard work would do her good. Even when her father called her ‘princess,’ his nickname for her that had now been usurped by her kidnapper, it sounded cold. It had always seemed that he was saying it because he felt like a father should rather than because he actually held her in any special regard. She wondered how he was reacting to all of this. Had he gone to the police? Would he agree to pay the kidnapper’s ransom? Or would he take his chances with the authorities? A part of her expected the latter, and she shuddered at the thought.

  Forcing her mind off the painful subject of her father, but not wanting to spend any time thinking about the trials, which her sweaty, huffing and puffing body was going through, she focused instead on the idea of the video-cameras. She realized that the red lights she had seen the night before in bed must have been more of the cameras, watching her as she was abused on the nasty cot. The turning motion of the cog and its location in the room gave her a better view of the building’s contents than she had previously had. As she turned, she looked for more cameras, and believed that she counted at least seven more, a couple of which were trained in the direction of her work now. She wondered why he had gone to the effort of installing so many. Surely, it wouldn’t take such an array of equipment just to send a tape to scare her father. And, if all of these video cameras were in place, why did he use the still cameras the night before? Why not just send her father a video?

  Panting for air, her legs burning from the constant exertion of pulling the heavy wheel, Jessica whined so
ftly as she noticed that the cattle-prod was no longer in view in front of her. She hadn’t been paying attention to it, and realized only now that she must have dropped her pace while her mind wandered and allowed it to get far enough ahead that it was now approaching her from behind. Groaning, she dug harder into the straps, forcing her aching muscles and burning lungs to pick up the pace. She tried to turn enough to see where it might be behind her, how close to catching her, but the collar on her neck would not allow it.

  The imagined approach of the wicked prod gave her new energy for a time, propelling her legs forward on adrenaline and fear. It began to wane, however, after a few minutes of frenzied pulling did not bring its carrying arm back into view before her. Knowing that she couldn’t keep up the increased pace for long, she settled back into what she thought had been her original pace, praying that it would be enough to avoid being caught. Jessica felt like her entire body was on the edge of disaster, the muscles in her tanned, sweating legs on the verge of cramping, her jaw throbbing from the long effort of biting down on the bit. Her throat was dry, her lips cracked, and her insides were a confused and angry blend of her stomach’s demanding hunger and her bladder’s pressing need for release.

  The turning of the cog gave her a view into the inside of the show pony stall once in every rotation, followed by a view of the one which would be her home for the night. The pillows seemed to be beckoning to her from across the room, reminding her of just how desperately she wanted to put her head down and sleep. She sobbed softly, chest heaving, as she pulled against her straps, wanting release in any form more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Her life before this place seemed almost dream-like in its absurdity. She could remember just a few days before crying because her father had rented out the Sheraton instead of the Marriott for her ‘surprise’ birthday party. She’d spend the rest of her life living in that moment if it would get her out of this place.

  The cattle prod struck Jessica in the center of her lower back, the tap of its prongs to either side of her spine. While some part of her had been expecting it ever since it had first left her view, the wicked shock still caught her by surprise. She bucked forward away from it, screaming in pain and releasing her grip on the bit in her mouth, its intruder plunging itself into her throat. Collapsing in the straps that held her as her legs finally gave out, Jessica bent forward, her body overcome by dry heaves and painful retching as she struggled to get the bit back into place.

  When the charged prongs hit her again, a devastating jolt to the side of her hip as she twisted in the straps, it was too much for Jessica to stand. She lost all conscious control of her body as she convulsed under the assault, gagging and heaving as her bladder let loose, hot piss spraying down her legs. Screaming in agony, she fought desperately to get the cog moving again, to get enough control of herself to move ahead before the prod struck again, but her body would not respond. Trembling, shaking spastically, she waited for the next assault of the prod.

  “Now that you know what the stakes are, why don’t we reset things, princess?” her captor asked, coming to walk back around in front of her from the other side of the cog, pushing the prod arm ahead of him.

  Slowly recovering, the bit finally pushed back into place, Jessica sobbed as he moved the arm back where she could see it. She could taste bile in her mouth, and feel the spit drying on her chin and breasts. The acrid stench of her own urine reached her nose as she took her feet once more, and she could feel its wetness on the insides of her thighs.

  “I see we had a little accident, didn’t we?” he asked cruelly as she struggled to regain her composure, blushing crimson, having just pissed all over herself in front of him. “Maybe you’re not show pony material after all.”

  She closed her eyes, taking the time afforded to her now to gather what strength she could before he started up the arm again. She opened them again when she felt his hand on her wet thigh, and then watched him as he brought his urine-soaked hand up to her face. She wrinkled her nose, trying to pull away to no avail. He placed the wet hand over her face and mouth, covering them as he leaned in to whisper in her ear while she held her breath.

