Enduring Company

By DX

Copyright, 10/2025, all rights reserved.

Having no where to sit, I stood by the window in the drably, tiny apartment.  From my advantage point I could just about see the alley below and the bored constable left to guard it.

The rest of the view was a dilapidated brick wall.

Above, I could hear the distant chug of steam engines on the Airship Goliath as it sailed high over the city, and in my own tedium I calculated its speed and arrival to the air-station against my watch.  It was a half minute late, but factoring current weather, no surprise.

Chastity Bates; however, was a full minute early.

She burst frantically into the room, her skirt fluttering, and dove under the bed.  She retrieved her case, flung it open on the bed, and immediately began scooping out her clothes from the dresser and piled them in.

“Ahem,”  I said.

Her eyes flashed with surprise.  They were stunningly huge and warm like chocolate morsels.  Her hair was blonde and filled with soft curls tucked neatly beneath her pinned hat.  She had a sweet, button nose, pinch-able crab apple checks and round, puffy lips in a startled gape.  She was petite, and elegantly dressed in silk and satin.  Her bustled skirt was just high enough to show off her buttoned boots, and her Spanish leather corset served up her pendulous breasts, distractingly large on her small frame, which her short bolero jacket couldn’t hide.

She was sweet, innocent, and disarmingly beautiful; excellent traits for a viperous villain.

“I am a private inquiry agent…”  I began.

In a practiced move she slipped her hand into the hidden pocket of her corset, retrieved a pistol, cocked it, and raised to fire, her face tightening as she pulled back the trigger.

Mrs. Velt sprang from behind the door.  She seized Bates’ wrist in her iron grip and pointed the gun down to the bed.  Bates struggled fruitlessly against Mrs. Velt’s Amazon strength, but yielded when Mrs. Velt prized the gun from her hand.

Mrs. Velt handed me the gun.  It was a fully pressurized Lucan Mk IV short barrel, capable of launching three, five millimeter iron balls at nine hundred feet per second in quick fire.  It was a tiny pistol, and very deadly at the short range we were at.

Continuing, Mrs. Velt spun Bates to face her, then without leave shoved her hand into the exposed valley of Bates’ bosom, and ignoring the woman’s squeak of surprise and indignation, retrieved the Eastern fist dagger we already suspected to be there.  

Spinning Bates again, her face now crimson from the intrusion, Mrs. Velt burrowed her way under the woman’s skirt and bustle and retrieved a Spenkat trench scatter gun and handed it off to Miss Pett who had been waiting in the corner of the room.  Finishing her task, Mrs. Velt ran her hands over Bates’ body, then arms, and located a flex knife disguised as a humble promise ring; an excellent tool for cutting the ropes or picking locks one finds on one’s wrists.

Gathering up all the weapons and tools, Mrs. Velt stepped back and took a post blocking the door.

Recovering from her assault, Bates casually glanced around the room to see if there was anyone else she failed to notice when she ran in.  Regaining her decorum, she slowly rolled her shoulders back, and let her soft eyes challenge me.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,”  She said, her voice like syrup.  “or the details of the warrant signed by a Magistrate that allows this intrusion to my private domicile.”

“My name is of no consequence.”  I proclaimed defiantly.  “As for a warrant, admittance was legally attained when I paid the landlord your back rent.”  I explained, slipping the pistol into my pocket.  “You will get a receipt for any confiscated items at the conclusion of our talk.”

“Quite forward of you to think I want to talk to you.”  She said, her pillowy lips firm.

I glanced out the window.  “If you would like, you can spy on the constable in the alley, then check on his comrades now guarding all the egress points of this fine establishment.”  I mentioned, offhandedly.  “You might want to go speak with them in regard to strange intruders in your apartment.”

Her cool demeanor was betrayed by the slight pallor on her cheeks.

“No?”  I queried, my eyes hardening.  “Then allow me to continue.  I have been hired by a Lord, his name to remain anonymous, to observe you and report my findings to the Service.  I suspect the reason you seem keen to rapidly change abodes is your street contacts have already warned you of their newly inspired investigation into your recent accounts.”

She tilted her head and laughed lightly.  “You’ve seem to have mistaken me for some scoundrel.  I’m merely an actress.  My agent has procured a new gig for me out of country.  My booked airship leaves momentarily.”

“I’m not stopping you.”  I said cooly, and fished out my note pad.  “A moment, please, while I write out the receipt I promised you.  For reasons of personal safety, your weapons will be handed over to the Service.  You can reclaim them there.”

Her eyes stabbed me brutally in the chest, but the flicker of her gaze softened like a cloud passing by.  “You’ve gone to all this trouble to see me, it would be rude not to hear you out.”

I feigned surprise.  “Oh, I thought you were in a hurry.”  I continued scribbling.  “Well, if you insist, I’ll keep it brief.  You are an intelligent woman.  You know what you’ve done.”

