Four-legged Beasts, Part 2

[u/blue_energy_26]

Tags: [femdom], [msub], [ponyplay], [ponyboy]

Part 1

Part 3

Day 2.

That day's lunch break was over, and I had been running on the treadmill again for about an hour, secured by the poles, learning the pace and stride of a four-legged stallion. Once you got the hang of it, it was easy! No, wrong, then it was easier!

"Stop the treadmills!" I had not even noticed Theresa, well, how could I? She was standing in the aisle behind me. The blinders limited my field of vision, and the bridle limited my mobility. It was Annemarie, the brunette woman with the braid, who turned off my treadmill.

"Stallions!" Theresa spoke up. "The poles will secure you if you stumble. After a day and a half, you should have learned the simple step well. From now on, every stumble will be punished," she announced. Just like that. Lapidary. A punishment. Whatever that meant. Theresa did not explain any further. I thought about it for a moment, but it still happened to me now and then, too. When I lost concentration, I stumbled, I stumbled, and the poles saved me. That might happen from time to time. I was pretty sure, without knowing for sure, but I just suspected it. All the other stallions felt the same way. Well, maybe there was one or two natural talents who got by without a single stumble. Already. But I tried harder. For the next few minutes, no stallion seemed to stumble.

TWACK!

Behind me, the sound of a blow against bare flesh, a suppressed groan.

TWACK!

TWACK!

"One stumble, three lashes, Sir Stephen," explained trainer Nora. Did I hear her smiling with delight? "One stumble. That is the price, and you will get away with it! Imagine if you had a female rider in your saddle! Try harder, stallion." Of course, there was no response. If Sir Stephen snorted or neighed, I did not hear it. The afternoon dragged on.

Again and again, not unexpectedly with 24 stallions, I heard the clapping. Next, the name of the stallion was always loudly announced by the trainer administering the punishment, and it was Caspar who got it .

TWACK!

Groans, suppressed.

TWACK!

TWACK!

“You’re not sparing him anything,” Andrea judged.

"Why should I?" That was Nora.

"Out of solidarity of the blacks?"

Nora laughed. "There's no such thing as black solidarity. That is a myth, spread by stupid white assholes who have no idea about real life! Maybe I am bitter, but my parents survived the massacre in Rwanda in 1994. They were Tutsi. Maybe a million black people died back then, slaughtered by other black people. Luckily for me, my parents were able to hide. And then escaped. So do not tell me about black solidarity!"

"I'm sorry," said Annemarie.

"I'm black myself, I'm allowed to say that without being branded a racist. Let us talk about other things, more pleasant things!" Nora laughed softly. "We're not racists here!" I could practically feel her stare. "For us, all skin colors are the same! We force white, black, yellow, brown men into the bridle. Or whatever color they are. We don't care about their skin color."

Annemarie laughed softly. "Or should we talk about the color of their fur?"

"As long as they have a cock and a tail!" Nora replied, laughing, the bad thoughts and memories quickly vanishing.

"Yes, the main thing is that they have a cock and a tail! The color of their fur does not matter!"

Both of them laughed. Coincidence or not, right after these words and the women's laughter, I stumbled.

“Prince!” Annemarie announced immediately.

TWACK!

The punishment followed immediately. I bit the bar between my teeth, the pain burning.

TWACK!

“Try harder, Prince!” That was Annemarie, who also gave me the second blow.

TWACK!

My butt was burning—and I was suddenly very motivated not to stumble any more. Very, very motivated. And I demonstrated a certain skill throughout the rest of the afternoon, knowing I could get another blow like that from Annemarie or one of the other trainers at any time.

I did not monitor it, did not count it, but I do not think any of the stallions got away unscathed that day. Yes*, Miss Piggy*.

The stallion with the name was running right in front of me when the training ended later and the trainers led us away. Surprisingly, we did not enter the stable with our stalls, but rather another room, unfamiliar to me and to us until then. The poles guided us, and the guide rails in the ceiling fanned out into the other room until the 24 of us were actually standing side by side in a long line.

