Theresa's Punishment Part 1

SLAVES OF THE THEOCRACY.

Part 2: Theresaus Punishment.

By Bruce McLachlan.

Chapter One.

Theresa was drawn through the main doors and into the early morning light. Her body was starting to gather its strength while the effects of her last session of internal discipline faded.

Pelakh's covert use of the implanted control device had made her spill a drink on the master of the house and her supreme owner. Lord Eldral Thaine, Warmaster of Earth had ordered her condemned to the stables, to be trained as a human steed. The groom who was dragging her inert form to this fate was called Setchak. She had been caught staring lecherously at the handsome male and he had promised to train her most sternly for this supposed insult. A mere human possession could not sully a member of the cruel and powerful Phed Dregakk race with their desires.

Theresa was also still somewhat rattled by the fact that what she had thought was a product of her slave gland, was actually something innate.

The artificial gland genetically engineered somewhere within her body was releasing an agent that she had a.s.sumed was responsible for her budding m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic nature, however, she now knew that the gland elevated fear and was not responsible for the creation of submission, unless such tendencies were present in the first place. The agent was ma.s.sively magnifying her own hidden leanings, and she was powerless against her own l.u.s.t and yearning desire for control, bondage, and ruthless discipline.

Setchak entered the large stables that ran beside the main courtyard of the estate. The groom marched down the central corridor and Theresa saw the stalls that lined each wall. Each one was a haven for an individual human captive. Forsaking these small dwellings, he deposited her in the small chamber at the very end.

A single overhead light filled the dark room with a sinister amber glow. The weak illumination cast contorted shadows across the many instruments of restraint and punishment and added vastly to their fearsome appearance. In addition to the standard tools of torture, there was an a.r.s.enal of technological apparatus whose purpose was as of yet, and hopefully ever would be, a mystery to her. The flowing elegance of the tools was offset by sombre colours and jagged appendages on their semi-organic style. However, in just those few seconds, her fear s.n.a.t.c.hed her depravity and she quivered with licentious relish at the prospect of being strapped down and having the celestial male sate his s.a.d.i.s.tic desires with her helpless body.

Theresa closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. She had to stop this process before it devoured her. Perhaps it was best that she be trapped within a pony uniform, her body taken away from her, her will commanded by reigns and crop. She had no control over her reactions anymore and this was sure to lead to a darker fate if she did not regain some measure of command.

The centre of the room held a large metallic chair that seemed to grow from the flagstone floor. The nebulous surfaces were encrusted with numerous thick shackles and all of them were open and ready to grasp at every portion of a wretched captive's physique.

The items that were used to mark a female mount were present in great quant.i.ties and varied sizes. There were the wide belts with incorporated manacles at the waists, the bondage bras, the myriad twin d.i.l.d.os mounted on studded straps, the cloven-hoofed footwear, and worst of all, the nipple rings.

The groom leaned down and tapped the front of her gag. An eyebrow rose in thought and his silken voice poured into her ears. The race was as elegant and beautiful as they were savage and merciless. He took hold of the gag and pulled up her head while pondering aloud the merits of leaving it in place. Theresa closed her eyes and grimaced beneath the thick plate, her spine smarting from being bent backward against his merciless grasp.

"Shall I remove this? The throbbing of its presence suits me well, and teaches you silence, but I wish to hear you scream as I train you," he said and having decided, he began to remove the punishing implement.

The baleful underwear fled and the bulb left her dry lips with a moist sucking pop. Long lines of saliva stretched between the two and Setchak cast it aside.

Slipping forth to lie prostrate, she yawned to battle the kindled pulse in her stretched maw, but still found the lingering scent of the thong about her nose. She snorted but the gathered aromatic curse refused to be so easily dismissed.

Without word, the groom pulled Theresa up onto her knees and then hitched up her skirt. The sudden exposure made her shy back from her kneeling position and reach to restore her covering sheath. Setchak slapped aside her hands with an irritated snarl and shoved her fully onto her back. The male stood up straight and towered over her before he put the sole of his tall leather boot onto her belly. The groom smiled and reached across so he might take down a short crop from the wall.

"Beasts are not troubled by nakedness, slave. So stop wriggling!" he warned, and then slashed into her revealed hips.

The sudden lambasting caused her to squirm under his pinning foot. He applied half a dozen blows and when she tried to shield a targeted region or grab his boot, the wandering hands received some discouraging strokes before he continued to a.s.sail her abdomen.

