WARNING!!! The following story contains bondage, domination, and extremely adult sexual situations. If this isn't the kind of thing you're interested in, for heavens sake DON'T READ IT!!! You should be OVER 21 YEARS OF AGE to read this, as it is intended for adults only.
This story is written as satirical fiction for entertainment purposes only, and is not intended to gather monetary recompense in ANY WAY, SHAPE, or FORM...it is freely offered for interested readers only.
The original creations of Jean Grey, Susan Storm (Invisible Woman), Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch), Reed Richards, the X-men and Fantastic Four are copyrighted by Marvel Comics.
UnStable - A Marvelous Ponygirl Story
Chapter 2: The Milking of Jean Grey
Jean Grey awoke with a start, her eyes fluttering open to a dimly lit room. The smell of hay and horses filled her nostrils, and the sound of soft nickers echoed around her. She was no longer in the same part of the stable where she'd been held with Susan and Wanda. Instead, she was in a smaller, more intimate chamber, though clearly still a working stable: the walls were lined with bridles and studded leather straps, all of equestrian appearance. Crops, whips, and milking equipment hung from hooks, casting long, dancing shadows in the candlelit room.
Her wrists bound above her, Jean saw that she was hanging from them, suspended from a meat hook secured to the boarded wooden ceiling.
She was stripped bare, save for a few key pieces of clothing that left little to the imagination. Her large, round breasts were encased in a black, lacy bra, the cups barely containing their fullness, the straps thin and delicate against her smooth, pale skin. The bra was intermeshed with the straps of her captor's "gift": a power-dampening collar and a leather harness that wrapped around her torso, crisscrossing over her back and cinching tightly at her waist, accentuating her hourglass figure. The harness was made of soft, supple leather, the color a deep, rich brown that contrasted starkly with her fair complexion.
Below the harness, Jean's hips were encased in a pair of black, gartered stockings. The stockings were held up by a pair of black, lace-topped garters, newly attached to the lacy belt she now felt so foolish about putting on when she'd thought this to be fun, formal evening. The stockings were sheer, allowing a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth, toned thighs beneath.
On her feet, she still wore the shiny black pumps she had initially arrived in. They clicked softly against the wooden floor as she tested her bonds, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room.
She blinked, her movements making the leather harness creak softly as she shifted in her bonds. It was the second time she'd been drugged in as many hours, as far as she could tell. She tried to take in more of her surroundings -anything might help- and could tell by the noises in the estate outside that it was no long nightime. How long had she been out?
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and "Lord" Robert entered, a cruel smile playing on his lips. He was dressed as before, in tight breeches and a crisp white shirt, open at the collar.
"Ah, pretty Marvel Girl," he said, his voice a low purr. "I see you've woken up. That's good; there's work to be done on an estate of this size, and I can't have anyone loafing about." He walked around her, his eyes roaming over her body, lingering on her breasts, her hips, her stocking-clad thighs. "Time to earn your keep, Jean Grey."
Robert's voice was a low growl, his eyes glinting with a hunger that made Jean's stomach churn. She tried to kick out at him, but her legs were restrained, her heels clicking uselessly against the wooden floor.
Robert chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Jean's spine. "Two whiffs of my special drug, and you're still feisty aren't you?" He reached out, his fingers tracing her cheek.
Well, at first her cheek, but then the back of his finger went to her neck. Then her shoulder. Then her bra strap.
"These are quite the piece of work. I have an eye for expensive things. Normally, I strip my fillies completely before training, but it would be such a waste to toss this particular lingerie set." He stepped behind her suspended form, and his hand snaked up her thigh, his fingers brushing against the soft flesh where her stocking ended and her skin began. Jean shivered, her body reacting her as a goosebumps popped all over her back and thighs. Robert smirked, noticing her reaction. "Where did you get such marvelous underwear, Jean, and whatever possessed you to wear them to my home tonight?" Robert asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence as he traced the lace edging of her stockings. Jean glared at him, her eyes flashing with anger and humiliation.
"I didn't come here to be your plaything, you sick fiend," she spat, her voice hoarse from screaming earlier. "Let us all go, and maybe I won't destroy you."
It was clearly the wrong answer, as Jean instantly felt a horrific sting on her bare buttocks. Robert had struck her with his riding crop!
