George awoke to the sound of the bolts being drawn open and quickly screwed his eyes shut as the door to his box was opened and the sunlight came streaming in.
He had no chance to adjust as Madam Irma reached in and grabbed the end of his leash - She never gave him a chance to do anything. George was always bound or hobbled or most usually chained to something to deny him any chance of escape or resistance.
Irma had seemed so nice at the Fetish Farm where they had met.
It had been a bit like speed dating, only there they had compared each other's kink, rather than their likes and dislikes. He had wanted to experience being a human pony and she ( she said) had wanted to be a ponyboy's trainer. George had enjoyed the first few days there, with Irma hogging most of his time teaching him dressage. She had even persuaded him to take part in the mock auction, where she had made the winning bid.
Then, after the festivities were over, she had led him by the reins to a secluded spot near the vehicle parking spot, plunged a needle into his thigh and he had woken up to find himself trussed, gagged and buttplugged inside a tiny cage in the back of a Winebago.
And when they finally arrived at her lil' ole ranch in the desert, Irma showed George what she was really like.
She had forced his hands to tight fitting bondage mitts and kept him shackled and restrained at all times. She had shaved him bald and forced him to wear high heeled platform boots all the time. The pony training had resumed, but with any protest, any resistance or infraction being slapped down with one cruel beating after another.
Only when he had done everything exactly as she had ordered, did she show anything of the person he had first met at the Fetish Farm.
But that didn't stop he violating him with her strap-on, or staking him out all day under the desert sun or locking him inside his box at night where he was force to endure the smell of his own sweat, piss and excrement....
Irma dragged him out and hitched him to the little pony cart intent on taking him for another trek through the desert. To George the first of these forays had signalled an opportunity for escape, that is until he realized just how far into the arid wilderness his prison actually was.
Now each trek was a reminder of the hopelessness of his plight.
He stood motionless as she shackled his wrists to the shafts of the ponycart and attached the chain reins to his bit; trying not to react as she reached under his caged penis to give his balls a painful squeeze. He wanted to tell her to stop, that she had finally broken his will, but he knew that even the slightest deviation from the behaviour she expected of him would result in yet another vicious beating with whatever instrument she had to hand.
Then she climbed into the cart and, giving the reins a hearty flick that pulled the bit hard against his molars and brought the links slapping painfully against his shoulders, they set off.
It was a new route that she took him down this time, towards the rocky his west of the ranch.
Soon they were trotting along inside a high, narrow canyon, filled with deep shadows, his footfalls echoing off the steep walls.
Presently, they came to an open space within the maze of rock where, incredibly, a rickshaw was waiting for them.
They pulled alongside and George found himself meeting the gaze of a corseted, leather bound ponygirl, her reins being held by a muscular 'cowboy' dressed in leather and rubber.
"Take a good look at that pony, Asshole." said Madam Irma; "He's your predecessor."
George looked again and saw the leather cage manhood beneath the corset.
"You might think by now that I've broken you." she continued; "But you're not halfway as broken as I want you to be. When I've finished with you, you'll little more than a piece of meat, a robot; which is when having you around will start to get boring. That's when I'll pass you over to Gabriel, here. I like turning people into ponies.. He loves turning ponyboys into ponygirls... Then he sells his finished works to rich guys and girls in Asia who love the idea of owning a western ladyboy pony. So take a good look, 'cos that's what you're going to end up as, pulling a rickshaw all day, giving deep throat and taking it up the ass 'til the day you die. And you'll enjoy it... You really will, if you know what's good for you.
And don't think I'll miss our time together because I won't. There'll always be another gullible little prick like you arriving at the Fetish Farm next year."