Pony Girl in Training (Sub Special Commission #9)

I wrote a series of these commissions for free, on stream, to celebrate hitting 100 subscribers. This one doesn't feature diapers, but is still very kinky and was fun to write. Enjoy!

Laura stumbled forward, trying to keep her balance. There wasn’t much room for error, and she was having trouble keeping pace.

That was, of course, the point. If she could take half a dozen steps forward and then stop, it’d hardly be an effective trainer. If she was to be a suitable charge for her goddess, though, it was necessary.

The steel bit locked between her teeth kept her from complaining, as the hours dragged on and on. The only sound she could make was a low moan, which her goddess would happily ignore.

The blinders, too, made it impossible to get distracted. She could see only the lead that tied her to the rotating pole, the space in front of her, the small circuit she was forced to walk in.

Sometimes, her goddess would be only a couple feet away, and would deliver a harsh spank with a riding crop when Laura slacked off. Other times, her goddess would be somewhere else entirely, far off and with little care for how Laura was doing. With the blinders, Laura couldn’t see which it was, and so she had to assume that any stumble would result in the crop biting into her bare flesh, leaving yet another tender bruise.

The pole she was leashed to, with just a foot of rope, spun at a consistent speed. Two, maybe two and a half miles per hours. It never stopped, except when Laura lost her footing and fell, and then it’d giver her only a couple seconds to get upright and keep moving again. She couldn’t hurry it along, she couldn’t dilly-dally. She had to keep walking.

The plug, holding up her perky, brown tail, was growing heavy. Her goddess has picked it out specially, and it was solid steel, weighty and solid, it couldn’t fall out by accident. If she pushed it out, her goddess would know, and she didn’t even dare to think about what punishment would follow if she let her tail fall to the ground.

Walking still wouldn’t have been too hard, though, if that was the only obstacle. Her arms were bound behind her back, laced up tightly and pinned to her corset so that they couldn’t be moved, but even without their aid in keeping upright, it shouldn’t have been a problem.

The ballet boots, though, they were what made the challenge so close to impossible. It was why, as her goddess put it, “She needed the practice”. With a stiletto heel barely thicker than a needle and a platform only an inch wide, she was struggling to stay upright with every step, balancing on her toes more than her feet.

Laura was her goddess’s property. Every bit of her was owned. If her goddess decided that she would pull a cart, then Laura would not just pull the cart, but she’d pull it perfectly, without complaint, under the least favorable conditions imaginable.

The thought of the power her goddess had over her was a drug. It made her wet, and that only reminded her of the belt that had locked away her sex for longer than she could remember. Only her goddess could decide when she’d be given permission to remove it, to feel that pleasure that had been denied to her for an eternity, and Laura knew it.

Her goddess wouldn’t be cruel. She knew that her loyalty would be rewarded. When she was done with her practice, when she was perfect, her goddess would take her in and comfort her, hold her, show that she was the most special girl in the world in her goddess’s eyes.

If it was any other way, Laura wouldn’t have submitted to her.

She kept walking, ankles wobbling slightly as she struggled with her footing. Though she was tired, she kept her head held high. She would be perfect. She craved that perfection, so she could display it for her goddess and be rewarded with her genuine approval.

The bar continued to spin, and Laura strutted behind it. She was owned, she was a possession, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.