The pain was intense, but the humiliation was worse. She could feel the heat spreading across her ass, her skin stinging where the leather had connected. She gritted her teeth, refusing to cry out, but her body betrayed her as a whimper escaped her lips.
Jean had been kidnapped by madmen before -every superheroine had- but this felt different. The power imbalance was so utterly lopsided that -between the drugs, the animal-like play, and the collars- she couldn't concentrate on a plan. She could only exist in the moment...which right now was overwhelmingly oppressive.
"Feisty indeed," Robert mused, circling her again, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "But you'll learn your place soon enough. Now, let's discuss your attire. Politely. Where did you get such a marvelous bra and such lovely stockings, girl, and whatever possessed you to wear them to my home tonight?"
Robert's voice dripped with mock innocence as he again traced the lace edging of Jean's stockings, his fingers again brushing against the soft flesh of her inner thigh.
Jean glared at him, her body trembling with anger and humiliation. "I already told you, I didn't come here to be your plaything," she spat, her voice hoarse from screaming earlier. "Now get your hands off me."
Robert chuckled, a low, cruel sound, and struck her again with the riding crop. This time, the leather landed across her breasts, the thin lace of her bra offering little protection. Jean made a sharp noise of pain behind gritted teeth. Robert smiled, using exactly the same tone as he asked a third time, betraying no anger or irritation, just absolute control. "I'm waiting, Jean. Where did you get this lingerie?"
Seeing no point in antagonizing Robert further, Jean sighed and relented, answering through gritted teeth. "They were a present from Sco- from my boyfriend," she panted. "And I wore them because I wanted to feel nice for the function I thought I'd been invited to tonight."
Robert raised an eyebrow, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "A present, you say? How...thoughtful of him." He reached out, running a finger along the edge of her bra, tracing the curve of her breast. "Well, it so happens that your delicate apparel, like you, now belongs to me."
Jean cringed at the thought, awkwardly tried to pull her breasts from his hands. "Are- are you going to tell me what you want with us...or are you just going to keep playing these twisted games?"
Robert chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "Oh, Jean, so eager for obvious answers to awkward questions. But I'm afraid you're not in a position to make demands." He traced the edge of her bra, his fingers brushing against her nipple, making it harden against his touch. "You see, this attire you so thoughtfully wore -alongside you're handsome new harness and collar- they're all part of your new uniform. You're my ponygirl now, and you'll dress the part."
He leaned in, his other hand gripping her chin roughly. "But I'm afraid I've had enough of our dialogue. Fillies don't talk, sweet girl." And with that Robert quickly tugged at the back of the bridle that had been placed over Jean's head by his henchman. Jean was taken aback as she felt her head roughly jostled, Robert working buckles and tightening straps tucked amongst her mane of red hare, until suddenly, a horse bit was firmly in her mouth.
"Mmph!" She tried to object, but the bit did its job. The leather gag filled her mouth, pressing against her tongue, her teeth, her lips. She could barely move it, let alone spit it out. She could only spit and groan, her protests reduced to animalistic sounds. Robert chuckled, his breath hot on her ear. "There, that's better. Now, let's get you ready for your first lesson." He stepped back, his eyes roaming over her body, lingering on her breasts, her hips, her stocking-clad thighs.
"You're a magnificent creature, Jean. Strong, proud, fiery...And mine. And I've already thought of a purpose you could bring to my farm."
He moved to a table near the wall, picking up a bottle and a cloth. He returned to Jean, uncapping the bottle and pouring a generous amount of oil onto the cloth. The scent of jasmine filled the air, and Jean's stomach lurched as she realized what was about to happen.
She struggled against her bonds, her heels clicking frantically against the wooden floor, but it was no use. Robert was undeterred, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as he approached her, the oiled cloth in his hand.
"Now, now, Jean," he chided, his voice soft yet firm. "Struggling will do you no good. In fact, I prefer it when my fillies fight. It makes their eventual surrender all the sweeter." He ran the cloth over her shoulder, the oil warm and slick against her skin.
Jean shivered, her body betraying her as her nipples hardened, visible through the thin lace of her bra. Robert smirked, noticing her reaction. "There we go," he murmured, his voice low and predatory. "Let's get you loosened up."