She put up her hands defensively.  “I’ve done nothing.  I’m a simple actress.”

I flipped a few pages in my book.  “Lady Gantry, Lord Michael, Lady Velma…”  I looked up.  “Shall I go on?”

Her lip quivered as she gave a slight smile, but ice wouldn’t melt on her tongue.  “Whatever you’ve heard, I promise is hearsay and inadmissible in court.”

I flipped another page.  “Bank of Mann.  Bank of Ledshire, Fellows at Harbor.  I imagine their records are admissible in court, and support the testimony of your victims.”

“Enough.”  Her face darkened as she tried to hide her simmering rage.  “State your proposal.”

I let her wait as I finished writing out her receipt.  I then ripped it from my book and dropped it into her open suitcase.  “To be clear, all of my information has been reported to Service.  To be curt, you’re facing the gallows.  Fortunately, you are pretty, and the magistrate is loathed to send a beautiful woman to endure the short drop.”  I winced at the thought.  “Leaving you to dangle, kicking, gasping for air… for such a long time.  As long as twenty minutes or more, so I’m told.  It must feel like an eternity.”  I shuddered.  “Ghastly!”

I watched her swallow nervously as the image of the creaking, tightening rope around her neck flashed before her eyes.  “Is gloating part of your assignment?”  She said, her will shaken.

I nodded an apology.  “Please overlook my self-righteous air.  I just want to lay out all of facts.  In regard to your case, and a good solicitor, life imprisonment at Brentmore is a possible sentence.”

The color ran away from her face and Miss Pett stepped forward ready to catch her should she faint, but she recovered.

“Forgive me for distressing you.”  I flipped through my note pad.  “I see Brentmore is familiar to you.”

“Four years.”  She said, her voice raspy.  “Turning the crank.”

I was curious.  “I’m unfamiliar with that term.”

“It isn’t a term.”  She explained.  “I was sentenced to four years turning a crank.”  Darkness swelled under her delicate eyes.  “Every day, for fifteen hours a day, I turned the crank.”  The weight of her tone was heavy and distressed.

“And what did the crank operate?”  I asked.

“Nothing.”  She said darkly.  “It wasn’t connected to anything.  I just had to turn it, with a trustee standing there to watch me… to make sure I did it.”  She blinked away the memory.  “Two of us: me turning the crank, the trustee watching me turn the crank.  For four years.”

I decided to press on.  “A life sentence, if you’re lucky; however, Banishment to the Colony is also an option.”

The horror on her face flashed as if I had slapped her, but I went on.  “And based on the list of your victims, I wouldn’t be surprised that Banishment is the preferred sentence.  You wouldn’t be around as a continual reminder to the victims.  Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.”  My eyes were cutting.  “It’s not that you never imagined being caught, you’re too clever for that.  It’s just that you thought your victims would never subject themselves to the public embarrassment of a trial, and you would have been right, but you got too greedy, and the list too long.  Now the names shrink on the page, lost in the grand scope of it.”  I flipped through my book.  “You gambled the stolen fortunes in the casinos, or on expensive wines and sex slaves from the Continent.”  My lip twisted at the foul thought.  “The debauchery!”  I didn’t relent.  “I imagine the public will demand your Banishment!”

She shook her head to scatter the specters filling her eyes.  “So I take it you’re here to offer… an alternative?”

I gave a slight nod.  “I am, but it may not be preferable.”

“Anything!”  She said too quickly.

I put up a hand to stop her.  “Know it will be most uncomfortable, and quite humiliating.”

She gave a half smile of relief.  “Don’t be over-concerned with my public standing.”  Her smile became curious, and she glanced back at the two women behind her.  “Are you…?”  She motioned.  “All four of us?”

It took several seconds to figure out what she was suggesting, and my face sagged, abashed.  “No!  Nothing of the sort!”

She nodded.  “That did seem to be a little too easy.”  She peered at me through lidded eyes.  “We could you know.  Maybe as a little…”  She licked her lips as she chose her words.  “warm up to this task of yours.”

My face tightened and I felt the heat on my cheeks.  “No!  Forgive my candor, but there is no coitus copulatio, or actus venereus involved.”  I calmed myself.  

She waited a moment, then asked.  “I’m sorry, did you mean no sex?”

“Yes!  No sex!”  I admonished, nodding to the two other women in the room.  “Mrs. Velt and Miss Pett are chaperones to insure there are no solicitous shenanigans.”

“Solicitous shenanigans?”  She mocked.  “Mr. My Name’s Not Important, you’ve already established I have no money, so what else is there?”

I took a breath to calm the rattle of my nerves.  “Endure the company of my Lordship for a time until he is done with you.  You’ll be chaperoned at all times during.  Once he is done with your company, we will see you to the border and discharged, where I’m sure your wiles and cleverness will see you through customs and out of the country.  If you maintain discretion, you might evade capture and expedition back here.  If anything, you’ll have a fair head start.”

