A new sense of powerlessness came over her, something deeper and more languid than before. No one can see my eyes, she thought, and I can’t cry out, the bit is a gag. And she was tempted to struggle again just to feel the restraint of the harnessing, but that would be very bad etiquette and she knew it.
“Now, I want you to keep that chin up for me,” said Georgette, “without a collar, you understand? If I have to put a collar on you, it will be high and it will really force your chin uncomfortably.”
“And the Queen does not like collars,” said Oweyn. “Nor elaborate corsets. She wants her beautiful fillies as naked as possible.”
Sybil nodded frantically.
“Good girl,” said Georgette. “Now all day I’m going to be watching you. That chin is to stay up!”
Suddenly Sybil’s wrists were unbound, only so that her arms could be folded behind her, folded just the way one might fold them in front, and she felt the straps tightening to hold them together. The straps around her shoulders were tightened and connected to the straps holding her arms. It was marvelously comforting, all of it, and there came over her that thought again—no more anticipation or fear. It is happening!
“Now this is called arm harnessing,” said Georgette, “and it’s for training and forces your breasts out in marvelous display. Now march forward!”
Sybil was swiftly spanked.
“Lift those knees, lift them higher,” came Georgette’s voice. “And you do it briskly.”
Georgette walked beside her, wielding the paddle, and it woke up Sybil’s burning backside with its blows as she scurried to obey. Now it was Oweyn telling her sharply to lift her knees. Georgette and Oweyn flanked her as she marched slowly on through the long stable and out the double doors into a bright yard.
The blindfold shielded Sybil’s eyes from the glare of the warm sun, and the breeze played sweetly with her hair and on her hot face. And she could see more clearly now than in the shadowy stable. There was a huge oval track here and ponies were pulling small chariots around it. Each chariot had a rider, and some were pulled by two ponies, some by four, and some by only one.
I can’t do it, I can’t, thought Sybil desperately, I can’t be made to pull a chariot like that, I can’t, but this was a lie, and she knew it. Escape was impossible and rebellion useless.
She could see, some distance away, a pony girl, fitted in harnesses, who was being soundly spanked over a groom’s knee as he rested his boot on the lower rail of the fence that surrounded the yard. And to her right were two harnessed fillies bound to the fence being soundly paddled also.
On a raised platform many yards away on the far side of the track stood a grand lady in blue velvet whom Sybil recognized as Lady Lucinda, with two grooms beside her surveying the yard.
Oh, I must be approved, I must, Sybil thought.
Suddenly a chariot appeared out of the corner of her eyes, a high graceful chariot decorated all over in gold and embossed-gold figures, with great delicate sparkling wheels. There was a red-haired filly between the shafts but her hands weren’t bound behind her back. They were resting on a crossbar by which she was pulling the chariot. She appeared very straight and proud, and her horse tail matched the red hair of her head and was further decorated with flowers. But the long gilded shafts went on past the red-haired pony, and it was to the front, where the shafts ended, that Sybil was brought and planted between them.
Straps were being fitted to her thighs and these were being harnessed to the shafts. Also her shoulder straps were harnessed to them. Again, Sybil couldn’t see quite how, but she was suddenly firmly anchored in place. The reins connected to her shoulders and to her bit were pulled taut behind her.
“Now, Cressida is going to push the bar and pull the chariot,” said Georgette. “And Oweyn tells us she’s quite strong and good at it. And you are going to be the lead pony, Sybil, do you see, but you’ll pull the chariot too. Your girdle has been tethered to the bar that Cressida is pushing.”
Suddenly the straps were jerked and the girdle pulled hard so that Sybil understood. But so were the shoulder straps tethered to the shafts, and also the straps around her thighs and around her waist.
Helpless, desperately, completely helpless, thought Sybil, sublimely helpless. A fresh flood of tears poured from her eyes, and the blindfold was suddenly soaked but still effective to shield her from the eyes of others because hers were covered. What an absurd idea. Surely anyone could see her naked, displayed, bound, her pubis mercilessly exposed, her hindquarters exposed. She had become her naked body utterly once again.
She felt the chariot moving, felt the shudder through all the straps, felt the pull on the bit.