He moved the cloth down her arm, his touch gentle yet firm. Jean tried to jerk away, but her bonds held her firmly in place. She could only watch in humiliation as Robert's hand moved lower, tracing the curve of her breast. He lingered there, his thumb brushing against her nipple, making it pebble against the lace.
Jean gasped, her body betraying her as a wave of heat coursed through her. Robert chuckled, a low, sexy sound that sent shivers down her spine. "There, there, filly," he murmured, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "Don't fight it. Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is still trying to deny it."
His hand moved lower, tracing the curve of her stomach, dragging the cloth across it, bathing her in sweet-smelling oils. "My girls need to smell good, don't they, filly?" he said, the clothing inching over her captive body in small circles. Jean noted that he had stopped using her name as he drifted further into this twisted pony play.
His hands moved lower, his fingers tracing the edge of her stockings, brushing against her inner thighs. She could feel the heat building between her legs, her body traitorously responding to his touch. She was a young woman, and Scott was so restrained...he hadn't touched her in weeks. She gritted her teeth, trying to hold back the moans that threatened to escape her lips.
Robert chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "Your body is a beautiful thing, pony. It responds so perfectly to my touch, doesn't it?" She "mmphed" into her gag in frustration, stamping her high heeled feet as vigorously as her ankle chains would allow.
During her many captures in her career as an X-man, villains would tie her and even sometimes touch her inappropriately, but never like this...Their touch had always been awkward and clumsy. This was deliberate, purposeful...Robert treated her in a manner that reduced her to a shivering, grunting animal, bereft of empowerment or choice.
She felt his fingers trace the edge of her stockings, brushing against her inner thighs, and she could feel the heat building between her legs. She hated herself for responding to his touch, but her body betrayed her, her nipples hardening, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Robert noticed her reaction, his cruel smile widening. "Your body loves this, doesn't it, pony?" he whispered, his breath hot on her ear. "You love to be cleaned and cared for, don't you, girl?" The cloth moved behind her then, and Jean squealed into her bit as she felt it enter the cleft of her butt cheeks.
She bucked, her heels digging into the floor, but Robert's hand on her hip held her firmly in place. "Easy, girl," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "This is just a bath."
Jean whimpered, her eyes wide with humiliation and fear as she felt the cloth move lower, brushing against her anus. She clenched involuntarily, her body tensing at the unfamiliar sensation. "That's a good girl," he said, his voice laced with satisfaction.
No one had ever touched her there before, and the sensation was intense, a complete violation. She tried to squirm away, but the bonds held her fast.
"Steady girl," he said, the cloth moving up and down her cleft. "If you don't behave yourself..." He left the threat unfinished, but Jean couldn't have obeyed if she wanted to. Her body instinctively pulled away from the cloth, Jean squealing in distress, her stocking thighs and calves as firm as rocks from the tension.
Robert, undeterred, simply applied more pressure, the cloth moving deeper into her cleft, his other hand gripping her hip, holding her in place. "There's no use fighting it, girl," he said, his voice low and commanding. "You're mine now, and I'll do with you as I please." Jean's eyes widened in shock and humiliation as she felt the cloth move up and down her cleft, each time his touch teasing her anus, the sensation foreign and intense. She tried to scream, but the bit in her mouth reduced her cries to muffled moans. She started to pant, her ample chest rising and falling in her lacy brassiere; it was a visual she knew would only further degrade her, but she couldn't help it.
Thankfully, he only moistened her most private hole, but did not penetrate it. Jean didn't know if could have taken that sort of violation. As he finished oiling up her back and shoulders, Robert set the towel aside.
He stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Jean, glistening under the candlelight, looked like a sculpture come to life. Her skin was flushed, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her large breasts heaving in the lacy bra. Despite her humiliation, her body was responding to his touch, her nipples hard, her thighs slick with sweat and oil.
Robert smiled, his eyes gleaming with lust. "You're a beautiful creature," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "And it seems to me that maybe a part of you likes being a pet." He grabbed her chin and made her look him in the eyes. "It's nice to be cared for, isn't it filly? You should say 'Thank you.'"