She squinted.  “Endure his Lordship’s company?”  She was expectedly skeptical.  “No sex?”

“No sex.”

“For how long?”

“I can’t say.”

“And what is it I do?”  She pressed.

“Nothing.”  I replied.  “You endure his company until he discharges you.”

She glanced back and Mrs. Velt and Miss Pett, then back at me.  “And then you take me to the border…”  Her eyes studied me.  “and let me go?”

“That is the proposal.”  I said, nodding.  “I will provide you with pocket money for small occurrences to ease your travel.”  I put forth dismissively.

Her head dipped as she tried to hide a slight smile.  She then looked up, her poker face fully entrenched.  “A hundred Crowner… for traveling expenses.”  She put out her hand to shake on the deal.

This was a test.  The amount was clearly absurd.  If I agreed she would know it was all a lie and the plan was to release her into the waiting arms of the Service, or just straight to a shallow, unmarked grave.  

Instead of shaking her hand, I almost spat up a laugh.  “Don’t be silly!”  I barked.  “I had meant to offer a little ease to your task, but if you wish, p’raps you could make a deal with the constable downstairs and see if he has a hundred Crowner to give you.”  I let my anger show.  “No?  Then let us be serious.”  I reached into my pocket and retrieved my purse.  I pulled out some coins and shifted them in my hand to line them up.  “Five Fipen.  Enough to book steerage on a train, a humble meal, and a canteen of tea.”  I slid the coins into her open suitcase.

She tried to dismiss the offer, but her desperation was clear.  “Ten Crowner and I’ll be so far gone you’ll forget I existed.”

I turned my purse over and dropped the last coin into my palm.  “A half Crowner.”

She nodded to her case, and I dropped it in.  A brilliant smile flashed on her face.  “Now, let’s go see this Lordship of yours!”

I held up my hand to stop her.  “His Lordship will have you dressed appropriately.”  I motioned to Mrs. Velt and Miss Pett.  “The ladies will assist you.  I will have my back turned, of course, to protect your honor while you are prepared.”

Her smile dimmed.  “Then we are to do this now?”  She signed.  “Fine, the sooner the better.”  She slid off her jacket and began to undo the buttons on her blouse.

Quickly, I turned my back.  To my unexpected surprise I could see Bates’ ghostly reflection in the dirty window.  I watched Mrs. Velt slip out of the room as Miss Pett helped Bates’ unlace her corset and step out of the ring of her skirt.  By the time Bates was down to her shift, Mrs. Velt returned carrying a wooden casket, manhandling the large, awkward thing with ease.

It was six feet long, two feet wide, and eighteen inches deep.  It was made of stout, heavy oak, stained and polished, with shinning brass caps protecting the corners and edges.  In Mrs. Velt’s powerful arms it looked light, but the sound it made as she set it down in the corner of the room demonstrated its solidity.

Astounded, Bates could only openly gawk as Mrs. Velt removed the lid.

It was an audacious, bordering on gaudy, frilly purple, grey, and pink dress filled with an excessive amount of lace, bustles, and pleats.  Black patent leather button boots rose to mid thigh, ending at the hem of the swelling skirt.  The shiny leather corset would display Bates’ lovely curves, while serving up her copious breasts admirably, with a hole at center mass to focus stares at her cleavage, before slipping up to a lace edged collar.

At the top was the doll’s head.  It had big, perfect bow lips in mild surprise, and expansive safire eyes.  The surface was perfectly smooth and polished, like ceramic.  It was coifed with a scarlet wig that flashed iridescently.  At its crown was a tiny purple top hat with a trailing ribbon for a hat band.

It was almost comical.

Transfixed, Bates took down the head and examined it.  “You want me to wear this?”  She found it opened into two halves and she noted the interior was completely smooth and austere.  She looked at me.  “How do I see?  Or breathe for that matter?”

“All that will be seen to.”  I said.

She weighed it in her hands and found it only slightly heavier than air.  “What is this made from?”

“Ah!  That is a newly discovered material harvested from the ocean; woven seaweed fibers we call Sea Silk.  It looks like silk, feels like silk, but far stronger than silk, and a little more expensive than silk, so it won’t take the fashion world by storm.  It also has no elasticity, so it doesn’t stretch in the least, so its wearability is very specific, but when layered together with an epoxy harvested from oyster shells, a hard version is made.  Less than a quarter inch will stop a bullet.”

She held up the mask to her face and found it would fit her entire head perfectly from crown to chin.  She tried to open her mouth but found it impossible.  She then handed it to Miss Pett.  “Whatever conversation his Lordship wishes to have will be one sided.  I won’t be able to speak or hear a thing in that doll’s head.”

