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Storycodes: F+/f+; dolls; captives; enslaved; naked; bond; leather; harness; cuffs; bitgag; nipple; collar; bells; ponygirl; cart; outdoors; cons; X
Part 5: And Then There Were Three
The sun beat down on our bare flesh and we were both gaining a glorious tan at odds with our bright red hair and steely blue eyes. Bright red hair that was growing long and thick in a way it seldom did back home. Home, ah what a delightful thought that was. And then, some days, only a distant memory to which I had no wish to return.
I shifted on the hard ground to relieve the aches in the muscles of my legs and my shoulders, and the other glorious redhead to my left shifted likewise and we both half-turned our heads to look at each other through that curtain of luxuriant hair.
My shining blue eyes met hers of deep hazel and we both shivered. My beautiful twin sister, captured no doubt as I was by our tiny captors and dragged from her home in to their world where we were the objects of their fun and their pleasure.
As we shifted we heard the faint ringing sound of the tiny bells that dangled from our nipples, a faint but terribly insistent sound that reminded us of our lowly status in this place. If they really wanted to reduce us below our status of beings fit only to give them pleasure they added a third, larger bell to our collars which rang with our every tiny movement and could drive us both to utter distraction.
I wanted to reach out to my dear twin sister and lift that curtain of hair out of her eyes so we could see each other clearly, but my hands were otherwise occupied, as were hers. Occupied as ever by our restraints, restraints that held us fast to a tiny cart designed to carry one of our captors and give her the pleasure of driving us about her grounds. For their pleasure and amusement of course. For we were their playthings, of their Funlings as they chose to call us. Prisoners of the tiny, sexually perverted females we has christened The Dolls.
Our arms and bodies were held prisoner by wicked yet surprisingly comfortably harnesses of dark leather. There were buckles and leather. There were always buckles and leather about our limbs, keeping us their prisoner until one of our captors saw fit to let us free and return us to our stalls.
A broad collar was fastened about our throats, and from it dangled a mass of dark straps that were wrapped and fastened about our bodies. Our breasts were cupped and lifted by a network of straps that cradled and lifted them up in to prominence, their gentle and insidious caress making our nipples stand proud in the sunshine to be nipped sharply by the clamps from which our bells dangled.
A long strap ran the length of our spines and split at the small of our backs to wrap about the tops of our thighs. A wide belt rolled out from that back strap and tightened snugly about our waists and to this our wrists were manacled behind us. A final strap curled down from that waist belt and was pulled snug up between our legs where it gently rubbed us with every movement until we were so sexually frustrated we would submit to near any indignities to be allowed some relief.
Completing our bondage was a bridle of tight straps wrapped about our heads, the straps dividing across our faces intruding just enough in to our vision to make us keep moving our heads to get a clear view and it gave us a terrible equine aspect, reinforced all the more by the steel bits pulled tight between our teeth which allowed our captors to control our every movement with their reins that ran back to the seat on the cart to which we were harnessed.
We both gave our heads a shake and returned our eyes to the field before us where the leader of our tiny captors was putting another of their ponygirls through her paces.
She was harnessed to a single cart, her bare flesh wrapped in a harness very like ours, but our time here had taught us that every one was slightly different, rubbing or holding you slightly differently every time you were dragged out and put to use. Every cart ride was different and you never, ever knew how it would feel.
She was pulling one of the tiny Dolls round the smooth grass field with considerable stamina, her limbs thicker and stranger than ours pumping hard and regular. Her thighs and hips were more curvy and muscled than ours, her waist more pronounced and her shoulders both broader and more muscular.
But like us her hair was red, fairer and flecked with grey perhaps but still thick and luxurious. They clearly had a thing for the redheads these Dolls, and not for the first time we wondered what happened at the other homesteads in the strange land into which we had been drawn.
We both felt a sudden weight on our harness and our heads turned in unison to see one of our tiny, doll-like captors had sprung in to the seat of the cart and was smiling at us as she gathered up the reins on her hands. A coaching whip stood upright in its stand at her side but she did not take it up.
Scarcely a yard tall she was as perfectly formed as they all were, like half-scale people, or like a giant child’s doll. Immaculately turned out as ever in a fantasy riding outfit of gleaming skintight jodphurs, shiny boots that rode well above her knees and a tight white shirt with an opened top button that revealed an acre of cleavage.
She gave the reins a crack that made us wince and we were away across that smooth grassy field, our legs pumping in unison. Our twin-ness turned us out as a perfect coaching pair, knees rising and falling in perfect time, our heads tossing together and as we ran faster our glorious red manes flew out behind us.
Across the field we cantered, a sharp tug on the reins pulled me to the left and we executed a perfect smooth turn and I could hear the faint cheers from other dolls as they were watching our performance from the edges of the field.
On and on we cantered performing ever more elaborate turns and manoeuvres as we moved in perfect unison. I cast a glance at my sister and realised how sexy I must look. Every inch of her flesh was covered with a glowing layer of sweat, and as she ran she breathed hard, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm making her bells ring delightfully. And as she tossed her head to keep her hair out of her eyes it flew out behind her like a wild equine mane and I realised what a magnificent pairing we must look.
Driven long and hard we were finally guided back towards the stables and as we clattered to a halt our driver sprang from her seat with our reins in her hands. Barely allowed to stand for a moment she led us along to where the other pony and trap was standing.
With a tiny smile on her perfect lips she led us around the other parked cart until the single pony pulling it could turn her face to see us. We all flushed a deep scarlet within our wicked harnesses and our lips wordlessly about our broad steel bits as both my sister and I fought to get the same word out.
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