His grip on her chin tightened, his thumb brushing against her bottom lip, the one not covered by the bit. Jean glared at him, her eyes flashing with defiance and humiliation. She refused to speak, her jaw clenched tightly shut. Robert's smile widened, a cruel amusement in his eyes. "I see. You're going to make this difficult, aren't you, pony?" He released her chin, his hand trailing down her neck, his fingers wrapping around her throat. "I can work with that."
Robert sighed, as if disappointed, stepped back, and Jean heard te tell tale whistle of a raised the riding crop. "I'll have to teach you some manners, filly." He brought the crop down hard on her ass, the leather biting into her flesh. Jean yelped, her body jerking against her bonds.
"Say 'Thank you,'" he repeated, his voice calm despite the harshness of his actions. Jean gritted her teeth, refusing to give in. Robert struck her again, and again, each blow landing on a different part of her ass, the pain intense and humiliating.
Jean grunted into her bit, her body jerking with each strike, her skin growing hot and tender. Yet, despite the pain, she could feel something else building inside her, a heat that had nothing to do with the crop and everything to do with the way Robert was treating her. She had never felt so helpless, so sexualized. It was such an intense, confusing feeling.
"Say 'Thank you,' filly," Robert repeated, his voice calm and steady despite the harshness of his actions. Jean glared at him, her eyes watering from the pain, but she refused to speak. She refused to give him the satisfaction.
After several more silent strikes across her bare ass and stockinged thighs, Robert paused and rubbed his chin in thought. "You're holding out quite well, girl," he said curiously. "Most other women I've broken caved much more easily. Hell, I suspect even your two friends in the main stable will buckle faster than this. The blonde especially." He studied her. "Now why is it you're taking this whipping, I wonder." Robert mused, circling her like a predator. "Is it because you're determined to prove you're not like the others? Or is it because, deep down, you enjoy the pain, the humiliation?"
He leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear. "Because even though you won't say the words, I've seen that at least your body appreciates me, girl. When I wash you...when I strike you. You're enjoying this, aren't you, you filthy little pony slut?"
Jean's cheeks burned with humiliation and anger.
She wanted to deny Robert's words, to scream at him that he was wrong, that she hated every second of this. But to her horror, there was an itchy heat between her legs, a humiliating sensation she tried to clench away with her thighs. She was wet, she realized with a sickening jolt, her slit damp with her arousal.
Robert chuckled, a low, knowing sound, as if he could read her thoughts. "That's it, isn't it, girl?" He stepped close, and reached behind her back casually, unhooking her lacy brassier.
Jean's large, round breasts spilled out, heaving with her ragged breaths. Robert let out a low whistle, his eyes gleaming with lust. "What a magnificent pair, Jean. They're even more glorious than I imagined." He reached out, cupping one of her breasts, his hand open as though about to pluck a cantaloupe. Jean tried to jerk away, but her bonds held her fast. She could only watch in humiliation as Robert's hand moved lower, his fingers tracing the curve of her breast, encircling the circumference, until it stopped at the peripheral of her nipple. "Just as I thought," he smiled, examining her tender buds.
"Well now," he said, shifting course, "this opens up a new approach, now doesn't it, girl?" He stepped behind her, and there was an iron, mechanical sound, as though he was turning a crank. Suddenly, Jean was lowered slightly: Her harnessed torso, which had been vertical to her legs, was now perpendicular. She was bent over in an L-shape, her bottom now jutting out and her breasts swinging from her torso as they hung slack above dusty wooden floor.
The new position made her feel even more vulnerable, exposed in a way that made her stomach churn. She could feel the cool air against her naked breasts, her nipples hardening even further into tight peaks.
Robert reappeared in her line of sight, carrying a strange contraption. It was a large, metal device with two cups at the end, connected by a bar in the middle. Jean's eyes widened as she realized what it was.
"No," she thought to herself, straining against her bonds. "Please, no."
Robert smirked, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. "I told you and your friends: Every animal that is kept here must serve a purpose, my little pony. If you will not play with me, then we will put you to some other use," Robert said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy.
Jean knew that the device he held was a milking machine, as might be used on cows. Her stomach churned at the thought of that cold, mechanical monster attached to her body. She thrashed against her bonds, her heels clicking frantically against the floor, but it was no use.