“Which will suit his Lordship.”  I finished.  “Shall we begin, Miss Bates?”

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The Queen’s Helmet

By DX

Art by Doktork

Copyrighted 9/2024, all rights reserved.

The towering stained glass windows of the throne room depicted a heroic man clad in shabby, broken armor battling a fierce dragon.  As the beast’s claws raked the hero’s breast plate leaving long bloody scars, the hero plunged his sword, dulled and chipped, into the beast’s heart.

Along the walls, other windows depicted the hero’s rise to accept the crown as king.  Then, by his hand, aquifers and dams and canals were built and the farms were irrigated and protected from flood and drought.  Other windows showed farmers and bountiful harvests, schools and cathedrals being built, and a kingdom flourishing.

In the hall, drenched in the multi-colored light from the windows, the administrators, priests, and nobles sat in tall backed chairs.  They spoke casually in hushed tones.  Pages scurried about to light lanterns as the light from the stained glass windows slowly faded to sun set.  Everyone looked up expectedly as Lord Dorland came from the king’s chambers.

“All hail, King Garland!”  Someone shouted.

“All hail, King Garland…”  Echoed throughout the hall.

Dorland nodded, and waved for quiet.  “The king yet lives.”  

“All hail, King Garland.”  The hall murmured.

Dorland nodded, then turned and shuffled back towards the king’s chamber.  As he neared the door, a skeletal hand plucked at his arm.  “How much longer, Lord Dorland?”

Dorland shrugged off the clutching hand.  “Patience, Lord Baylen.”  He whispered.

“We wish the king eternal life,”  Baylen pressed.  “not eternal suffering.”  Baylen’s face darkened.  “Nor is our patience eternal.”

Dorland pulled away and pushed through the door of the king’s chamber.

The aged King, emaciated, grey and slacken, lay still on his bed.  Earlier he had pulled open his nightshirt and exposed the horrible, never healing scars the dragon had left him all those decades ago.  Princess Galen pulled her veil off and covered his scars to keep the flies at bay.

In the King’s right hand was his crown.  On his left was Princess Galen.

Princess Galen was kneeling at his bed side.  Her hand intwined with his.

King Garland’s eyes flashed open.  “Dorland?”

“I’m here, your Majesty.”  Dorland stepped forward, but one of the doctors interceded.

“You must rest, your Majesty.”

The King shook his head almost imperceptibly.  “Dorland, your quill, your parchment.”  The King took a few moments to catch his breath from his exertion.  “Mark the time and date.”  He began, straining to be heard.  “I, King Garland, Dragonslayer, bequeath my crown…”  He paused, then let out a terrible cough as his face contorted with pain.

Quickly, Princess Galen rose up and with a damp towel, wiped the blood from the King’s lips.

He nodded his thanks to her.  The turned his head toward Dorland.  “I give my crown, my kingdom, to Princess Galen.  He shifted the crown, and dragged it towards her.  “Take it, Galen.”  He looked over to her, and despite his tremendous pain, smiled proudly.  “Queen Galen.”

Dorland’s quill scratched feverishly.  

“Your Majesty, please!”  The doctor pressed.  “You must rest.”

The King only looked to his daughter.  “Beware your sister’s treachery.  Even though I’ve sent her off to marry Prince Verius, given the slightest inkling, she will ruin you.”  He coughed again.  “Remember, love your people.  Guide them, nurture them.  Build them roads and schools and they will take care of the rest.”  He paused to catch his breath.  “Show kindness and mercy when you can, but remember justice is a hammer.  Strike true!  Keep Duke Wilhelm close.  Trust no one else.”  He smiled weakly.  “And let me be the first to say to you, your majesty, Queen Galen.”

With a gentle smile on his face, King Garland, Dragonslayer, passed to the next world on a river of his beloved daughter’s tears.

“The King is dead.”  The doctor murmured.  “Long live the Queen.”

Dorland nodded.  “Long live the Queen.”  He shuffled to the door.  “I’ll inform the court.”  He, with the doctors close behind, slipped through the door and closed it behind him.

And Queen Galen openly wept.

Moments later there was a knock on the door, and Dorland peered in.  “Your highness, you’re needed in court.”

Whether or not she took offense to his wrong use of title, she didn’t show it.  She lay the King’s crown on his chest, then placed his hands upon it.  She then washed her face.

Bareheaded, she stood regally, and walked into court.

The lords and nobles were all on one knee, their heads bowed.  Queen Galen stepped to the center dais, and raised her hands.  “Rise gentlemen, and be seated.”

No one moved.

Curious, Queen Galen looked around and noticed a cold shadow on the floor.  She turned towards the throne.

Princess Cassandra sat curled up on the throne, her legs over the arm rest.  “Sister.”  She cooed.

Her eyes filled with daggers, Queen Galen nodded curiously to her sister.  “What of your marriage to Prince Verius?”

