Reined In

An inferior species, sculpted for service. Humans who are not humans, a wonderful paradox, the best, most companionable pets anyone could ever possibly wish for.

The world denies her that dream. All she has is me. A pony is a sweet thing, but it's not a kingdom. Not a species in her thrall.

That just can't be helped. I can only do the best I can to please and entertain my master.

"Perform for me," Tanya commands softly, as if reading my thoughts,

- surely she can't do that for real

- but my thoughts are admittedly simple

, and I know exactly what to do. The floor is always scattered with objects, precisely for this purpose. Pulling on my reins, Tanya directs me towards a pen.

I bend down to pick it up with my mouth, and straighten, holding it between my teeth. It makes my pussy twitch in needy arousal... because of course, finely regulating pleasure is one of the most powerful and rapid ways to condition a human's behaviour.

She has explained that to me, so many times, while I lost myself in the icy blue of her eyes, and her words burrowed deep inside my mind.

"Trick-turning pony whore," Tanya says, not with malice or even sadism, but as a dry factual statement. Is she wrong? I don't see how. That's exactly what I am. What she's molded me into.

That's why she introduced the reins, one day. I was already well along the path to destruction, at that point. Skipping classes, neglecting friends and family, spending more and more time in Tanya's shadow. My shape bending and reforming more and more, under her pressure.

The proud, outspoken liberal girl I'd been was already starting to come apart at the seams. I was afraid all the time. Tanya terrified me. I wasn't as good then, as I am now, at soothing myself with slavish obedience. I didn't know how to fight anxiety.

Every time her mask slipped, every time I glimpsed the monster underneath, every time her hands touched me, I... I...

Not now.

I must not begrudge her all that. She's made me into the rational being I am. After all, when you have no friends and no classes and no human contact and no life, what is left to you, but logic?

I understand why Tanya introduced the reins. Simply dominating me would never suffice. Humans dominate each other all the time, consensually or not, covertly or not, even if we pretend that it is not true.

The hypothesis she was testing was never just about power, it was specifically about taming.

She could have chosen a dog bowl, perhaps, or a cow bell. Both would have served to drive the point home. Humans are animals. Both can be tamed. If animals can be made into pets, humans can be made into pets.

I am a woman, I am an animal, I am a pet.

I don't know why she chose the reins, over the other options. I do know that back then, the "reins" were really just rope. A coil through my mouth, tied off at the back of my head, hands tied behind my back, another coil of rope running down the length of my body and between my legs, so it would press against my tamed pussy with a simple pull of Tanya's finger...

I have a bridle now. But the rope is still there, between my thighs, and its mere presence ensures that I can't not think about it, like a wedge driven into my simple thoughts. Someone please yank the rope. Someone please rub it against my clit. Please let ponygirl cum.

My pony training started right away. I was so responsive to the ropes and its inputs on my physical body, just like my mind had been responsive to Tanya's incentives.

Receptive. Malleable. Submissive. Inherently easy to tame.

She made me kiss her boots for the first time, that day, after making me literally and metaphorically prance around the room to her beck and call. I could feel layer after layer of my humanity, my identity, my self-perception being peeled away from me.

Tanya was flaying me, in mind if not in body. She was mutilating me, and with each metaphorical, surgical amputation of my identity, I would sigh and shudder in pleasure, on the verge of arousal, never allowed release... while her words sunk deep into my mind, and my eyes went glassy at the deep cold blue of hers.

From that moment onwards, I was only allowed to orgasm from the reins, from the ropes, like a good pony should. It amused Tanya -- in a mild, distant sort of way -- that she could make me cum without even touching me.

All she had to do was rhythmically pull on the rope, pressing it against my clit, rubbing until my eyes would roll back into my skull and a humiliating climax would shatter my defences in pulsing waves.

What a way to cement the link between pleasure and pony status in my ever more tamed brain.

If you think about it that way, it is only logical.

"Crawl to the mirror, Federica," Tanya says above me. "Take a long look at who you really are."

I know who I really am. I am a woman, I am an animal, I am a pet. I've been tamed, and Tanya is my master.

All the same, I obey, crawling towards the mirror, my back aching from Tanya's weight, and when she judges I'm suffficiently close to the mirror, she pulls on the reins, hard.

And I look.