Barely half had been applied when the severity of the a.s.sault and the image of the brutal male looming over her made her find hesitant delight in the abuse. As the last of them were being thrown into her hips, her hands were groping at his boots and savouring the dense sh.e.l.l of protecting leather rather than trying to get him off.

"What a libidinous wretch you are. No wonder that you were dismissed from maid service. Were you rubbing yourself against your master's leg? Offending him with your wanton urges?" Theresa was about to speak and refute the allegation when he leaned down, grabbed her hips, and flipped her with ease. She landed on her front and gave a soft bark of dismay from the landing. Before she could fathom what was going on, he grabbed her pelvis and hoisted her hindquarters into the air.

"Don't you dare move, or speak, slave!" he hissed.

The asperity of his statement made Theresa freeze instantly despite the awkwardness of her pose. Her face was pressed to the ground and her arms were folded beneath her as her spine sloped up, her knees were kept wide, and her loins were brazenly offered to him.

Theresa gave a stifled gasp as a finger traced her rear and then followed the line of her p.u.s.s.y. The tip tantalised her c.l.i.t and she had to fight to stop herself from groaning and swaying her hips with delight. The fight became even harder to win when the crop darted in and applied a fulgent kiss to each inner thigh. The finger returned and dabbled with her c.l.i.t before he again offered her some stinging thwacks. A tear dropped to the floor as her body remained rigid from the stress of pleasure and pain.

His hand cupped her s.e.x and ma.s.saged it with calm force. Theresa purred softly when she heard him unfastening his trousers.

"Still, you aren't a beast yet, and it'd be a shame not to sample you one last time before you say goodbye to such treats for good."

The words had barely registered before his c.o.c.k thundered into her. Theresa forced her face even harder to the ground and bit her lip in endurance. His hands grabbed her hips and caressed her b.u.t.tocks as he thrust back and forth. The urge to holler was almost irresistible.

"This is the last c.o.c.k you'll feel, slave. After this, the only reward you will gain is a respite from punishment."

Theresa's eyes welled with tears at the prospect. Surely they would not deprive her of o.r.g.a.s.m ever more, surely the implant, or use by some of the stallions she had seen would be permitted? It was a dreadful prospect that she would never know pleasure again, only a respite from pain. She had to convince herself that he was lying, that he was trying to wound her psyche with such ghastly threats. His race were innately evil, and found the most heady glee in paining a slave's mind as much as the enjoyed tormenting their bodies. Setchak arched back and dropped his hands to the floor so he could throw his hips upward and jab deep into her body. The feel of him raging within her ferried her up into climax within seconds and it took all her might to stay still as excruciating bliss consumed her. However, Setchak was not yet sated and his steady ravishment caused her to sink into another o.r.g.a.s.m that was even harder to bear than the first. Finally, she felt his shaft harden and twitch, and with a growl of satisfaction, she felt him finish and succulent liquid warmth fill her p.u.s.s.y.

"Ah, that was splendid. Such a pity it won't be sampled again. Still, the master of the house has spoken, and his will shall be enforced on you." He withdrew suddenly. Theresa's eyes bulged and her throat gurgled from the effort of not flinging her limbs out and screeching from the flight of his manhood from her sensitised and quivering s.e.x. As one final, spiteful test of her obedience, the crop flew on an underarm trajectory and laid its leather tip to her rosy p.u.s.s.y. The burning influence embraced her belly and it took long moments to start to fade and let her relax her brutalised frame.

"Kiss," he ordered.

Theresa opened her bleary eyes and saw the tip of the baleful weapon before her eyes. There was a vague sparkle on the leather and whether the moisture was a lingering mark of her arousal or from Setchak's pa.s.sion, she puckered her lips forward and placed a kiss to it. The taste of his seed was distinct and had been captured from the final stroke to her ravenous s.e.x. She ran her tongue over her lips to capture more of the tang and her body quaked from its influence.

Setchak set his weapon aside upon completion of this last lesson and proceeded with the rest of her devolution from maid into pony. Continuing with his work, he took the sealed hem of her stockings and used a translucent dissolving aerosol to strip away the glue. With the molecular bond between her skin and the rubber gone, she was finally able to let her imprisoned legs find freedom. Setchak grabbed the top and pulled them down before dragging them off her legs and feet altogether. Clearly the latex had some other property that she was unaware of because her skin was unaffected by its long smothering imprisonment. The eternal embrace of the constrictive hose vanished and with coa.r.s.e treatment, he rolled her over onto her front. Setchak put his boot into her back, unlocked the collar of her dress, and tugged down the zip before removing it with an equal absence of gentleness.