Cassandra scoffed.  “Why would I marry a seventh prince when I can have a kingdom?”

Queen Galen drew a sharp breath.  “Guards, remove Princess Cassandra from the court.”

No one moved.

Cassandra turned and slumped on the throne.  “There’s been a change, sister.”

From the back of the hall, a guard ran in.  “Your Majesty!  Duke Wilhelm has been arrested!”

Cassandra clapped her hands.  “Call the headsman!  Bring his block and axe and put it right there!”  She pointed to the middle of the room.  “I want Wilhelm on his knees.  As the crown is placed on my head, I want the axe to fall on his neck!”  She squealed in delight.

“How dare you!”  Queen Galen roared.

Lord Baylen stepped forward and slapped Galen, then cried in pain, clutching his hand.  “Bow down to your Queen!”  He shouted, then turned and held out his hand to the doctor.  “I think I broke it.”  He whimpered.

Queen Galen scanned the men kneeling before the throne.  “His body still warm and you betray him?”

“We’re just following his last command.”  Cassandra answered, then clicked her fingers.  “Dorland?  Read our good King’s last words.”

As Dorland held up his parchment, his squire held up a candle to shed light.  “Hear the final words of King…”

“Speed this up!”  Cassandra said, tiredly.

Dorland cleared his throat.  “Ah, yes.”  He looked to his document, reading quickly.  “Herby bequeath my crown to Princess Cassandra…”

“Liar!”  Queen Galen screamed.

“Quiet!”  Cassandra roared, then looked to Dorland.  “Read the good part.”

Dorland looked sheepishly, and mumbled.  “Queen, I mean, Princess Galen is to be sent to the brothels, which are to be reopened in according to the old customs.  Queen… uh, Princess Galen will serve her kingdom as a cum swallowing slut for the rest of her days.  Her arms shall be removed, her sex sewn shut, and her identity locked away in the Queen’s Helmet!”

Cassandra clapped her hands and two pages wheeled out a cart.  On the cart was a helmet, polished to a mirror shine.  The helmet was perfectly sculpted to fit the wearer skin tight, and would cover from the crown of the skull and drape over the shoulders.  It was smooth and featureless, save two lucite shielded eye ports and a gaping hole for a mouth.

Cassandra fanned her hands at it to show it off.  “Crotainum alloy, virtually indestructible.  The locks are on the inside”  She pointed.  “So once it is on, it is on for life.”  She giggled.  “And would you look at that?  It’s just your size!”  She chirped in delight as she pointed to a small valve at the throat.  “You’ll breathe through here, so you’ll be able to service the nobles without interruption, and of course, make you silent.”  She snorked a laugh as she pointed to the eye shields.  “You’ll be able to see somewhat, but on the outside, it fits seamlessly, and looks opaque.  So no one will be able to tell you from one service slut to another, but you will know who’s cock you are sucking.”

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Art used with permission from Doktork:

Safia's New Filly!

By DX

 A woman breaks into Mistress Safia’s club and challenges her, but the mistress only smiles because she was looking for a new Ponygirl!

 

Artwork and words Copyrighted 2/2001, 10/2023 All rights reserved. Images or story may not be reproduced electronically or otherwise without permission!

 Wildfire glistened in the mid-day sun as she the canted through her paces.  She had taken to the surgically implanted hooves and her balance was adjusting.  The Thyr-steri treatments had made her taller, stronger, faster, and gave her unheard of endurance.  Her rider felt light on her back.

 She shook her mane and tried to remind herself it was only a bad hair cut.  She clenched the bit in her teeth as she tried to ease the relentless pain in her jaw from the sawing reigns.  Mistress Safia was an unyielding woman, but Wildfire had quickly learned that if she obeyed, Mistress Safia could be quite pleasant.

 Wildfire didn't want to obey, but Safia was breaking down her will, slowly and surely.  Soon, Wildfire would forget her own name. 

 Alice had been a mousy, plain woman who hungered for a romp on the wild side.  When she heard of Mistress Safia’s adventures she long to be part of it.  She applied, but was turned down.  The reason given was there were no positions available.  They invited her to resubmit in a few months, but Alice wouldn’t wait.

 She stole a club patron’s ID and snuck into Safia’s club.  Once in, she used the stolen patron’s established bar tab and bought herself the most expensive drinks.

 She then had way too many.

 Through blurry eyes, she spotted Safia and confronted her.

 “Jusch who do you think you are?”  She slurred as she splashed her drink and stained Safira’s dress.

 "You're a wild little filly, aren't you?" Safia smiled with her eyes as she spoke.  “A little wild fire!”

 Alice was three sheets to the wind as her glassy eyes fell on the mistress.  "You thinksh you hot shit, don't cha'?" She slurred. “Turn me down?  You turned me down because you can’t handle the liksh of me.  I betsh you can't tame me!”

