CHAPTER 2 (Preview 1)
In a cozy place somewhere in the Mediterranean...
They had come to a gentle and perfect halt as the mares had slowed down the cart. No wind muffled his hearing any longer, only the sereneness of the countryside—and the heat—was back more pressing than ever. That's when he heard them panting and straining in their heavy tack. Both were half-bent forward as if trying to get more air into their lungs. The blonde already stood with her legs apart, and the rest of her piss landed right between her hooves. It splashed in all directions. With a wicked grin, he reached over the Countess's thighs and pulled on the break. Both ponies jumped back as if a wasp had stung them; he hadn't forgotten about the ingenious mechanism of the handbrake. The Countess laughed, but Biscuit had stopped pissing mid-stream again. Both ponies had quickly taken a step back and tried to escape the pain by tilting their pelvis' back. It presented their glowing buttocks beautifully to him. They both stepped off the light cart. The Countess's team looked more than exhausted from the gallop, and both women puffed and panted with great effort.
"Boy, go get some water for us. And for the girls," she said.
"Y...yes, Ma'am." It always stung a little when she became suddenly so abusive, so grand and aristocratic towards him as if she was bred from another stock. He clearly was not. Naturally, he craved it under his snug tube. He knelt down behind the cart, and in the feverish heat, the smell of Biscuit's piss suddenly stung in his nose for a moment. From the dusty chest in the back, he quickly procured four fresh bottles of cool water, unscrewed two of them, pulled a rubber-nipple over, and joined her in the front.
"Go water Biscuit. Let's have them catch their breath for a while." And she sprayed some of the water in Gravy's exhausted face until it dripped from her black mane. He did the same over Biscuit's white leather mask as she stared at him from between the tiny, restrictive slits. His lack of an orgasm struck him again harder than ever. Her heavy chest heaved as she panted, with soft flesh bulging through the rough net of her black harness. She was as tall as him on her hooves, yet she looked so dependent. She had her torso already lightly bent back, evidently trying to communicate some discomfort to him.
"Aren't you a pretty girl," he said in a calming voice while having barely broken a sweat in the last hour. He didn't care about the puddle of piss in the dirt any longer and stepped closer to Biscuit—so close that his steel tube touched her muscular thigh. Now the sweat started pouring out of her as they stood plainly in the sun. He couldn't feel a single breeze on his skin in this summer heat. Her white body was glistening silvery in the sunlight like a unicorn. But the lower area of her face had turned into a filthy mess. Snot, tears, and sweat had been running down from her ringed nose and into her bit, where she had tried to lick it off the metal—not with her tongue, of course—but by making funny gestures with her upper lip.
"Only your horn is missing," he whispered gently, and placed the nipple of the bottle between her bit and upper lip, then tilted it sideways into her cheek. However, no water drained from the bottle; he didn't press yet. She seemed unable to drink without the help of her tongue, without the help of a human; she couldn't create enough suction with that snug bit still stuck between her teeth. Biscuit desperately needed his help, and he could sense the spirit in her. His chest almost touched hers now. Squeezing the soft bottle, she instantly gulped the water down like a wild animal. He wondered if she had liked the whip. With the mask and bit on, he couldn't tell; though, her face had an angry red to it. With his self-restraint growing gradually weaker by the second, he had his groin now pressed against her thigh. His other hand searched, fingered, looked for her warm entrance, but only found wetness and steel. The charming Countess, on his left, did exactly the same depraved thing to Gravy! Seeing her being so gentle with the girl just boosted his own courage, as his dwindling restraint bubbled away in him like steam hissing out of a faulty boiler.
Her body was soaked and gasping as his fingers searched. The blond mare had too many piercings over her soft lips to find any entrance. At her waist, from where a sturdy steel cable came down from her belt, he felt a hard, thumb-sized dome. His fingers felt around the knob of steel that was placed with such delicate precision. He could not reach her tender bud. Through that steel-dome, a thick ring pierced her. And from that wicked metal cover, a steel cable ended, screwed in place somehow, and did not get loose under his fingers. The slim cable from the cart's handbrake ended right on her clit-piercing. Just before, maybe he shouldn't have pulled so hard? Biscuit, still gasping for air between big gulps, stopped abruptly from drinking. He plucked on her break-line like he had found a harp between her legs. Her groin twitched, quite desperately and in utter silence, and she did a bit of a hopeless dance on her hooves. Then, he let her continue drinking while his curiosity wandered deeper.
Right over her pussy, feeling completely bald and smooth, he saw a tattoo to his delight. A six-digit number had been inked on her naked mound, another statement of ownership, but it reminded him more of those you'd find on cattle or pigs, not on humans; it had no BDSM flavor to it, nothing fancy. He wondered if she had the same number inked under her upper lip too.
"Countess? What is that setup on her pussy."
"That? She's closed up. All my mares are. Eight or ten grommets, depending on the length of their pussies. It runs almost down towards their perineum. Can you feel them?"
"Oh yes." His fingers had found a row of horizontal steel balls on the outside (same diameter as his piercings), and no bar allowed entry.
"Only at the very bottom," she said, "can the discharge drain out, or if they get horny. And they're certainly kept horny! It's a great training motivator if you hold all the orgasms as the owner."
"No kidding..." He tried to breathe again; for a second, he had forgotten to do just that.
Before letting his trembling fingers move lower, he glided along her smooth mound once more, just to have touched her tattoo once. And sitting lower on her pressed together lips, each steel grommet was like an outer reinforcement of thick piercing holes, and through these, a very short piercing must be running through. Clamped together by steel balls from outside, they formed a nice clamshell of soft but probably very desperate pussy lips. Just by fingering her so intimately, yet very much in vain, he felt not just her own shudders for attention but his own sexual desperation growing and pounding under his tube of steel. Just out of habit, he kept on softly grinding his numb cock against her muscular leg. What a physique!
Only no sensation came through where he most needed it. Occasionally, he managed to make the lock move—under great discomfort—and it made him stop his foolishness for a moment before his hips continued with a will of its own. Fuck! For a second, his sexual frustration became too overwhelming for his male ego, but he dared not to beg her just yet. His fumbling fingers had found, at the bottom, her entrance—but even that tiny hole had been plugged by a hollow tube on which another steel-cable had been connected; her pussy-punisher, no doubt?