It may seem weird, but it's not the sight of me that perturbs me. I am a woman, I am an animal, I am a pet. I have deep bags under my eyes, soft eyes, broken and scared all the time. The bridle feels just right, dehumanising my features.

It's seeing her that makes my heart beat faster.

"Say it," Tanya commands from above me, her voice soft as velvet, and sharp as glass. "Admit what you are now. Confess what you've become. What I've made you into."

Speaking around the bridle is difficult, and the words come out muffled, but they also flow spontaneously, sincerely, with no hint of hesitation. There is only defeat where my pride used to be.

"I am a woman, I am an animal, I am a pet," I whisper. "I am... a ponygirl."

Tanya smiles her mirthless smile at that, one hand ruffling my ponygirl hair, but it's a gesture with no emotion behind it, purely performative. You just need to look at her eyes in the mirror to know that... but I won't look. I don't want my heart to start racing.

Tanya shifts gracefully atop me -- graceful, ever so graceful, a monster in a hot girl's skin -- and extends her long, elegantly booted legs forward.

The leather gleams, inches from my face, as intimidating as it is inviting. By pure habit and instinct, I press my lips to the cool, smooth leather, paying my homage to my one true master.

I came here dreaming of a degree, a career, some day a family. Instead, here I am, simplified and made lesser, psychologically mutilated, fully reined in, and tamed.

Here I am, kissing my tormentor's boots, wishing she would slide one between my legs, or even just pull on my rope, rub me to orgasm, make me cum so hard that I forget the person I used to be, forget everything I've lost, forget the pain... the searing, emotional, mental pain...

A sudden jolt between my thighs makes me perk up, and for a moment, for a blissful moment, my body feels alive in a way it hasn't in months. Electricity courses through me as the rope starts moving, gently rubbing back and forth, up and down...

Tanya. Oh, Tanya, yes Master, please let ponygirl cum. Please please please...

But the jolt has caused me to reposition, too. That, and my desperate, animalistic attempt to somehow hump the rope, to press my crotch against it, even though Tanya has complete control over the pacing of it all.

Now, my head is a bit higher than it used to be, and that is a mistake, because one furtive glance at the mirror, and I see them.

Tanya's blue eyes. The infinite profanity of the stars.

And just like that, my heart starts racing so hard that I feel dizzy, that I begin to swoon, but I do my best to stay in place, to be a good pony for Master. Fear and arousal mix and meld inside me, an animalistic amalgamation.

Tanya never likes me to be anxious, but maybe she can't tell, not this time, because they're so close to one another, sex and fear, aren't they? Rapid heartbeat, copious sweat, quivering limbs, shortness of breath, eyes going wide, so wide...

Sex and terror...

Or maybe she does notice, and has simply decided not to care right now. All she does is sit daintly atop my back, her boots on either side of my head, one single finger pulling the rope that is going to drive me to the brink of climax, while underneath her I'm inexorably becoming unwound.

You need to be logical.

Why would Tanya do something like this? What is her motivation?

"Want me to go faster, ponygirl?" She whispers seductively, and the throaty moan I muster in response is met with crueller teasing... she goes now slower, now faster, then slower again. My cunt controls me, and she controls my cunt, and so she controls me, because I'm a woman, I'm an animal, I'm a pet.

I'm a ponygirl.

The premise. Retrace your steps. Her actions follow logically from what premise?

But I know. I know so well. I'm just too scared to even think it, because Tanya has shown me what happens when my thoughts aren't to her liking --

- the darkness, hot and cold and pain and worse and so much worse

but I just can't help it, her eyes don't lie, even the technique she's taught me doesn't help when I see her eyes.

The same eyes that have drained my will, the same eyes that shone so brightly in the dark when she was conditioning me, they remind me of one crucial thing. One fact that even the leaking of my IQ out of my tamed ponycunt cannot make me forget.

Because it's the premise.

Tanya's chuckles are mirthless, and so are her smiles. Her amputation of my psyche has been clinical. All this time, being reshaped at her hands, I've felt confusion, and desperation, and terror, and -- ugghnnn -- arousal, like now, the rope is rubbing faster and faster and if only I could cum I swear I'd take it all -

But she has not been feeling.

That's what the monster looks like. To Tanya, driving me face-down into the mud under the sole of her boot is not a source of existential triumph, of ecstasy, of unbridled joy. It's...

Mildly diverting.