 Safia smiled. "I already have.”

 Alice looked at her curiously, then looked at her glass as the world spun away from her and the floor rose up and smacked her in the face. 

 One of Safia's special teas had done the trick. 

 “Did you think to impress me with this stunt?”  Safia asked the bewildered girl.  “Steal and lie your way into my club and drink my expensive liquor?”  She laughed as the staff peeled the girl off the floor.  “I would have simply sent you to one of the rooms upstairs to sleep it off, but you HAD to challenge me,”  She gestured to the other patrons who watched with scandalous curiosity.  “in front of everyone?”  She laughed.  “Ironically, I had revisited your original application.  I had an opening for a new sub-mistress, but after tonight’s show, I think you will fit another position entirely.”  

 She signaled to her handmaidens.  "Take her to the car.  I believe I have found my new filly."  

 As Alice slipped into darkness the word filly danced in her head.

 She was whipped to break resistance.  

 The treatments made her grow.  Alice, now Wildfire, marveled that even her breasts were swelling to perfect orbs, but they were only a purchase for Safia to punish.  Wildfire screamed into her gag as the surgical screws permanently attached hooves to her feet and a wispy tail to the base of her spine.  The dental work was the worst as they adjusted her jaw to properly accept her riding bit.  She would no longer be able to utter a single human word, but only grunt and whiney like a horse.

 Oddly enough, the most humiliating thing was the hair cut.  The stupid horse hair cut.  The groomers used a laser device to permanently destroy the follicles of any unwanted hair.

 The pain was nothing compared to Safia’s conditioning.  Days on end in a virtual world with full tactile sense of training in altered reality turned her iron will to slag.

 She soon felt the tight bite of the leather tack harness, and in no time at all she felt naked without it.

 When Wildfire looked at her reflection in the watering trough, she didn't know who it was looking back at her.

 "I have something special for you today, Wildfire." Safia announced as she reigned her towards the barn. "Today we apply the final finishes that makes you my ponygirl forever.”

 Wildfire thought she felt a spark of happiness as her knees weakened.  A moment of protest sparked somewhere deep within, but she didn’t want to resist.  

 She cringed when she saw the glow of the hot branding iron.

 “You should be honored to wear my brand.”  Safia motioned.  “Now, be a brave Wildfire and show me how grateful you are to wear my sigil.”

 Wildfire nodded, and stepped up.  As she presented her flank, she realized she was proud, and happy to be accepted by her wonderful mistress!  The girl before was adrift, nameless, now she was Wildfire, property of Mistress Safia!  Her purpose was to provide joy to her wonderful mistress!

 After she recovered, her reins were removed and replaced with her bit gag.  Wildfire was always gagged except for eating and sweet kisses from her mistress.  Then her corset, that tight, wind stealing corset was removed and replaced with a steel belt that constricted her waist even more.  Wildfire cringed from the sparks of the welding gun as it was permanently sealed up.  Then, heavy brass collars were squeezed over her breasts until the hung like little blobs of dough on her stomach.  They felt very odd as they hung there, brushing against the cold steel of her belt.  Then because everything has to be extreme with Safia, titanium shafts were pierced through her breasts to permanently secure the brass collars in place.

 A new collar and harness were bolted on, and connected to the steel belt.  This form fitting brace allowed her spine to carry a rider easily over many miles. 

 Wildfire's arms were then positioned behind the back prayer style and riveted into steel mittens. 

 "A proper ponygirl has no need for arms." Safia explained.  "They will be uncomfortable for a while, excruciating in fact.  But as they atrophy, the pain will subside, along with your memory of the girl you used to be.”

 An aluminum saddle was bolted on.  The mittens were positioned to be the horn of the saddle at the right spot to entertain Mistress Safia as she rode.  Stirrups were attached to Wildfire’s teats, and Wildfire was ready.

 "Feed and water her.”  Safia called to the stable girl.  “I can't wait to take her out for a ride.”

 And they rode.

 Wildfire loved the caress of wind through her mane.  Safia only had to touch her flank with the crop and she sprang to canter and then run.  They ran the steeplechase course in record time!  Wildfire marveled how her new tack fit her perfectly, allowing her to perform as never before!

 When she heard Safia laugh with joy, Wildfire was happy!

 When they returned to the stables, Safia dismounted and handed the reigns over to the stable hand.  As they stable girl lead Wildfire away, Safia touched her new ponygirl’s cheek.

 Wildfire felt of joy.

 In the shadow of the stable, Wildfire leaned down to sip at her trough and saw her reflection in the water.  She looks nothing like that girl she used to be.  

 What was that girl's name again?  Wildfire wondered to herself, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember that girl's name.  As she made her way over to her feed, she dismissed it, like a dream to the dawn.

Copyrighted, 2/2001, 10/2023 all rights reserved.

