The Mayor's Daughter: Draft Pony (8 page)

“Three…”

She stepped
forward instantly as he began to count, wobbling at the sudden movement, but
keeping her balance. She winced as the rope bit into her flesh once
more. Walking along the rope, she tested the bonds that held her hands up
behind her again, knowing that there would be no escape, but seeking to focus
on something besides the continuing attack of the rope. Tugging on the
locks that held her mittens to the harness, she could feel the straps on her
chest around her breasts dig deeper into her skin.

The morning
became a blur of pain and exertion for Jessica as she struggled to make her way
around the rope circle. As she got better at maneuvering in the boots, the
rope itself became less torturous since she didn’t need to press so hard
against it. It was still a constant presence, however, sliding along her
aching flesh. As she progressed, the knots remained her greatest enemy,
the tension of the rope driving them into her and attacking her clit. She
trembled visibly at the approach of them, and struggled to get past them as
quickly as possible.

Each pole was
like an oasis, a tranquil island of peace in the turbulent sea that was the
rope circle. She paused as long as her captor would allow at each one,
relishing the soothing cool of the metal and slight rest for her legs. In
time, she grew bolder, waiting until he reached ‘two’ on the dreaded countdown
before thrusting herself forward. As she continued her journey, Jessica’s
legs began to tremble from the exertion. She gradually began to stumble
more often as the strength of her legs started to give out, forcing her to once
again press against the rope for support.

Jessica’s
whole body seemed to cry out simultaneously, exhausted and ready to
collapse. She felt thin, not with regard to weight, but in a more
metaphysical sense; stretched thin and close to her breaking point. She
knew that she desperately needed sleep and she was hungry and thirsty,
too. Her lower body ached from this cruel torture, and she felt the need
to pee starting to build in her bladder. All of it together made her want
to give in, to collapse into sleep on the spot, but the fear of another touch
of the cattle prod kept her inching forward slowly.

“Stop,” he
ordered, and she winced as she stopped with one of the knots wedged inside her.

Panting, she
pressed her trembling thighs together and leaned reluctantly into the rope and
knot for support.

“It’s time
for your test, Princess,” her captor spoke from somewhere behind her, out
of her field of vision. “Before you take it, though, you should know what is at
stake. If you are clear-headed enough to understand me, stomp your left
hoof once.”

With great
effort, leaning more into the rope with a strangled whine, Jessica stomped her
left foot and then waited. She felt her captor’s hand on her shoulder,
standing close behind her now. Drawing her back against him, he placed a
hand on her right breast and began to fondle it gently.

“Good girl,” he
whispered in her ear. “From now on, when I ask you a question, one stomp will
mean ‘yes’, and two will mean ‘no.’ Understood?”

Face red with
humiliation and anger, but willing to bare it if it meant getting through this
ordeal, Jessica stomped her foot once again.

“This stable
breeds two types of ponies, Princess,” he continued, absently twisting her
nipple between thumb and forefinger. “And it’s up to you which type of pony you
will become.”

On the verge
of more tears, brought on by the casual way he groped her body and the way he
talked about making her a pony, Jessica forced herself to remain calm. The
constant restraint was already getting to her, and it hadn’t even been a day
yet. She couldn’t imagine what sort of condition she would be in by the
time her father made good on the ransom demands. He couldn’t really plan
to keep her bound like this for days, could he?

“The first,
less talented ponies, are suitable for hard labor.” His hand wandered down
to her belly, leaving her breast at last to play with the rings on her harness.
“Since they’re not as valuable, they get food and shelter that are appropriate
for their worth. Do you want to see where such ponies live?”

Panting hard
through her nose, Jessica stomped her foot twice.

“No matter,” he
chuckled, lifting her off the rope to her great relief and setting her back
down on the floor. “I want to show you anyways.”

He squatted
for a moment, leaving her limited field of vision, and she heard the slight
rattle of chain. She groaned in frustration as the rattle of chain was
followed by a familiar ratcheting sound, and then she felt the press of
something tight against her ankles through the leather of the boots. Once
again, she realized, her captor was taking no chances with her. Rising
again, he placed a broad arm around her shoulder and began to lead her slowly
forward. In the last unexplored section of the old building, she saw a
pair of stables built against the wall. He led her to the doorway of the
first, and her eyes went wide at the sight of what was within.

“The draft
ponies, those laborers I mentioned, tend to be a little more unruly, so they
need to be kept quite secure.” He explained as her eyes took in the
horrible little room. “And when draft ponies are allowed out of their stalls,
it’s only to work hard at the wheel, which I think you saw earlier.”

Inside the
stable, she thought she was looking into a medieval torture chamber, only with
a floor covered in hay. Heavy metal chains dangled from various spots on
the walls, as well as other cruel-looking whips and paddles. A rough
wooden post, square in shape and about as high as her chest, was set in the
center of the floor, and it was adorned with numerous rings and leather straps
as well. Against another wall was a large wooden frame in the shape of an ‘x’
with leather straps set in at the end of each arm, and dangling from its
center. Two troughs sat on the floor, one filled with water and the other
with what looked like some kind of porridge. Even though nothing appeared
appetizing about the gruel, her stomach grumbled at the sight of it.

“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 softly 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.