He cast the shed attire aside and employed her hair as a reign so he might hoist her to her feet and guide her onto the awaiting chair. She was resistant, but the groom overcame the trepidation with a few licks of the crop across her naked rear. The weapon was back in his hand in an instant and blows made her dance in his grasp.

"Bad pony! Stop struggling! Be still!" he snapped and suddenly her bared body was within the engine of containment and perverse processing.

Setchak buckled down her frame, trapping her so she could not interfere with her preparation for captivity.

He held up a short rod and the head hummed softly when a soft green glow haloed the tip. s.n.a.t.c.hing her hair, he held her head firmly in a tight grasp to make her scowl as her roots lit up with pitiless riots of discomfort.

Smooth, practised strokes ran along the sides of her head, stripping away the follicles en ma.s.se. Upon feeling these great tufts of hair falling free, and then seeing them cascade down before her eyes, Theresa shrieked. She was aghast at this corruption of her visage.

The groom chuckled with amused glee, mocking her outrage while he sheared the sides away to leave a single mane rolling down her skull. Theresa had been shaved before, and though this experience was nothing like the agony of the plucking and electrolysis of her legs and hindquarters, it was a far more disturbing affair because it was a grievous psychological savaging as opposed to the usual physical trauma that the race so loved to inflict and to which she was gradually becoming hardened.

With her head prepared, the restraint destined for her brow was applied and tightened to drag her into the headrest. Fully confined, the demeaning ritual continued.

Setchak took up a coa.r.s.e cloth and sprinkled potent cosmetic remover across the surfaces. He began to wipe away her shades with barbarous motions, chafing her skin as the last vestige of her maid status was taken away. The caustic fluid stung her skin, made her nose burn from inhaling its vapours and her eyes water profusely as they ached with a throbbing pound.

One of the wide belts was selected while she screwed up her face and tried to endure the mayhem wrought by the remover. The rigid tube was sealed about her waist and drawn in like a corset to form and enforce an hourgla.s.s figure. The final wrench of its tightening forced the air from her lungs and made her hips ache as the skin was held prisoner.

Taking down one of the stud-speckled straps, the groom opened a concealed hatch beneath her rump. The hidden trapdoor left her completely defenceless to this next stage. Without the need for additional lubrication and with a complete lack of tenderness, the two perpetually slick and oversized lengths were crammed into her. The forceful invasion made her squeal and fight against her bonds as he forced them all the way in, whereupon both ends of the straps were locked to the waiting belt to deny her stretched orifices the ability to eject the trespa.s.sers.

The restraints of the chair groaned against her struggles and she clawed at the unforgiving surfaces while her tracts resonated with a vivid ache. Leaving her to grow accustomed to her phallic invaders, the trapdoor was closed against her penetrated abdomen. This pushed the rods deeper and to the limits of her tracts. She could feel them nudging her depths and the process of acclimating to them was made even more difficult. A bondage bra was brought to her torso. Theresa tried to evade the chastising clothing but the chair was too effective a captor to allow even a chance to hamper the application. She yelped as the groom roughly forced her b.r.e.a.s.t.s through the open holes but refused to beg for mercy, lest he be even more vindictive.

The tight squeeze of the elasticised rings at the base caused her a.s.sets to swell outward with engorged pride and to well with internal havoc. Flushed with feeling, the nipples stood up erect and readied to accept their decoration.

Setchak lifted a pistol-like device and examined it with amused intensity. His glower took in her face as she regarded the weapon and he beamed with venomous delectation.

Theresa could see the ring winking within the jaws of the mechanism. The barbed arrow emerging from one of the sides testified that once the circle was closed, it could not be opened again. Setchak cupped a swollen breast in one hand and the teat was strained further outward by the scissor pinch of his fingers and thumb. The groom put the instrument to the willing nipple. Theresa whimpered her pleas as she braced for the pain. "Please, master, pleeeease, don't do this to me!" "So, the maid speaks, even as she continues to become a pony," he crooned.

"I'll do anything you want, just don't ring my nipples."

"But they'll look prettier, and be infinitely more sensitive."

"You'll punish them though!"

"Sometimes."

"No! Please! I'm begging you."

"Not for much longer. Anyway, I don't have a big enough target just yet. So, just how can I remedy that, seeing as I still have a very vocal maid here, and not a lowly animal?"