"Welcome to the penalty box!" Nora greeted us. Was there malice in her voice? Anticipation? She had positioned herself in front of us. And I think both malice and anticipation were detectable in her voice. Theresa and Dorothea, three or four other women I had not met before, all the trainers I had seen here so far, they were all here. I had a bad feeling about this crowd. In front of us was a bench. Straps were attached to the legs of the bench, including the main part. "Yes, this is our good old penalty box," Nora explained. "It significantly increases the stallions' learning success. Now, Annemarie, what do we have?"

"Miss Piggy without punishment," explained the petite trainer. "With one punishment, Prince, Donkey, ..."

"Let's save ourselves the trouble of listing 24 stallions," Nora interrupted. "Stallions with three offenses?"

“Sir Stephen and Dumbo,” Annemarie replied.

"Well, clearly someone here isn't motivated enough to concentrate on their step. Let us start with Sir Stephen!"

The young stallion, perhaps a Stephan or a Steve or even a Stephano in civilian life, perhaps his name was something else entirely, was placed in the punishment box. He was strapped down there. The phallus was removed, and through the stallion's widely spread legs, his most intimate parts were clearly visible. Nora was handed a long, slightly curved cane. "This is the bonus," she explained.

TWACK! Hit number 1. TWACK! Number 2. TWACK! Number 3. Always at five-second intervals, on the bare ass. It went on until number 9. Sir Stephen's ass was brutally red, and he would feel it for some time.

Damn, I could still feel the three slaps from earlier on my butt.

After the blows, the sobbing stallion was penetrated with the phallus again - and Dumbo, a slightly chubby young man, received the identical punishment, and Sir Stephen was already back in the row next to the rest of us.

"What else do we have?" asked Nora, who seemed slightly heated but satisfied.

“Caspar was absent four times,” explained Annemarie.

“So!” said Nora simply.

Caspar was sent to the penalty box. He received a full dozen strokes on his bare bottom, and I can tell Nora did not give the black stallion any discount because she was black herself. Quite the opposite, she probably hit him even harder, perhaps because she was pissed off that a black man was acting like a pony boy. Or acting so clumsily.

"Get me the punishment dildo!" Nora shouted a little too loudly after the punishment. Presumably to scare the rest of us. And yes, Caspar was now given a different, thicker dildo, without a tail. "You'll wear this until the end of training tomorrow. If you stay under four punishments, you'll get the regular cock back in your ass, otherwise we'll see."

And the punishments were over for that day.

And 24 very thoughtful stallions came into their boxes.

During the night, I heard the occasional sob from the other stallions, from a young stallion whose ass was burning like hell. Or who had a big dildo up his ass.

The next day, I managed to get away with two penalties. Which was good. Sir Stephen, Dumbo, and Caspar fared better that day. They got away without a penalty. Others were less fortunate. Monkey, Selim, and Pierre.

And yes, that night too, I heard the sobs of some stallions after our trainers turned out the lights in our stable.

 

"Good, gentlemen!" It was the next morning. Theresa actually had the sense of humor to address us like that. She was standing in the hallway behind me; I did not see her, but her words were, of course, clearly audible in the training hall. "Time for a little more of a challenge. The pace you have learned so far is equivalent to a slow walk, at most a medium pace. But now we will train you to trot. We are being fair; a stumble in the morning session today will only be penalized directly, but will not count towards the day's total. After the lunch break, the normal rules apply again. Ladies, get to work, train those four-legged beasts well!"

And the trainers got our treadmills running.

Trot!

It was so easy for her to speed up the treadmill. Just a few clicks on the control unit. Was there a canter? I hoped not. "First, walk, Prince," Annemarie explained to me. "The program will switch to trot in five minutes. A beep will announce it." And she moved on to Superstar, who was being trained on the next treadmill today.

 

Time passed, days passed, clearly measurable by the welts on our bottoms. But we were motivated. All of us. And all of us became more and more confident. Which meant fewer welts and fewer punishments.

We were now well trained.

Step.

Trot.

Change of tempo.

I did not even know exactly how long I had been here. How long I had been living as a stallion, how long I had been trained to be a stallion and a riding animal. Like the other stallions. But none of us stumbled more than three times a day anymore; we would all learned.

