Beauty’s Release (Sleeping Beauty #3)(46)
Author: Anne Rice

"Now, that’s better," he said. I saw him patting Tristan’s shoulder. "I’ll tell you right now what it means to be a pony. It means pride in what you are, and a loss of all false pride in what you are no longer. You march briskly, you keep your heads high, your cocks hard, and you show your gratitude for the slightest kindness. You obey all commands, even the simplest, with enthusiasm."

We had finished our food, and we remained bent over the bar as our boots were put on, the laces pulled tight over my calves, the heavy horseshoes weighing my feet, so that the tears came to my eyes again. I had known these horseshoe boots on the Bridle Path at the castle, when Lady Elvera had whipped me alongside her horse. But that was nothing to this. This was a world of austere punishments, and, overwhelmed with confusion, I began to weep, making no effort to stop it. I knew what was coming.

As I remained in place, the phallus was pushed inside me, and I felt the soft brush of the horse’s tail, and I swallowed, wishing I was bitted already so that my crying would be less noticeable and might not make Gareth angry.

Tristan too was having a difficult time, and that further confused me. When I turned my head and glanced back to see the bushy horsetail in him, the sight of it enthralled me.

Meantime, the harnesses were being buckled on, fine straps that ran down over our shoulders, under our legs, through a circular hook on the back of the phallus and up to a strap around our waists, where they were buckled securely. It was a good and thorough job, though I didn’t feel the true panic, the true defenselessness, until my folded arms were strapped tight and connected to the rest of the harness.

With relief, I knew that my will wasn’t so important now. And a sob did break from me when the stiff rolled-leather bit was forced back between my teeth and I felt the reins against the sides of my face.

"Up, Laurent," Gareth said, with a firm tug of the reins. And, as I stood up straight and moved backwards in the heavy horseshoed boots, I felt him attaching weighted clamps to my ni**les, the weights brushing the skin of my chest as they pulled down on the ni**les. The tears were a flood coming down my face. And we were not even out of the stables.

Tristan moaned as he received the same treatment, and I felt that doubling confusion again when I turned to glance at him. But this time, Gareth pulled hard on my reins and told me to look ahead if I didn’t want a nice collar to keep my head straight.

"Ponies don’t look around like that, my boy!" he said and swatted me hard with his open hand, jolting the phallus inside me. "If they do, they’re soundly whipped and fitted with blinders."

When his fingers touched my cock, binding my balls against it with a tight c**k ring, I could hardly stand the gentleness of the touch, the heat of the sensation.

"Now, that’s nice," he said, walking back and forth in front of us. His white sleeves were rolled up to show the gold fleece on his sun-bronzed arms, and his hips moved enticingly under the leather tunic to suggest a comfortable swagger.

"And if I have to put up with those tears," he said, "I want your faces held high for the world to see them. If you must cry, then your Masters and Mistresses should enjoy the sight of it. But you don’t fool me, either of you. You’re perfect ponies. And your tears will only make me whip both of you harder. Now march to the front of the stables!"

We both obeyed. I felt him gather the reins behind me, the phallus like a club forced into my anus, hard and unyielding as the bronze phallus had been, thick, and firmly held there by the harness. The weights pulled at my ni**les. In fact, there seemed no part of my body that was left in peace, the c**k ring tightening on my cock, the glove-soft fit of the boots rendering the rest of me shamefully naked. The harness seemed to govern me, contain me, to unify a thousand sensations and torments.

And as I felt myself dissolving in these sensations, there came the loud crashing smack of Gareth’s strap on my backside. Another blow rang out, and I heard Tristan wince behind his bit. We were marched past the pillories and through another pair of doors into a big stable yard where carts and carriages stood in their stalls, and a gate stood open to the east road of the village.

I felt panic again, panic that we were to be driven out there, panic that we were to be seen in this new livery of shame, and the more I shook with sobs and anxious breaths the more the harness constricted me and the weights danced as they hung from my ni**les.

Gareth came up beside me and ran a quick comb through my hair.

"Now, Laurent," he said, scoldingly. "What is there to be afraid of?" He patted my bottom where he had whipped it only moments ago. "No, I’m not tormenting you," he said. "I’m quite serious. Let me tell you something about fear: Fear is only good when you have a choice in things."

He jerked the phallus to make sure it was in well. It seemed to grind me harder, more deeply, my anus itching and throbbing around it. I couldn’t stop crying.

"But do you have a choice in things?" he asked honestly. "Think on it. Do you?"

I shook my head to admit that I didn’t.

"No, that isn’t how a pony answers," he said gently. "I want a good shake of the head. That’s it. Again. That’s it." I obeyed, and each toss of my head tightened the harnessing, moved the weights, jarred the phallus. He touched my neck with maddening gentleness. I wanted to turn to him, weep against his shoulder.

"Now, as I was saying," he said. "And you listen to this, too, Tristan. Fear is only important when you have a choice. Or some control. You have none. In a few moments, the Lord Mayor will be here with his farm cart. He’ll be returning the old team, and you’ll be part of the new team to take the cart back out to the manor house for the afternoon load, and you’ve no choice in this whatsoever. You’re going to be marched out there and tethered to the cart, and you’ll pull it all afternoon and be whipped soundly as you do it. And there is absolutely nothing you can do to prevent it. So when you think about it, what is there to be afraid of? For a year you will do this, and nothing can change it. You understand me, you know you do. I want a nod now."

Tristan and I both nodded. And to my surprise, I was a little calmer, the fear seeming to darken, become something else, something nameless. Hard to explain it–perhaps impossible–the feel of this new life beginning, just beginning…. All the roads I had followed had led me to this place, this gate, this beginning.

Gareth took a little oil in his hands from a nearby jug, and he rubbed it onto my balls, murmuring that it would make them "glisten," and then he gave the tip of my c**k the same polishing. I could hardly endure the stimulation, the chills crawling over my skin, and I shied away from his hand as he laughed and pinched my rump.