Theresa's continued protestations became a mewing moan as his lips embraced her nipple and a flitting tongue danced against the tip. Her chest arched and the straps groaned with strain before she sank and shivered from the glorious tease. Setchak moved to the other teat and offered it equal attention. While he alternated between the two, Theresa's b.r.e.a.s.t.s reverberated with powerful ecstasy.

Half-mumbled words of imploring dribbled over her slack lips as he offered small nips and long laps. She knew that her body was betraying her and offering itself for alteration, but the pleasure was just too much to resist. Would having her nipples pierced be all that bad? The pain of their implementation would be compensated for by those times when they were played with and to have the bliss of this current treatment made even more potent was too tempting to resist. Once again, her m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic fires burned away her fear and resentment and spoke without her conscious mind knowing. "Pierce me, master. Ring my nipples and make me your pony," she hissed with half closed eyes and delirious fervour.

Barely had her a.s.sent left her throat when she released a cry as a dull shot reverberated and brought with it a detonation of horrendous heat. She jolted against her bonds and the buckles rattled as she convulsed and strove to break free. Having just recovered her breath, the second signal mimicked the ordeal in full, restoring the suffering in all its unendurable intensity.

The weapon came away and left silver rings behind. Her nipples pulsated with their own steady beat, a pounding rhythm that generously shared the shock of the piercing with the surrounding tissues. Theresa panted and ground her teeth while she fought to a.s.similate the misery.

Suddenly, she felt cold metal touch her nose. Theresa's eyes bulged with mortified calamity when she saw that the implement had returned to snag her nose. She looked pa.s.sed the machine and saw that its wielder was smiling broadly with malevolent rapture.

"Shall I add one here, I wonder? Just to further injure your pride?" he laughed, his eyes glittering with dark jubilation at her desperate words of appeal.

Theresa's begging was almost incoherent from the anxiety bestowed by the imminent, blatant mutilation. Several times, he readied to puncture the cartilage, soaking up her impa.s.sioned sobs as though they were the most succulent nectar, and finally, with a mocking snort he replaced the device upon its hooks and returned with the next portions of her new ensemble.

Freeing one of her shins, he lifted up the foot and began to encase it in the sculpted boot. The knee-high creations felt much like her eternal stilettos but they were considerably heavier and much more stable. The flaring heel and toe gave her the semblance of hooves and bestowed considerable balance. The relief at having been spared a third ring caused her to accept the boots without protest and she took the time to savour the feel of his strong hands on her naked skin before it vanished beneath tight, merciless leather. Setchak locked the boots in place and then fetched a lengthy tube. He grabbed her jaws and sank his fingertips in to her cheeks to pry them apart. Theresa fought to maintain the barrier as she saw the poised pipe but Setchak was as implacable as he was handsome, and thus the soft tip was gliding down her oesophagus after only a momentary battle.

A strange contrivance was affixed to the emerging nozzle and the machine was set running. An osmotic hiss resounded in her throat and she felt a bizarre and subtle tingling in the tissues, as though she were breathing in a cloud of feather down.

Two circular pads were put to the skin of her throat, and they hummed angrily to themselves as her enslaver enlightened her as to their purpose. "Your larynx is being partially shut down, rendering you incapable of forming complex sounds. You are now unable to speak, only forge the noises appropriate to your animal stature." A bright pip issued from all three implements and with their task completed, he began to remove the array.

Theresa tried to form words, to see if it was so, and to her abject dismay nothing save growling murmurs emerged.

The groom set the transformed prisoner free and drew a bridle onto her head. The straps opened and encompa.s.sed her head before being tightened to a stern fit. He slotted the dense rubber bit into her mouth and locked it into place. Theresa did not contradict his wishes with resistance because she was too numbed from the realisation that she was now unable to properly communicate, and would be denied words evermore.

Setchak clipped reigns to the rings by her cheeks and sealed her hands within the waist manacles. Theresa pawed at the leather and was drawn forward with a tug that almost caused her to careen into him. Each step clopped on the stone and she felt the d.i.l.d.os ride within her. The tiny shuffle made her p.u.s.s.y clench to them from the shock of hesitant delight.

Theresa leaned against his body and he hoisted the reigns in one hand to elevate her face. She looked up into his dark gaze and listened lovingly as he imparted the new rules pertaining to this existence. Every word was a lecherous morsel to her depraved wants, and she felt her tracts clenching to the d.i.l.d.os in slow rhythm as he educated her.