  “Next time, if you warn me, I’ll catch it in a cup and let you drink it,” he hissed in her ear. “I bet you’d drink it right now, as thirsty as you must be. If not now, then tomorrow definitely.”

  Laughing, he took his hand away, wiping it off on her breasts before pushing the button on the arm again and setting it in motion. Without waiting a moment, Jessica pressed her worn body into service again, driving it forward as best she could to follow the threatening prod. Getting the wheel back into motion was almost more than her tortured body could stand, but she finally made it happen, matching the arm’s pace when it had only gained a little ground on her.

  “Oh, and princess…,” her captor called out over his shoulder as he walked away. “Remember that, after you’re finished here and have been hit with that prod a few more times, I am going to take you back to your stall and make you scream and cry tears you didn’t think you had left.”

  Sobbing, she continued to follow the arm, trying not to think of what was to come and to focus instead on making his prediction about the cattle prod not come true. The words rang in her ears, though, and almost made her give up on the attempt of the moment. What was the point, a small but dangerous part of her mind asked? There was no way to avoid the tortures to which he was subjecting her. Why fight it? She quelled those thoughts, telling herself that giving up was exactly what he wanted, ‘breaking’ her, as he had put it. As long as she kept fighting him, there was a chance of escape, and of living through this hell on earth.

  Despite her captor’s predictions, Jessica was not struck again by the cattle prod before he returned. Though her legs felt like they were made of rubber and breathing had become a loud, constant wheeze, she managed to force herself into the repetitive motion of keeping pace with the motorized arm. She had lost track of how many rotations she had made seemingly hours before, and was actually surprised when her captor moved into her field of vision and stopped the arm, having long ago assumed that he was never going to return. When she stopped, too, her body gave out under her. She fell back against the cog arm to which she was attached, mostly supported by her straps. She could feel the muscles of her legs tightening.

  “Good girl,” he whispered softly, coming to her side and caressing her trembling thigh. “I’m proud of you, princess. I thought you were made of softer stuff than that.”

  She stared at the ground as she dangled in the straps, taking deep, shuddering breaths. She felt his hands move over her legs, caressing and kneading some life back into them. As much as she despised him, the massaging of her legs felt like heaven and she moaned softly. After all too short a time, she felt and heard the return of the cuffs to her ankles, and then the gradual release of the cog-straps from her body. He moved carefully, gently lowering her onto her knees when she was freed from the wheel, and then moving behind her to unlock her wrists from where they were attached between her shoulder blades.

  “On your hands and knees,” he ordered, and she sobbed with relief as her arms were freed from the painful position.

  Falling to all fours next to him, pins and needles leapt to life inside her arms as they finally came from behind her back. With the posture collar still in place, she could only look at the floor while she knelt like some kind of animal, and she was grateful that she couldn’t look up to see her captor’s eyes. Her captor squatted down next to her and she watched as he attached a short chain to each of her mittens. Instead of attaching the two mittens together with them, though, he locked the other end of each to a ring on the front of her body harness, between and slightly above her breasts, first forcing her to bend her elbows about halfway, the chains ensuring that she would not be able to straighten them again on their watch.

  Before the night before, it would never have occurred to her that there could be so many ways to tie someone up, or that anyone would ever h
ave need for them if there were. And yet here she was, in yet another strange position, though she had to admit that she much preferred this one to almost all of the other she had experienced. Her hands, though trapped in their mittens, were in front of her instead of behind, which felt less confining even if she had to keep them within about a foot of her neck. Her legs were another matter, of course, in the ridiculous boots and once again locked in cuffs, but it was better than when her feet had been tied to her thighs, at least a little. It felt strange to consider such things, but better than considering the prospect of what was to come in what he had called the ‘post room.’

  “Let’s go, princess,” he ordered, giving her ass a hard swat with his bare hand.

  She moved forward in the direction he pushed her, heading now toward that very stall. She could only stare at the floor as she crawled, ruling out the possibility of any sort of resistance. She was grateful that he seemed much calmer now than he had when she had first turned down the show pony room. It seemed silly now, trying to act defiant in such a meaningless way, but she supposed that hindsight was always twenty-twenty. Saying yes to being a show pony, in her mind, felt like saying yes to being a pony at all, and a part of her clung to the desire not to give in to him. She wondered, though, if she’d be able to find the courage to do it again, when the prospect of the cog loomed before her again.

  Entering the stall, the hay scratched her knees as she crawled across it. He led her to the two troughs on the floor before stopping her. She groaned as she felt his weight on her as he sat down on her, straddling the small of her back like a saddle. The burden of his extra mass, however, did not diminish the excitement she felt when he reached down to remove the bit and rubber straps from her harness, allowing her to finally unclench her teeth without fear. While she slowly moved her jaw, wincing as it protested after its long confinement, she felt him remove the heavy collar from her neck and her head fell forward.