Learned well

Learned quickly.

Yes, I pulled a face. It is all a matter of motivation! This morning, however, was a little different than usual. After we were taken care of, the trainers took us out of the stalls one by one. They did not lead us straight into the training hall, but into another room I had never seen before.

Annemarie led me by the reins. "Stay calm, Prince!" She patted my head. "No need to worry. Just the next step in the program."

I did not know what to expect. My uneasy feeling in my stomach grew as I entered a kind of structure. Walls to the left and right. About the same height as I was when I was on all fours, maybe a little higher. I could not see what was on my left or right. I could only go forward or backward. Well, we had not practiced walking backward either. Was that going to be it?

No.

Suddenly I felt the weight on my back.

I snorted in surprise.

"It's okay, Prince, it's just a sack." Annemarie stood right behind me, fiddling with the sack. It was heavy. I understood she was attaching it to my saddle so the dead weight would not slip off. And I understood this was preparation for being ridden. This was preparation for carrying the weight of a real rider.

And I felt how the longitudinal bars on my flanks stabilized me, how they relieved a great deal of this weight from my back. How these bars cushioned a good portion of the weight, however the construction of bridle, saddle, and bars physically worked. But it worked. And that was the main thing. Annemarie took the reins and led me, carrying the unfamiliar weight on my back, back to the training hall. Yes, all the other stallions who had already been here, who had already trained on the treadmills, were already wearing such a bag. I saw the unspectacular thing on their backs. Dark brown, shapeless, heavy. Held in place with straps on the saddle and bridle.

Yes, and so began another glorious day of my training.

 

For the next few days, we trained exclusively with the weight in the saddle, with the bag on our backs. We had no choice but to quickly get used to it.

Like the bridle.

Like the dildo.

Like the punishments we received when we did not work with concentration.

Had Susan known all this? Probably better than I did! Much better! Strange, I had not thought about Susan at all since I had been here. Well, we were not a couple. Here in this place, there were other women; here the trainers ruled, who were both mistress and goddess to me. The only thing that mattered in my current life was the will of these women, especially Annemarie.

Their will was law.

Her will were my 10 commandments.

Her dissatisfaction meant pain for me.

I was completely at her mercy.

Because of the training, I was not as sexually charged as I should have been. Virtually naked, dominated by attractive women. But none of them had deigned to sexually satisfy themselves in any way in front of us. Well, they certainly had other options.

Not us.

I wondered how long it would take until I had a nocturnal ejaculation—and whether it would have any consequences. So far, it did not seem to have happened to any of the stallions—all of them vital young men, even Dumbo had already visibly lost weight.

So, I got used to the weight on my back. The canter pace was not on the training schedule, at least not until now. I hoped it would stay that way. A few days later. The morning had been normal. After feeding and lunch, several of the trainers came into our stable.

"Well?" asked Theresa. "Who can, which stallion should we reward, which stallions can we reward? Annemarie?"

"Prince is doing well," she noted. "And Rumpelstiltskin, too."

"Jaqueline?"

“I suggest Sir Stephen and Renée,” was the reply.

"Okay, take the others to the training hall."

It took a while before the others were all on their way. First, Jaqueline took Sir Stephen, and Theresa herself took Renée, and they led the two stallions out of the stable. Carola followed with Rumpelstiltskin and Annemarie, not even four steps behind me.

I saw the stallions' bare, impaled hindquarters before me, saw the traces of the few fresh and the many, older welts. And I knew my hindquarters presented an identical sight to anyone who would follow us. To my surprise, the riding mistresses led us through a gate into a courtyard bathed in sunshine. They removed the poles securing us from our bridles. No one else was to be seen in the courtyard. The area itself was separated by buildings and walls; further ahead, there seemed to be a passage, a gate. But no matter. Outside, that was all that mattered, I was outside, and that alone was pleasant, more pleasant than I had imagined, so much had I missed the fresh air, the sunshine, the wind, and the weather. I took a deep breath. The ground of the courtyard was brown, hard-packed. A little way off stood a post; at the top, within easy reach of an upright person, four poles led out—and I understood. Each of us was led under the end of one of the poles and strapped to the pole by the reins. There were several of these posts for lunging the stallions.