"You are no longer a slave. You are a beast, a creature of burden and performance. You obey instantly, and your failings will be modified with whip, implant, or restraint. Carnal experience will now come solely from other steeds, at our discretion, for all will see you as you are - an animal - and as such it is considered the equivalent to b.e.s.t.i.a.lity for a Dregakk to indulge with such a base life form."

Having certified her lot, he brought her forward with a sharp yank. Theresa stumbled at first because she was unused to the new footwear. The feat of learning to cope with a new walk was not aided by her grooms vigorous gait or by the need to keep her head upright because any glance to see where she was putting her feet set free lines of saliva from her parted jaws. Her lips were unable to form a seal over the st.u.r.dy rod and despite her willingness to accept her new role, she still felt embarra.s.sed about drooling. She almost laughed at the absurdity. Here she was, a human captive on a world of alien s.a.d.i.s.ts, being turned into a pony girl, with pierced nipples, d.i.l.d.os locked inside her, and she was worrying about unseemly dribbling.

The grim corridor of the stable gave way to an open pen where a tall metal pole at the heart bore a swivel-mounted summit. This mobile tip was adorned with several stout rings.

Theresa could see other steeds in their respective enclosures, the trained mares, colts, and fillies displaying the impa.s.sive lack of interest in their existence that could always be seen in fully domesticated creatures.

A single length of reign connected her to the central pole and the groom withdrew to the fence where a lunge whip awaited him. By taking up the long fierce device, he silently announced this pen to be a place of training.

Setchak took up the scourge and began to close in. The whip reached out and its stringy tip flicked at her side. The acute length of the weapon caused this minor chastis.e.m.e.nt to become a grievous a.s.sault. The skin erupted with a scintillating storm that made Theresa lurch aside until the reign snapped taut, jerked her head round, and almost caused her to collapse. Straining against the woven strand she danced from hoof to hoof as she pulled madly and tried to find some way in which to comfort the burning welt. Her hands wrenched at the cuffs, her throat released pained whinnies, and then the whip swept forward to cross both cheeks. She howled and arched back before her legs wobbled beneath her. The whip gave a couple of taps and riddled with dismay she obeyed and was goaded into a trot.

"Good pony," murmured Setchak.

Tears tumbled down her cheeks as her devolution continued. She gave another bark of anguish when she pa.s.sed him and the whip gave a subtle flick to her harried rear. The mordant encouragement made her trot faster and she started to circle round and round the pen, receiving a lick of the lunge whip every time she pa.s.sed him. She could not help but slow down when she neared him, and this failing caused a far more energetic swipe that made her rear ripple when it struck home. Her holler of misery was lengthy, and she soon started to keep a more stable cadence.

Once she was moving, he did not stop the a.s.sault, and now, the savaging of her body was orchestrated to encourage the raising of her chin, a bolder step, and higher knees. Setchak was biliously teaching her to carry herself with the deportment required of her new station.

In panic, she tried to haul herself free of the rope, but her trainer suddenly applied a deluge of ferocious blows to discourage the useless revolt. When the stripes became too much to bear, she collapsed and tried to shield her frame from the liberal application of weals, but her oppressor merely demanded that she rise and then continued his attack with greater celerity and harshness. The lunge whip stripped away her lethargy via torment, and drove her into acquiescing to his wishes.

Fresh tears ran down her cheeks as the burning streaks ate at her body. The correction of the slightest failure or error made her weep with frustration at her body's inability to meet the demands being placed upon it.

Every attempt to beg or plead came loose as b.e.s.t.i.a.l cries and barks, and she found her crippled voice unable to form anything of greater intricacy. Hours trickled by and other grooms gathered to watch the training after having finished their duties for the day. Theresa's anger and shame at being displayed so prominently as an object of spectacle was left to fester in her soul, for her a.s.sailant stood beyond what her bonds allowed her to reach. His lengthy scourge granted him a brief and stinging entry into the confines of her circular trek and she was powerless to resist. The head groom relinquished his impious position to another so he might rest his eager whip arm and let a fresher limb apply the chastis.e.m.e.nts. Setchak leant upon the fence and amused himself with the study of her suffering. She was desperate to rest. Every circuit she completed took away more of her energy. Her muscles ached, her body was wet with sweat, and her head swam from the demands of her performance.

Only once the dull sphere of the sun began to swim beneath the distant horizon, settling amidst a wild palette of purples and reds did they release her. She was so tired that she barely registered them escorting her weary and zebra striped body back into a solitary booth.