I wonder if she's a psychopath. I wonder if she's a sadist. I wonder if she's broken, or mad, in some other, fundamentally different way that there aren't even words for. But some things I don't wonder about, because they are a certainty.

It's a certainty that she looks at me the way a person looks at a puzzle, or a game.

It's a certainty that she's been experimenting like a kid taking apart a toy car to see what makes it work and how. That I'm her project, her pastime, her intellectual pursuit, because she is a predatory beast in human skin.

And...

It's a certainty that I'm just her ponygirl.

And that's when Tanya snaps her fingers.

I...

How long...

My eyes flutter open, but the world remains a hazy blur. I blink, trying to dispel the fog that's settled over my mind. My last clear memory is the distant sound of Tanya's voice... a command... snapping her fingers...

Mmph!

Warm, warm and heavy, something presses down on my face, and my eyes snap open, and for a long moment I see nothing, catching only the scent, a strangely familiar scent that makes my mouth water, the feeling of soft skin weighing down and cutting off my breath - I struggle underneath her as if trying to surface from underwater, and Tanya's thighs clamp down on either side of my head to make sure I can't, because I...

I try to...

Is she naked? Are we naked? I can't remember. Wasn't she wearing her riding clothes? I was on all fours, why am I on my back?

My ponycunt reminds me of the rope tying it up. That is enough.

Tanya doesn't say a word. She doesn't need to. Not with her weight on my face. My cunt pulses once, twice, thrice. It is a command without words, one that I understand so clearly in spite of my dazed mental state. Make your owner cum. Make her explode with pleasure. You can do it, my body screams at me, you know you can do it, you've been trained and trained and trained again to perfection, do it, you have to, you want to --

Do I want to?

I run my tongue over Tanya's cunt, lapping up like an eager lezzie dog. I remember serving her in this exact way a thousand times. My focus hones in on just one thing: serving my female master's sex.

Tanya tilts her head back, grinning ever so faintly with frosty amusement, clearly enjoying the sight of me going down on her. I stare up at her through the small gap in her strong thighs, full of worship, full of fear.

I relentlessly flick my tongue back and forth, servicing her clit in fast, short strokes. Just as she likes it. Just as she's trained me to perform. It's working, I'm doing well, I'm being an excellent ponygirl. Tanya's moans grow louder, more insistent, and her grip on my head tightens. Her thighs press harder against my face, cutting off my air, but I keep going. Doing otherwise is unfathomable.

Tanya's body starts to tense, her breathing quickens, and I know she's close. My own cunt pulses in sympathetic rhythm. Her whines of hunger and lust become more guttural, more primal, and I feel a strange connection to her in this moment, as if I'm part of her pleasure, part of her.

And then it happens.

Tanya's body shudders violently, her thighs clamp down hard around my head, and a flood of her juices fills my mouth. I swallow eagerly, without hesitation, my body responding automatically, as if on autopilot.

Tanya's climax washes over her, and over me. She rides it out with perfect poise, never losing her firm seat upon my claimed face. Her grip loosens just enough to let me breathe... and then, once again, her fingers snap.

It's amazing what you can achieve with conditioning, truly. It's just a sound, just two fingers. But it's enough. It drags the climax out of me with a howling scream of pleasure and despair.

I'm convulsing underneath Tanya's cunt as months of pent-up frustration release all at once, a burst of explosive energy shattering the crippled remnants of my amputated mind. My limbs flail helplessly as I think of how she's methodically disassembled and dismantled me, piece by piece, and how hopelessly I've come to eroticise that.

To eroticise the monster who now owns me.

She rises as I twitch and convulse beneath her, standing tall, and plants one foot firmly atop my head, pressing it to the floor. It's the only part of me that isn't moving, and it seems fitting, in a way. No matter how I spasm in the dying throes of this earth-shattering orgasm, I'm still fundamentally pinned beneath her. I'm not going anywhere.

I know that she has me. That there is no hope. That the damage is irreversible. And worst of all, I know that in exchange for ponygirl-orgasms like this, it's all worth it.

There, there. I feel better already. Orgasm subsiding, heart slowing down, and definitely not because I'm not looking at her eyes right now. Even the way her foot is running affectionately through my hair is comforting.

I really have nothing to fear from Tanya. See? She was right all along. Fear melts away like summer snow...

If you just know how to be logical.

THE END

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