“Now trot, young ladies, and trot smartly! Not fast, but smartly. Knees high. Right, into the track.”
All will had left Sybil. She was suddenly trotting as she’d been commanded, lapsing into the pace of the filly behind her, and with the harnesses tugging on her shoulders, her waist, her thighs, her bit as she moved forward. Other faster chariots moved past her on the track, the sight of them jarring her and confusing her, but she was trotting, thinking only of keeping her chin up and her knees up, and how she might be punished if she failed, but the thought of failing was too bitter, too dreadful. She couldn’t fail. If all these other beautiful girls could do this, so could she, and for the Queen, yes, for the Queen, she had to do it.
The reins tugged her to the left as if she had not seen the track turn to the left, and she followed the curve of it.
“Now, faster, young ladies, faster, into a run, that’s it!” sang out the voice of Georgette. “Head up, Cressida!”
Sybil’s sobs were mingled with her gasping breaths. A dreadful ache came into her thighs and her calves, but after a few minutes it was gone and she ran with a new exhilaration.
“Slower, Sybil,” Georgette cried out. “That’s it. That’s it. You want to feel the weight of the chariot but not pull it loose from Cressida.”
When at last the reins pulled her to a halt, Sybil stood panting behind the gag, her breasts heaving. They were at the opposite end of the track from the stables. They had passed under Lady Lucinda’s platform without Sybil even realizing it. The yard was now very busy, filled with harnessed ponies and grooms.
“You’re good enough for the team,” said Georgette, coming up to her and running a leather-gloved hand back through her hair. “And look at this sex, positively dripping! Spread your legs. This little honey pouch is so wet. Always at rest, spread your legs.”
Georgette’s hand patted and stroked Sybil’s pubis. She tugged at the curls. Sybil shuddered. The pleasure was agonizing, and suddenly she felt all of her body singing in its harnesses, her bottom stinging from the paddling, her anus throbbing against the phallus, even the swishing hair of the tail tickling her inner thighs as the breeze stirred it and moved it. Sybil didn’t dare to turn her head to try to see Georgette more clearly.
Georgette squeezed Sybil’s breast and opened her mouth on it and sucked at her nipple. Her tongue teased Sybil’s nipple. Sybil sighed uncontrollably. She couldn’t keep her hips still. It seemed a shuddering cord within her connected her nipple to her vagina, to the hard little kernel of her clitoris! A paralyzing sense of utter surrender washed through her but she ached for satisfaction. Even with the greased phallus tucked into her anus, she had never felt so empty.
“We’ll be training for another hour,” said Georgette. She moved away, back towards Cressida. “Then you’ll be fed and rested and scrubbed down. And we’ll see what we can do to soothe these little hungry honey cups here. I mean we have two of them. Such apt little slaves. Such dainty honey cups for the Queen. And when the Queen comes you’ll be harnessed with her favorites for the drive down to Prince Tristan’s manor.”
The hour seemed a full morning, though Sybil knew it was not. Again and again, Sybil caught glances of Lady Lucinda inspecting this or that pony, or merely walking past.
Again and again, Sybil’s agonizing desire had subsided only to build again, and as she excelled at lesson after lesson, her calves ached and her nipples throbbed until all sensations were mingled in her and she knew only she was more fully a feeling being than ever before.
In the gloom of the stable, her harnesses and other accoutrements pulled off, she was held up by Oweyn, who cradled her in his right arm as he offered her to Georgette. “Lie back, close those eyes,” he said. His left hand held her thigh as he pulled it to the side.
“It’s been a while since I had anything as sweet as this,” said Georgette.
She plunged her face into Sybil’s hot pubis, lifting Sybil higher, and it was all Sybil could do not to cry out.
She felt Georgette’s tongue exploring her vagina, lapping strongly at it, and then the lips tight on her clitoris, sucking it, and Sybil let out a long raw moan she scarcely recognized as her own.
It seemed she’d reached the pinnacle and it was over and she ought to be glad of it, but the hunger went on and on, and again Georgette brought her to climax and then again.
“All right, dear boy,” said Georgette, “I think you may have her now.”
Sybil was turned around, her arms falling over Oweyn’s shoulders and her head lolling there as she felt herself brought down over his cock.