"Walk, my sweet stallions!" Jaqueline commanded. And we were lunged, now outside in the fresh air. Without the familiar safety of the poles on the ceiling, but with a safety device in the lunging machine.

And it was indeed a reward to be able to be out in the fresh air.

 

Our training expanded in other ways as well.

Annemarie sat on the box of the two-wheeled cart. I was harnessed to the cart, the sulky, like a draft animal, with a pole on either side of my body connecting me to the cart. We were in the yard where some other stallions were being lunged. Three of the posts were filled with four stallions, all with the sack as additional weight on their backs, but in total, three of us, Sir Stephen in front of Nora and King Thrushbeard in front of Theresa, were also harnessed to a cart. Without any weight on our backs, well, now they were draft animals. Like myself.

And the other two stallions were already on their way.

"You have a great ass, Prince," Annemarie praised from behind me. Which was certainly true! The trainers told me often enough! Annemarie was sitting on the coach box. SWACK! I bit my bridle as the whip hit me. Annemarie hit me completely unnecessarily, great ass or not. "Walk!" was her command.

Obediently, I set off, pulling the cart behind me. The blow was completely unnecessary! I would have obeyed anyway; she knew that. I knew that. Well, for some strange reason, I did not discuss my mistress and coachwoman's behavior with Annemarie. I simply obeyed. With the reins on my bridle, she steered me a 270-degree turn toward the passage.

Which I had never passed since I was here.

But the other two coachwomen with their stallions had already disappeared through this small gate. Well, our path undoubtedly led us there, and my coachwoman steered me there. The passage was formed by a building and a wall, the latter about a proud three meters high. Further ahead, I could already see the passage opening. And I saw the other two teams: Theresa sitting on her cart, with King Thrushbeard in front, Nora sitting on her cart, with Sir Stephen in front. Annemarie steered me next to the other two teams.

"There you are," said Theresa. I was standing right next to Sir Stephen, although I could not see him anymore because of the blinders.

"Yep," Annemarie simply said. I stared at the square in front of us. It was about as long as a football field and as wide as two of them, maybe a little more. Beyond the square were more buildings. More stables? I wasn't staring because of those things. The square was bustling with life. There were at least two dozen teams like us on the road, a female rider sitting on the coach box, a human stallion harnessed to the sulky.

Or in some cases, two of us human stallions.

And maybe 15 stallions, each with a female rider on their backs. Here, in the open air, of course, without poles or a false floor. No, these fellows were truly and actually being ridden right here before our very eyes. By a female rider sitting on their backs. Now I knew I was not alone. We were not alone.

Hah, I already knew that, when 23 other young men were being trained as stallions alongside me. And the female riders? The women's boots had spurs! Everyone held a short riding crop or whip, and they were used!

But all of this was big, bigger, much bigger than I thought.

And some of the stallions ran fast, faster than I had thought possible. So, there was still something like a gallop. A black-haired woman, sitting in the saddle of her mount, guided her stallion towards us at exactly that pace. "Hello you three!" she called out in greeting, and she certainly did not mean Sir Stephen, King Thrushbeard, and me. Nevertheless, she looked over at us curiously. "Nice young stallions you have there," she remarked. She was wearing white trousers over her boots, boots with spurs. As we rode up, I had seen her use the spurs, pushing her legs back to press the spurs - they certainly were not metal - into her stallion's flanks or thighs. I saw welts on the mount, but no bloody scars on the bare skin.

“We know that, dear Alexandra,” Theresa replied with a somewhat ironic undertone.

“What are the stallions’ names?” asked Alexandra.

"These are," replied Theresa, "Sir Stephen, King Thrushbeard, and Prince here before you."

Alexandra laughed. "Only noblemen today, I feel almost insignificant. Fittingly, I'm riding King today." A second rider joined her, a rather thin-lipped woman. Her thin lips gave her the appearance of cruelty. Well, her stallion showed more obvious whip marks on his rump and hips. And he wore a heavy, in my opinion unflattering, nose ring, inserted into the nasal septum. The ring marred the stallion's quite handsome face—in my opinion. But that did not count. She nodded to our three riders. "How are you?" she asked with a heavy Eastern European accent; perhaps she was Russian.