The chamber was located within the main stable block and accessed by either the doors from the corridor or by the one facing out onto the courtyard. Both were st.u.r.dy and well fortified to contain their captive and the tiny cell held a mound of fuzzy straw for her bed and little else. A shove had her drop onto the brittle mattress, and as she languished helplessly, her reigns affixed to a wall ring and a food tube slotted over the bit before the door was sealed and bolted from without.

The discharge from the pipe was as repulsive as ever, and if she did not fear the price of weakness through lack of sustenance, she would have refused it. During the feeding, she stretched her fingers down and pulled at the tied strap that traversed between her legs. The d.i.l.d.os had aroused a deep throbbing burn in the parted tissues and their constant movement now proved to be beyond endurance. The strip was too taut to be shifted, and the compressing belt was just as steadfast, leaving her trapped with the discomfort. Her feet felt as though only blisters remained within, that all other flesh had fled, but again, the construction was of such security as to deny freedom from their annoying company.

Theresa shifted carefully onto her knees and tried to find a position in which to lie and not anger her many tender injuries. It was an impossible quest. The miscreant's beating had been far too thorough. There were just no unblemished zones to take advantage of.

Nestling into a ball, she closed her eyes and stroked the freshly grown carpet of stubble that ran along either side of her tangled mane. By rubbing it on the floor, it felt like panes of velvet and was a soft hint of peace in her addled psyche. Her soul was reeling from the continuing downward spiral of her bizarre plight, and she could not fathom how she could possibly take much more. With eerie certainty, she could feel herself teetering on the edge of madness. Her stubborn refusal to adopt the meek and tamed role they wished of her meant they were sure to crack her mind with their relentless training procedures. Even if she accepted and revelled in her masochism, the constant need to appease such desires would end up earning her the most bleak of fates.

The meagre peace was not long lived, and as the door swept silently open, rousing her with the intrusion of the late night breeze, she a.s.sumed that the development of her b.e.s.t.i.a.l demeanour was to continue.

A furtive, unfamiliar groom shut the outer portal behind him and closed in.

"Ah, there's my sweet pony. Such a pretty thing," he purred.

Theresa naturally attempted speech, absently forgetting that it was now lost to her. After the first few sounds, the groom grabbed her reigns and hauled her head back so furiously that she feared her neck would snap unless she became more docile.

"Sssh, little thing. No noise from you," he said sternly, and then lessened his hold. When she did not make a sound, he gently stroked her cheek. Theresa's face relaxed into the soothing caress and her eyelids drifted shut.

"Good girl, that's much better," he offered. His hands began to brush through her mane, removing the tangles that had been caused by the days running. She lifted her head up and back and revelled in the attention. She did not even object when the hands started to leave her hair and wander down to follow her body in long lines. "Such lovely lines. A prize indeed."

After all her trials, the act of fondness overcame her and Theresa's libido flared. The groom continued to stroke her back and she lowered her chin to the floor and started to wiggle her rear provocatively his way. A dose of the pleasure setting of her implant was her goal and she was caught completely by surprise when he started to unfasten his trousers.

The stranger steered himself behind her and brought her onto her knees with careful guidance. He then pushed her head down into the floor so that her brow rested on the straw. The moulding of her posture made the testy contusions of her previous tutelage revive their former refulgent nature, but she was to eager for s.e.x to care. Setchak had decreed a life of abstinence from Dregakk carnal activity, and it was a significant source of elation to violate that law and defeat the handsome grooms words.

"So you want me to take you for a ride, do you? Well, how can I resist such a beautiful pony as this?"

The stranger took hold of her rear and unlocked the loin thong. He pulled free both intruders with a yank that made her abdomen spasm. Her croak of response was cut short as he grabbed her reigns and pulled her head back up. No sooner had her p.u.s.s.y been freed of an artificial phallus than a genuine specimen dove within to make her arch her back with a squeak from the sudden entry. Too weak to offer any real resistance, or even to call for help, she let him sate his desire unopposed.

Hands deserted the reigns and ran forward to paw at her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The flesh was still forced outward by the bra and her a.s.sets were flushed from the design. While caressing them, he tickled at the rings to have the summits strike up a chorus of vehement pleasure. Despite the recent piercing, they resounded with new levels of sensation that made Theresa tremble and gasp. Through gritted teeth and cruel bit, Theresa bore the sensual molestation.

"Down, girl," he panted.