Imprisoned  (Teaser)

Full story available here, please support us!
 https://subscribestar.adult/posts/873962  

By DX

 

Copyrighted 2017,2023 all rights reserved.  May not be used without prior written permission.

 

 

            The sharp tick of her arch breaking high heels clicked sharply on the cement floor of the parking garage and the sound echoed madly in her foggy and heavily drugged brain.  She could see herself on the edge of a dream, her elegant dress flowing, and her fox fur draped across her shoulders.  She was tall, despite being only five foot four in her killer pumps, as if floating on her cloud of hubris.  She was sparkling in her hazy dream, diamonds winking in the flickering florescent light.  Her lipstick was a dark, venous blood red and her lips wore a perpetual arrogant smirk.

            She had much to be arrogant about.

            The feel of metal and cement grated on her face, as a low, throbbing pain racked through her body.  Why was she lying on the floor?  Where was the attendant?  Where was her phone?

            Watching her dream-self rummage around in her clutch purse she wanted to cry out, The phone!  It’s in the purse!  Call for help!  Now!  but all she could manage was a throaty moan her dream-self could not hear.  Instead of her phone she pulled out the key to her Lexus, all the while oblivious to the hulking shadow sweeping up behind her.

            Lightning, hot and sudden, and her world went vertical.  The greasy, oil stained cement floor ruined her dress, her hair.

            She lay on the floor.  It was wildly bright.  Walls rose about her, surrounding her completely.  Cement.  Cement walls, cement floor, cement ceiling.  Get up!  She shouted at her dream-self.  Run!  Just run away!  But he had her, picking her up and putting her into darkness.  The sound of a van door slamming shut.  

            There had been no fear, no realization, until the hollow tearing sound of duct tape being spooled off a roll filled her senses.

            She was in trouble.

            Then nothing.

            It jarred her fully awake.  She was in a cement room with light, brilliant white, beaming down from a three-inch hole in the ceiling.  As she stirred, sliding to sit up, she first noticed she was barefoot.

            Where are my shoes?  She looked around for them thinking about the cost of her designer footware before the flashing image of metal pulled her attention back.  Shiny metal shackles wrapped her ankles, connected by a metal cable.  They had no key, no lock.  It was as if someone had welded them on.

            Still struggling to sit up she tried to use her arms but found her hands were trapped in small, round cages, which had also been cuffed.  There was a short, three-inch cable attaching them to a metal belt, leaving her hands trapped to her waist.  Cables ran down the front of the belt to a metal shield, which pulled snuggly over her vagina.  The cables then ran from the bottom of the shield, under her buttocks then up over her hips to the belt.  Her eyes traveled up her body before stopping at the metal cups covering her breasts held tightly in place by welded cables.

            “What in the world?”  She croaked, feeling her voice rake as if she hadn’t used it in quite some time.  As she scooted on her butt to sit up properly she felt the weight of a cage around her head.  It appeared to be oval in shape with bars blooming up from a metal collar around her neck.  There were flat pieces welded on the inside of the cage that rested on the crown of her head, across the bridge of her nose and under the nape of the back of her head.  As her head turned, the cage turned with it.

            Almost breathless, she properly took in her surroundings.

            She was in a concrete box.

            It was about three feet wide, three feet high and three feet long.  The ceiling had a hole where light poured through.  In the corner there was a dimple in the floor about eight inches in diameter and four inches deep.  In the center of the depression there was a hole about an inch in diameter.

            She slowly shifted around and found the door.

            Framed by concrete, the door was two feet by two feet of the same shiny metal that her shackles were made from.  In its center was a three-inch diameter hole.  She shuffled closer, trying to peer out.  As she leaned towards it, she could see frame of the door showed the thickness of the concrete walls.  She guessed it was about eight inches.

            Was she in an asylum?  Locked away in a high-risk ward?

            “Hello?”  She called out, putting her eye up to the hole.  The metal of the door was an inch thick; beyond that was a heavy piece of glass, possibly ballistic.  “Can anybody hear me?”  She could see a small, cramped room.  The concrete walls were maybe six feet high and the room about six feet deep.  Against the back wall was a metal rung ladder.  Just at the end of her peripheral vision to her right, she could see blue plastic barrels stacked one on top another.  She could count four, but imagined there where more.  There was white PVC piping connecting them all together.

            “My name is Eliza Cooper!”  She shouted at the door.  “I am the Assistant States Attorney!”  She craned her head to try to see more in the room.  Light beamed down from a hole in the ceiling similar to the one in her concrete box.  “I demand to be released!”  Her voice shrilled.  “You must return my clothes at once!  You have no right to keep me here and I promise heads will roll for this!  I want a supervisor down here right now!”  She squinted, peering through the little hole.  There didn’t appear to be any video cameras in the room.

