Read Online A Rough Ride: Pony Girl Training in Latex and Leather by C. P. Mandara - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C. P. Mandara
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even came close to it. 'Congratulations, Mr Matthews, and have fun with the demonstration.' The vet appeared satisfied with his creation and sidled back to his desk, content to watch the proceedings from a respectable distance.
'You might as well have your fun now, Matthews. I'll be having the last laugh when she's awarded my trainee for the next few years.' Kyle's glare was hostile, but it had little effect on his adversary who was once again training his gaze on the pony before him.
Domingo and Armand had just managed to get her back in her hoof-boots and they were now tackling her corset with a considerable amount of gusto. Unfortunately for them Jenny was now back in the land of the living and she was not going to take being strapped back into the air-sucker-outer lying down.
She wanted to scream. To be exact, she wanted to scream the words, 'Get off me you sonofabitch bastards!' What she actually managed to spurt out through her tightly gagged mouth was 'ggggmmmffhhhh,' and it didn't sound half as promising. The fact that she couldn't articulate a single syllable poured petrol among the already very fiery flames. Now she was really mad. Somehow managing to propel her body upwards and get to her feet in a manoeuvre a Chinese gymnast would be proud of, Jennifer Redcliff would have looked tall and imposing on her four inch hooves had she not had a serious wobble on landing, but by some miraculous feat she managed to remain upright. Now what?
Looking around frantically and unable to detect any clear exits within her very limited field of vision, she had few options available to her and they were as follows: a) run as fast as you can and hope for the best or b) lie down and play dead. Obviously, she ran. Unfortunately running was no mean feat when you had four inch hooves, but determination served her where pony hoof-boot design failed. Somehow she made it to the white timber doors with nobody's hands upon her. This was mainly due to the fact that she'd managed what must have been at least a five metre skid upon the smooth marble tiles with her plastic hooves. Sliding precariously, with her balance all over the place, her hooved hands finally managed to bang into the sturdy timber door and she frantically cast her eye slits downwards in an attempt to spy a door handle. Her heart was banging out the good bits of Tchaikovsky's 1812 overture and now that there was a chance of escape in sight her body had infused itself with blood and felt ready to do battle. There was the door handle. It was a simple latch mechanism. She just had to flick the lever upwards and the doors would open outwards. Reaching out and already exulting in her victory, she moved her fingers forward and made to open the metal ratchet. Bang .
Her gloved hoof bounced back off the wall and pain splintered through her wrist on impact. The other hoof followed suit, but this time it was a gentler thud because she knew she had already lost. That was why no one had chased her. In her suit she had been rendered as helpless as a baby. There would be no escape for her while she was trussed up like this. Hooves flailing at the door, banging at the lever as if it might magically open, Jenny felt invisible tears leak down her face. Thank God no one could see her now, brought to a new all-time low. Sinking to her knees, still banging at the wood with her mittened hands, she was almost glad of the hood that would hide her tearstained face. The humiliation of crying was enough. She did not need them to witness the act and watch the enjoyment on their faces, which she knew without a doubt would be there. Trying to stifle her sobs, she let them watch her furled back and tried to drown out their laughter, which rang sharply in her ears.
Mark had watched the display of spirit and felt nothing but pride for his soon-to-be apprentice. Jennifer Redcliff had now spent three days of intensive training within Albrecht's walls and she should be feeling the effects. The girl should
'You might as well have your fun now, Matthews. I'll be having the last laugh when she's awarded my trainee for the next few years.' Kyle's glare was hostile, but it had little effect on his adversary who was once again training his gaze on the pony before him.
Domingo and Armand had just managed to get her back in her hoof-boots and they were now tackling her corset with a considerable amount of gusto. Unfortunately for them Jenny was now back in the land of the living and she was not going to take being strapped back into the air-sucker-outer lying down.
She wanted to scream. To be exact, she wanted to scream the words, 'Get off me you sonofabitch bastards!' What she actually managed to spurt out through her tightly gagged mouth was 'ggggmmmffhhhh,' and it didn't sound half as promising. The fact that she couldn't articulate a single syllable poured petrol among the already very fiery flames. Now she was really mad. Somehow managing to propel her body upwards and get to her feet in a manoeuvre a Chinese gymnast would be proud of, Jennifer Redcliff would have looked tall and imposing on her four inch hooves had she not had a serious wobble on landing, but by some miraculous feat she managed to remain upright. Now what?
Looking around frantically and unable to detect any clear exits within her very limited field of vision, she had few options available to her and they were as follows: a) run as fast as you can and hope for the best or b) lie down and play dead. Obviously, she ran. Unfortunately running was no mean feat when you had four inch hooves, but determination served her where pony hoof-boot design failed. Somehow she made it to the white timber doors with nobody's hands upon her. This was mainly due to the fact that she'd managed what must have been at least a five metre skid upon the smooth marble tiles with her plastic hooves. Sliding precariously, with her balance all over the place, her hooved hands finally managed to bang into the sturdy timber door and she frantically cast her eye slits downwards in an attempt to spy a door handle. Her heart was banging out the good bits of Tchaikovsky's 1812 overture and now that there was a chance of escape in sight her body had infused itself with blood and felt ready to do battle. There was the door handle. It was a simple latch mechanism. She just had to flick the lever upwards and the doors would open outwards. Reaching out and already exulting in her victory, she moved her fingers forward and made to open the metal ratchet. Bang .
Her gloved hoof bounced back off the wall and pain splintered through her wrist on impact. The other hoof followed suit, but this time it was a gentler thud because she knew she had already lost. That was why no one had chased her. In her suit she had been rendered as helpless as a baby. There would be no escape for her while she was trussed up like this. Hooves flailing at the door, banging at the lever as if it might magically open, Jenny felt invisible tears leak down her face. Thank God no one could see her now, brought to a new all-time low. Sinking to her knees, still banging at the wood with her mittened hands, she was almost glad of the hood that would hide her tearstained face. The humiliation of crying was enough. She did not need them to witness the act and watch the enjoyment on their faces, which she knew without a doubt would be there. Trying to stifle her sobs, she let them watch her furled back and tried to drown out their laughter, which rang sharply in her ears.
Mark had watched the display of spirit and felt nothing but pride for his soon-to-be apprentice. Jennifer Redcliff had now spent three days of intensive training within Albrecht's walls and she should be feeling the effects. The girl should
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