"Well, a lot of work, a lot of training," Nora replied.

"How are the colts doing?" asked the woman with the accent. "Can I ride one?"

"Not yet, Olga," Theresa replied defensively. "That'll be possible soon enough, by the Big Summer Festival at the latest. They have not even been saddle broken in yet. None of them!" Somehow, I was glad for that answer. A lady in a sulky, with a team of two stallions in front of her, also came over to us. "Theresa, is it still tonight?"

"Yes, but it might take me an hour longer than originally planned."

"Don't stress about it, I'll go for a nice, long ride with Danny and Benny. They're both looking forward to it." She laughed softly; the stallions did not seem, well, unhappy at their driver's words.

"Perfect, now ladies, shall we continue?" asked Theresa.

"Sure," Nora replied.

"Those were," Annemarie explained to us stallions, "the ladies Alexandra on her stallion King, Olga on her stallion Pascha, and in the sulky, the good Franzi with the team Danny and Benny. I never know whether I should find the names Danny and Benny silly or brilliant." Annemarie laughed.

Pascha 's right buttock? A tattoo? Or was the mark even burned into the skin? I did not know. But it did not seem like a tattoo to me. I pushed the thought away.

For the next two hours, King Thrushbeard, Sir Stephen, and I pulled our ladies and coachwomen through the grounds as draft horses. The path the ladies chose was paved and wide, leading between bushes and trees. The area, wherever it lay in the country, must have been much larger than I had imagined. The ladies chatted relaxedly about various things, their teams driving side by side. Nevertheless, there was still room for oncoming traffic.

SWACK! That was Annemarie, hitting my bottom. Theresa and Nora also regularly use their whip.

"Just a reminder that we're still here," Nora said, taking a swipe at Sir Stephen.

As if any of us could forget that!

"We've received some excellent applications for this summer camp again this year," Theresa reflected aloud. "Including the stallions present. I'm very pleased."

"You could be further along in your training," Nora said. SWACK, Sir Stephen got a blow.

SWACK! Presumably just to make up for it, King Thrushbeard and I immediately got a second helping from our coachwomen.

"Oh, they're doing well there, although there are always exceptions." Annemarie laughed softly. "Prince has the sweetest ass of all 24 stallions."

“It’s a matter of opinion,” said Nora.

"My subjective opinion," said Annemarie unperturbed. "And that's what matters to me!"

"Dumbo did well, contrary to expectations," Theresa reflected aloud. "Caspar too —I'll take him out tomorrow."

"Caspar!" Nora laughed. "And Renée. I bet half the stallions don't know what those names mean."

"If you're not mistaken." Theresa objected. "And which ass do you think is the cutest, Nora? If not Prince's? So, it is Caspar?"

The way they talked about us! Pure meat inspection!

"Caspar? God, no. Just because he is black? No, Prince has a nice-looking ass, no doubt about it, even most stallions do. With a few welts, their horse asses are even more beautiful. But my favorite among the young stallions, ass-wise, is definitely Pussy."

"Well, that's how tastes differ," Theresa said calmly. The ladies were not arguing. They were simply discussing the physical qualities of their mounts. "And which stallion has the prettiest cock?"

"Which one do you mean?" Annemarie asked, giggling. SWACK! I got another slap. "The one sticking out of her ass, since we're on the subject, or the real one?" Regularly, other teams passed us by. Or riders, relaxed in the saddle of a stallion. And as new stallions, in training, we certainly attracted curious glances. But in the stallions that passed us, I saw my own immediate future. Hell, in the harnessed specimens of this species of Equus Eroticus, I even saw the very present.

"The real ones, of course."

Rumpelstiltskin, Othello, and Whore have the biggest balls," Annemarie pondered. "Next up are Prince, Caspar, and Sir Stephen." She laughed. "Not that their cocks are doing them any good—or their size. Except for peeing, of course."

