Pony Girl Story

Pony Girl Story

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Preview — The Stern's Pony Girls
by Peter Marriner

Millionairess, Ms Barbara Stern and her husband, Hiram, ably assisted by the dark and sadistic Juanita, keep young women and girls trained as human ponies on their large ranch. These helpless victims awake to a world in which they are not allowed to speak, to wear clothes or protest at their treatment in any way for fear of horrendous punishments. The training is both demand
Millionairess, Ms Barbara Stern and her husband, Hiram, ably assisted by the dark and sadistic Juanita, keep young women and girls trained as human ponies on their large ranch. These helpless victims awake to a world in which they are not allowed to speak, to wear clothes or protest at their treatment in any way for fear of horrendous punishments. The training is both demanding and painful, degenerating into suffering when the young, thoroughly spoiled, sadistic she-devil named Vivien, appears on the scene and demands to take a hand!
...more

Published
March 20th 2014
by 4Play Press

(first published September 28th 2011)

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It was just so wonderful...
to finally have a pony to call her own!

The Pony Ranch - by Jack Graham
Copyright 1999 - 2001

No hamsters were harmed during the
writing of this story.
\

Bedtime-Story™
- Copyright Info
The
Summerland Group, Inc. - All Rights Reserved.

When she had been a young girl, she wanted a pony
in the worst way. Her parents had not thought it such a good idea. They had
given her many toys and dolls and games, and were great parents
in every way. But no matter how she begged and cajoled,
they would never get her a pony.

Eventually Merrilyn's urge for a pony passed, and she hadn't
really ever thought about it again until she and Arthur
bought this place.

"I never got to have a pony," she would tell people.
"But at least I can live on a pony ranch."

Just as Merrilyn was about to
put a tray of cookies into the oven, the doorbell rang.
She grabbed a dishtowel, wiped
her doughy hands, and went to see who could be calling
at this time of day.
Looking out the small window beside their front door, Merrilyn
saw an old man standing at the doorway. He seemed to
be dressed like a farmer. She opened the door and inquired
of his business.

"Is this the Pony Ranch?" the man inquired.

When Merrilyn told him that yes it was,
he introduced himself as Johnson Trebelhorn, the man who owned the Rocky
Hill Farm over toward Morgansville. He said that he was getting
out of the farming business, that he was just too old
to keep up with it anymore. Since none of his children
seemed to be interested, he was selling his livestock.

"I have one old pony," he continued.
"Got it for my grandkids when they were small, but now
they're grown and aren't interested anymore either."

Merrilyn said she didn't think they could afford to buy a pony
at this time of year.

"Oh, I wouldn't think of selling her. She's too old for that,"
said Mr. Trebelhorn. "I just want her to have a good
home, and where better than at a pony ranch?"

Merrilyn was just about to tell Mr. Trebelhorn that she really
didn't have a pony ranch, that it was just a name, when
something stopped her. That old urge that she had hidden
deep inside her was saying...

"Take the pony; take the pony;
take the pony!"

It was all she could do to hold back the giggles.

"Won't Arthur be surprised?" she snickered
to herself.

And so she told Mr. Trebelhorn, "We would be pleased
to take your pony. We'll see that it is very happy here at the
ranch!"

Mr. Trebelhorn promised to bring the
pony over on Thursday, and then he was on his way. Merrilyn
could hardly contain herself.

"A pony at last!" she shouted out loud.
"After all these years!"

Arthur returned from the store about a half-hour later. As
he unpacked his shopping bag, Merrilyn came into the
kitchen. "Arthur," she told him, "you've got to build
a barn out in the back. It has to be ready by Thursday."

He hadn't seen his wife this excited
since she accidentally dropped their daughter Annabelle's
pet hamster down the sink, and that had been a long
time ago.
"Have you finally bought a pony?" Arthur asked.

"No, but old Mr. Trebelhorn from over at Rocky Hill is giving
me a pony," Merrilyn answered. "But," she said, as she
suddenly realized what Arthur had asked, "how did you
know?"

"You never really got over wanting to have a pony," replied
Arthur."Ever since we moved here, and especially
after you insisted on naming the place 'The Pony Ranch', I just knew
that someday you'd come home with a pony."