            She sat back almost aghast.   The concept began rolling through her head.  She wasn’t in prison or an insane asylum.  Images of her last memory flooded her senses.  She had been abducted.

            “They’re looking for me, you know that?”  She screamed.  “You’re only making it worse for yourself.  Release me now and we can talk plea bargain!”  As her voice’s echo faded out, she knew no one had heard her.

            She scanned the door, but there was no key.  It was smooth, without a slot for food or water.  She tried to maneuver her body so her hands could reach the door, but the hand cages prevented her from touching it.  She rotated carefully, swiveling on her butt on the concrete floor.  She scooted forward and then leaned back on her back so she could raise her feet to the door.  

            She tried pushing, and then sliding the door, but it didn’t budge.  She then kicked it repeatedly but it was so solid it barely made a noise.  Panting from her exertions she shifted to get back on her butt, but it was complicated in the tiny space.  With her hands cuffed and her feet shackled any movement became a carefully orchestrated exercise in human engineering.

            Sweat glistened on her brow as she almost cheered when she was sitting again.  “You will pay for this.”  She growled, catching her breath.  “Every bit of this, every indignity.”  She looked at the door unmoved by the threat.  “I know you hear me and I swear you will pay for this!”  She shifted forward and started banging her caged head against the door.  It made a good, sharp clang.

            “I DEMAND TO BE RELEASED!”  She hollered, her words punctuated with strikes against the door.  “Now!  Do you hear me!  I am the Assistant States Attorney!”  Sweat rolled down her face as she tried to catch her breath.  “I have rights…”  She tried to wipe the sweat from her face but cursed her hand cages.  “What the hell is this?”  She looked at her cable and shield underwear.  “A chastity belt?  Seriously?”

            She leaned back and rammed her head into the wall hoping to break either the wall or the head cage.  Neither happened.  She slipped her legs underneath her and got to her knees.  She tensed her body, aimed her head at the door, and with an Amazon’s battle cry launched forward into the door.

            Stars flashed across her vision as she bounced back.  Stunned, she glared at the door.  It was unblemished.  She geared up again and crashed her head as hard as she could.  Other than a sharp pain in her head, nothing had happened.

            She thought it was sweat dripping from her brow until she saw it was blood.

            “I’m bleeding!”  She shouted.  “I need medical attention!”  She shuffled as close to the door as she could.  “You cannot deny me medical attention!”

            There was no answer.

            Eliza Cooper, Assistant States Attorney sat back in stunned silence.  

            She shook her head, not believing, and began screaming and screaming and screaming.

            Hours?  She had lost track.  She was sticky in her own blood, although the cut to her head had clotted.  There was nothing left of her voice but she kept chanting her demand to be released until exhaustion took her and she slept.

            Sitting on the unyielding cement floor caused slow but insistent radiating pain, which stirred her.  Alarmed she was still in her concrete box, Eliza began shouting again, but her throat felt as if she had gargled with butterfly knives.

            Looking again she noted the room was dimmer.  She looked up into the hole in the ceiling.  Eight inches of cement led to a pipe, about three inches in diameter.  The pipe went straight up for at least ten feet.  She shouted up the hole with her feeble voice but nothing happened.  Peering again, she noted the light was in fact fading.

            And a sliver of rainbow.

            She pulled her eye from the hole with start, and then peered again.

            A prism!  She thought, sitting back.  It was directing sunlight from who knows where and now the sun was going down.  A flash of fear tickled her but she dismissed it.  They have some night operations.  She assured herself.  It also meant the evening shift would come by.  They had to feed her and provide her with medical attention.

            They would release her the moment they found out who she was.

            Something started ticking.

            She felt it more than heard it.  Mechanical clockworks came to life and she shifted her legs around, ready to leap out the moment they opened the door.

            Gravel spilled from a small hole in the wall into a dimple in the floor.  Beside it was a second basin that filled with water.

            Eliza looked at it curiously.  She hadn’t noticed the two bowls set into the floor by the door before and it surprised her that, locked in a three foot cube, she hadn’t properly taken in her environment, but then again she hadn’t thought she would still be there to worry about such things.

            The gravel appeared to be dry dog food.

            “You are kidding me.”  She hissed.  “You are…  fucking kidding me!”  She cursed.  She sat in the far corner, trying to put as much distance from the insult as possible.  She started screaming again, invoking the Geneva conventions and the Red Cross.  

            But the room only became darker, gloomier.

            Fear became an itch.

            She felt the walls closing in as the darkness grew.  She screamed more and more but still there was no response.  She knew there would have to be some light, probably from the peephole in the door.

            There wasn’t.

            The darkness was profound and absolute.

            And Eliza screamed and screamed.

 Full story available here, please support us!
 https://subscribestar.adult/posts/873962 

 

 

Imprisoned  (Teaser)

 

Copyright 2023, all rights reserved.