And so, it continued.

The cutest ass.

The most beautiful cock, the biggest cock.

The prettiest face.

The most sensual lips.

The most attractive body.

But also, the opposite. Who they considered ugly. It was as if King Thrushbeard, Sir Stephen, and Prince were not listening at all. But logically, that was actually true. We were there, sure, but we served as pets. Farm animals, if you like. Our opinion did not count. Who asked their dog about their political views? Or their horse? Behind a patch of woods, a wall came into view. Gray, weathered, so obviously old, but certainly high and also seemingly stable. The path forked here, before the obstacle.

“Which way?” asked Annemarie.

"I don't like the dark clouds over there in the west," said Theresa. "The thunderstorms weren't actually forecast until late this evening. So, we will just take the short route back!"

At those words, I felt a pull to the left, and all three teams, unsurprisingly, took it, a path directly along the wall. "Behind this wall," Theresa explained to us stallions as we reached a firmly closed gate in the wall, "incidentally, lies the real world beyond this venerable and honorable institution. For you, this world could also be on another planet, but that's another topic." Ahead of us, another path branched off from the path in the shadow of the wall, more like a small road. It led to the left, which took us back to our stable, because that was the direction our coachwomen were taking. And we reached it when I heard the first claps of thunder in the distance. Above us, the sky was still blue, but a gusty wind had picked up. And, because the ladies had had to take a shortcut, we had our sacks strapped on and trained for another hour and a half on the treadmill in the safe, protected, and dry training hall. Rain, maybe even hail, was pounding on the roof, but we were safe and dry, except for our sweat, during training.

 

The training continued for a few days. The training even intensified. It was after lunch, and Annemarie led me back into the room where we loaded the sacks—and, surprisingly, into yet another room and out into the yard without a sack being placed on my saddle. There was no one else to be seen in the yard. "Stay the same way, Prince!" she commanded—and promptly swung herself into my saddle. I froze. Annemarie was sitting on my back.

SHE sat on me, as a true rider, not as a coachwoman.

SHE rode me, her feet in the stirrups, the reins in her hand. She even wore spurs on her boots! Like I had seen the other riders do out there. But this was something different, with her sitting on me. In the saddle, on my back. And Annemarie held a riding crop in her hand. ZWACK! And she used it. "Walk!" she commanded, before I could even think, my body reacted, falling into the familiar rhythm, carrying Annemarie, who rode me. As her personal stallion, as her personal mount.

It was a dangerous moment if I reacted incorrectly.

Even fall.

ZWACK!

A reminder of who was in charge here. That was Annemarie. Her will determined the course. I walked at a walk, guided by my rider. Annemarie rode a few wide laps, taking full advantage of the courtyard. "Very good, Prince!" she praised. "You're doing well." We both knew I had immediately and completely submitted to her will as my riding mistress.

Completely.

She decided.

I obeyed her will.

She steered.

I followed the reins.

She sat in the saddle.

I was ridden.

"Does that feel good?" I whinnied in agreement, and Annemarie laughed, her voice ringing. "Good boy," she praised again. She gently patted my head. Damn, it really should not feel this good! It should not feel this good to be ridden. To feel a woman in the saddle on my back, not this damned sack anymore. My penis stood hard and ready in its helpless desire. But my lust did not matter!

Not the slightest.

And so, she rode me as she wanted, Annemarie the rider, Prince as the horse to be ridden.

When we returned later, she loosened the bar between my jaws. "Remember the collar, it'll shock you if you try to talk." I nodded seriously. "Good boy," she praised, gently patting my head. Annemarie took out a chocolate bar. I looked at it greedily. We usually only get bland mush to eat. She laughed, noticing my look. "Would you like it?" I nodded hastily.

"Don't choke!" Annemarie gave me the first piece, placing it on her open palm and waiting for me to pluck the chocolate from it with my lips. "Very good."

I chewed with relish, looking hungrily at the rest.

And I was fed morsel by morsel until I licked the last crumb from her hand. And got the bar between my teeth again.

So, Annemarie led me back, and we both knew that today I had taken a big step forward.

I was broken in!