"Folks, meet 'Muffin,'" Mr. Trebelhorn said on Thursday
as he unloaded her from his trailer.
Muffin was reddish-brown, with a white mark on her forehead,
and she was as friendly as she could be.
About the Author: Both of Jack Graham 's
parents were the children of pioneers. Jack is a great-grandson of immigrant
steel-workers, and grandson of a veteran of the Boer War. Jack was raised
in the hardscrabble suburbs of Pittsburgh, PA. Born unknowingly into the upper
level of abject poverty during the midst of the second great war, he steadily
raised himself to the lower level of reasonable prosperity in only half a
century. Jack graduated from Crafton High School, and soon thereafter from
the Penn State University School of Forestry. After an adventure in Thailand
with the US Army Corps of Engineers, he married a girl from New Jersey and
had two children. There followed a long and enjoyable career in the woods
and wild places of Pennsylvania, out there “where the wild things grow”--places
which are perhaps the inspiration for some of the tales he tells. As his children
grew, Jack read stories to them, as any good parent must do, but Jack also
told them stories from the reservoir of his own imagination. As his children
continued to grow up, they became too old for bedtime stories told at bedside,
but they never outgrew the need for good tales well-told. So, Jack’s tales
were written down in book form--some were old tales remembered, and many were
new. The book, Stories I Might Have, Meant To, or Should Have Told My Children ,
was presented to his grown children in 1995. It remains a work-in-progress
with new tales constantly being added. Jack feels that good stories should
be shared, retold, and passed on. We agree. Jack lives in Media, PA with his
wife, Tobi and their dog, Duncan. Write to Jack
Graham and let him know how much you enjoyed reading his story The
Pony Ranch at Bedtime-Story.
Interim Illustrations by Bedtime-Story
Stories
and Illustrations found on this site are exclusive to Bedtime-Story

Reproduction
of any content without the express
written permission of Bedtime-Story is prohibited.

Merrilyn and Arthur had named their place
"The Pony Ranch," and a small but distinct sign that
said just that, hung on the same post that held their
bright green mailbox.
Merrilyn was busy one morning making Christmas
cookies.
Arthur had walked to town to the post office to mail
off their Christmas cards, and to pick up some more
chocolate chips and other baking supplies at Pederoski's store.
The first
thing Wednesday morning he went right on down to the lumber yard on Route
284 and purchased one of those little already-built sheds.
The shed was delivered that very afternoon, and so
were a few new fenceposts that Arthur and old Mr.
Graham from next door put up across the back of the yard. And so the
"ranch" was ready for its first pony.
She was a good old pony and was
never a lick of trouble for Merrilyn or Arthur. They
would let the neighborhood children ride her on special
occasions, and one year they even entered her in the
county fair.

Although Muffin was old, and Merrilyn was too big to take a
ride on Muffin herself, somehow, it just didn't matter at all.

Original Fiction by Tes
Staylace,
in collaboration with Phil Boarder
©2003
“All, right, Horace, let’s get to it!”
Hawkin’s Plantation, Beaufort, South
Carolina, Spring, 1849: Bringing out the pony.

