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“Just a quick look around, Sumani, and I want to check on my team.”
We follow Sumani into the building. It is quiet and dimly lit.
“Our ponies need much sleep,” explains Sumani. “They’re worked hard during the day whether pulling in harness or exercising on the treadmill.”
Down the right wall, which is windowless since it backs up against the slope outside, is a row of ponies. They are hooded, collared and hanging in thick fur covered straps.
We walk down the row toward the end passing pony after pony. Finally I recognize Lady Constance’s favorite team by their massive size.
My hostess beams with pride looking at the helpless duo. They are asleep which is most curious since the straps hold them upright in a kneeling position. Both heads are covered with soft cloth hoods with a single opening for mouth and nose. Most of their weight is held by the wide straps, hooked behind them to the wall, each encircling the inside of the upper thigh, then returning to the wall hook. The collars, also wide and fur lined, are likewise hooked to the wall, and while serving to bear a small portion of their weight, mainly holding the pony upright. Their ankles are cuffed and drawn up behind them as are their wrists. These limbs are also hooked to the wall.
The overall configuration is to place the pony in a kneeling position about two feet off the floor. Their somnolence indicates that their bonds are comfortable, and indeed I believe a close inspection would reveal that their weight is proportionally borne first by the thighs, then the ankles, wrists and lastly the neck collar.
“These sleeping hoods are very thick,” explains Lady Constance. “No light can be seen, and much noise is muffled.”
I turn back toward the entrance and count some ten ponies to our right. There appears to be half a dozen more to our left. Past them a wide arch leads to a separate room at the far end of the long stable building.
“The exercise room, “ comments Sumani when she notices my gaze.
Meanwhile, Lady Constance is brushing her hand over the exposed flesh of our starboard pony, although he may have been harnessed to the port side, it is impossible to discern the two. He stirs in reaction. Recognizing her touch, he attempts to lower his head, lips and tongue at the ready. Lady Constance smiles and glides her right hand to the penis, the testicles and then between the thighs.
“Good. Botana has plugged him.”
r /> Her hand returns to view. In it is a rubber squeeze ball at the end of a flexible tube. She hands me her wineglass.
“A little amusement before dinner, Doctor. And don’t be alarmed. It’s actually quite healthy for them.”
Her left hand reaches over to the other giant steed. Between his thighs she finds another squeeze ball and pulls it forward.
“Inflatable butt plugs. One of their favorite treats.”
Lady Constance simultaneously gives the bulbs three quick squeezes. If the ponies were not fully alerted to her presence before, they certainly become so with their thighs pulling against the straps and heads wriggling.
And then the penises begin their slow rise for their mistress. The shafts engorge. The tips expand and make a steady journey toward the stable ceiling.
Lady Constance laughs. The wine stimulates the heady feeling of having the male organs perform like trained circus animals.
Her goal is to achieve as much tumescence as possible without incurring the pain of the bands. Thus, the knowing hands give each bulb a fourth but much slower squeeze. She can apparently feel the back pressure of the ponies’ internal organs, most notably the prostate gland. And with her experience she knows precisely the timing and action needed to properly display the prodigious manhoods for her viewing pleasure.
She pauses. The tips turn from pink to red to purple.
“Wriggle for me.”
Both phalli respond bringing another laugh from the Queen of Constancia and another slow squeeze from each hand.
“We’ll strike fluid soon,” she announces with pleasant enthusiasm.
Within a minute, beads of prostatic fluid ooze from the urethra. This seems to provide a signal to the prescient Lady. She releases the bulbs and they gently swing just below the scrotums. She retrieves her wine.
“With the inflatable plug massaging the prostate, they experience a very slow and subtle pleasure. They’ll squirm a bit, trying to add to the manipulation of the little gland and bring themselves to ejaculation, but it isn’t possible. I don’t allow that. Since they’re kept chaste, the gland does need stimulation. But I decide when and how.”
The need for a sip of wine curtails her explanation. We stand and watch. The wet mammoth shafts begin to reflect in the dim stable lights as clear fluid flows with more abundance. The ponies wriggle and squirm as Lady Constance suggested, and their actions do indeed seem to increase the flow. And my dominant hostess is most sanguine in casually standing by, watching her prize team move about in their bonds.
Finally, she announces it’s time for dinner. But before leaving, her right hand lifts her pleated dress and explores between her thighs. Her fingers reappear and she then coats the nose and lips of the right pony with her feminine essence. The left pony receives the same treatment and the aroma of her sex seems to spur renewed writhing within their bonds as we turn toward the exit.
Sumani stands near the door and bids us good night.
“Remove the plugs in another fifteen minutes, Sumani. Their glands are quite full.”