“Damn, Sean, you are so lucky! What a pony! All the fellas are
jealous!”
“Father is good to me. I appreciate
you helping me,” said the handsome eighteen-year old.
“Wouldn’t miss this for the world - she’s
really special!”
"Almost lost her for the spring – father
wanted to foal her, but then changed his mind after I begged him to wait.
There ARE others…but…I guess I’m just spoiled. Did you bring out the
cart?”
“Yup. Right here,” untangling the
mass of straps and other paraphernalia. “And I told Cress to get her and
bring her out here. There – there they are now,” pointing toward the
shabby shanty at the far edge of the field.
“Prancer” looked down at the ground as she
and Cress approached the boys. She sighed. Another season of agony.
Maybe if she hadn’t been so accommodating last year, they would have found
another slave to play this wretched part. But then she might have suffered
a worse fate – at least winter wasn’t so bad. They even allowed her to help out
the house niggers for a while. Easy stuff. But THIS wasn’t going to be
easy!
“There she is! Come here, girl!”
said Sean. “You can go back, Cress.”
“Yassir, Master Sean!” - back to the
slave’s quarters, with sad look in his eyes, which the nineteen-year old girl
returned. Cassie was his daughter, and he knew what she was in for – she had
spent all winter telling him about the rigors of being Sean’s pony girl.
“Don’t worry, Cress, we’ll take good care
of her!” said Sean, with a big grin. “Maybe teach her a few new things!
Take her into town!”
“Going to make your father proud,
Prancer!”
It was fairly common among the plantation
owners of this part of South Carolina to supply their sons (and sometimes
daughters) with pony girl slaves to pull them around all summer. After
all, they weren’t hardly even human. Not like white folks. Some even
had two, three or even four such pony girls! It was a status symbol, in a
way. Toward the end of the summer, after using them for transportation,
they pitted them against each in pony girl races down at Philbert’s Racetrack.
The track wasn’t much, just a small plot in a clearing in the woods down by
Marion’s Mill, but it made a exciting end to the summer, and had become a
tradition even their parents looked forward to. Big money was bet, and a
pot was put forth for the winner of the competitions.
“Ok, girl. Let’s get you fitted up!”
said Sean to the hapless slave. He and his friend were smiling broad grins.
“Got something special for you this year, Prancer, don’t we, Horace?”
“Actually, Horace, we have a couple of
things.”
“A couple…,” said Horace, a bit surprised.
“But first,” said Sean, ignoring him, “the
basics. Stand still, Prancer. You know the routine. You’re
gonna be some right winner this year, girl!”
She stood there, clad only in a cotton
shift and light leather booties. She had small tears in her eyes – she
knew only too well what was coming.
The arm harness. Well, after all,
she WAS a pony! Ponies don’t have arms!
“Take off your dress, Prancer,” said
Sean.
And she did. There she stood, a pretty
girl, almost totally naked in front of them, they eying her like a piece of
meat. But she was used to this – it was nothing new. If she could
stand being raped by Master Sean’s father, well, she could stand being naked in
front of his son and his friend. What was the sense in feeling anything
anyway? She was their property.
So Cassie was resigned to losing her arms
for the day, maybe two days. She sighed, and stood her ground while the
boys applied the harness, the result of which was that she ended up,
elbow-to-elbow behind her, with her arms projecting upward between her shoulder
blades and her wrists tied together. It was certainly not comfortable, but
after while she knew it would be easier. Although it was an extremely
difficult position to get into, the boys knew the special technique, and
gradually forced her into the awkward state, she all the while groaning, but not
saying word.
Her hands and wrists were then encased in
a tight leather pouch, at the end of which was a loop. She knew what that
was for as well.
“Mighty fine!” said the envious Horace,
seeing her anew. After all, Cassie was a beautiful black girl, and neither
boy nor man could remain placid for long in her presence. Especially with
her arms back in such a way as to project her voluptuous breasts out in front of
her. But the beauty that a white girl could use to wield power over them
was denied this chattel. Slaves were different. She looked down at
the ground.
“Well, here’s the first surprise,
Prancer!” said Sean, taking from a bag the next item.
To Horace: “Papa thought of this good
idea. Seeing how a lady’s stays can be used to control her…I mean…pull her
around and things when you’re having fun, well, Papa thought something like that
would be good to control a pony. You know, around the middle, instead of
the tight belt.”
Cassie looked at the item with interest.
“So, Papa had the old leather man Joe in
town make a heavy leather corset, with laces.”
Indeed it was, wide that is. When it
was applied, it extended from below her breasts to just above her crotch.
It was easy to see that a pony wearing that could NEVER sit, so she would never
be tempted even if left alone! Not that that was ever really a problem
anyway, for when a pony was tethered to a pole while her master was away, it was
impossible for her to sit anyway.
The corset was impressive. Made with
metal studs and decorative metal accents, it was quite heavy. Soon it was
encircling Prancer’s waist, and Sean began tightening the laces.
Horace grabbed the laces. “Here,
like this. Let me show you. Lucy always has me lace her in.”
“The advantages of having a sister.
Go ahead. You do it. Go to hell with yourself.”
My sister isn’t branded,” he said,
smiling, eyeing the mark Cassie’s buttocks. Slaves in this part of the
South were all painfully branded, not just pony girls. Good for tracking
runaways.
It was soon apparent that Cassie was in
for some breathless moments. She sometimes was called on to help the
Madame Mistress lace in during the winter. Often marveled at how pretty
she looked, all trussed up that way, making such a tiny waist, and with her huge
hoop skirt petticoats. Once even thought how SHE’D look that way…but
this...”
“Tighten it nice, Horace boy. She’ll
have to get used to it tight, so, at the race we can loosen it a bit, and she’ll
be able to breathe proper, and she’ll go to town! I love that control!
Got to have control.”
“Grand idea, Sean. Your father’s a
genius! It’ll make it tough on her carting us about, but she’ll live with
it.”
“Well, maybe we can pu
Huge Areola
Transexual With Big Ass
Cumming On Her Tits

Pony Girl Story

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