Robert just chuckled, a low, cruel sound, and stepped closer.
"Now, now, filly," he said, his voice soothing yet firm. He once again withdrew a cloth, this one as soft as down, and began to tend to Jean's huge breasts. With one hand, he would hold them steady, stilling their natural swing from her position; with the other, he would dab at them gently. "The teats must be dry, or else the cups will not adhere." Jean tried to back away with the perhaps ten inches of slack provided her, but Robert clapped the back of her stocking thigh in reprimand. "Stay, girl! Steady!"
"It's time for the other one, girl," he said, moving to her other heavy young tit. Almost to himself, he muttered, "So full. I can't believe I didn't think of this earlier."
Robert stepped back to admire his handiwork. Jean, her large breasts now wiped down and ready to be engulfed by the cold, mechanical cups of the milking machine, was thrashing against her bonds, her heels clicking frantically against the floor. Her feet, shod in the black, patent leather heels, were twisting and turning, her stocking-clad legs tensing and relaxing as she struggled to free herself. Though far from stilettos, the heels were digging into the wooden floor, leaving deep, crescent-shaped scratches in their wake. Robert, entranced by her legs, watched her hysterics with fascination. Jean's calves, firm and toned from years of superheroics, were taut with effort, their muscles flexing and releasing with each futile attempt to escape. The sight of her, bound and struggling, her body on display, was enough to make Robert's cock throb in his pants. He adjusted himself, his eyes never leaving her legs.
"Now, now, pony," he chided, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "All that struggling is only going to tire you out in advance of what you should know will be very exhausting experience." He stepped closer, his hand trailing down her calf, his fingers tracing the edge of her stocking. "Such lovely legs, pony. So strong, so firm. And these heels...they're exquisite. Your boyfriend must take you nightly." She tried to jerk her leg away, but Robert's grip was firm. Instead, she shifted her weight, her heels clicking against the floor as she tried to find purchase. Her heels, so out of place in this stable, looked almost comical in their frantic movements, the less-than-dignified gyrations of a powerful woman now suddenly depowered.
Robert watched, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
"You're going to hurt yourself, filly, thrashing about like that. But if that's what you want, who am I to stop you?" He stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. "Go on, then. Wear yourself out. It'll make what's coming next all the easier for me."
Jean tried to ignore him, her struggles becoming more frantic. She could feel the sweat beading on her forehead, her breath coming in ragged gasps. But her host was right; she was tiring quickly, and her legs eventually slowed to a quiver before becoming still. Jean's chest heaved as she gulped in air, her eyes wild and defiant. "Lord" Robert, still watching her with that infuriating smirk, slowly approached her. He reached out, trailing his fingers along her jawline, down her neck, and finally, cupping one of her large, bare breasts. Jean flinched at his touch, but he simply squeezed, his thumb brushing against her nipple.
"Such a fighter," he murmured, his voice low and laced with lust. "But fighting like that must make you so tired, doesn't it, pony?" Jean glared at him, her eyes flashing with defiance, but Robert could see the exhaustion in them. Between the drugs and the intensity of her situation, she'd worn herself out faster than normal, her struggles now reduced to weak twitches against her bonds. He chuckled, his hand still cupping her breast, his thumb still moving in slow circles around her nipple.
Once it had peaked, Robert reached for one of the cups attached to his machine.
He placed it over Jean's left breast, her nipple pressing against the soft rubber lining. She gasped as he turned a knob, and the suction kicked in, pulling her nipple deeper into the cup. She could feel the machine's rhythmic pulsating, mimicking the sensation of a mouth suckling her breast. Her body betrayed her, her nipple hardening further, her womanhood suddenly clenching as a wave of unexpected pleasure coursed through her.
Robert watched her face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "There now, that's not so bad, is it, pony?" he taunted, his voice low and husky.
Jean couldn't even groan a response through her bit, so overwhelmed were her senses. Robert just smiled, moving to the other breast. Again, he tweaked the nipple between his thumb and forefinger until it was rock hard.
Then, he slowly brought the second cup of the milking machine towards her right breast. Jean tried to twist away, but the harness held her firmly in place. She could only watch in horror as the cold, rubber cup closed around her nipple, the machine's motor humming to life.
The sensation was intense, almost painful at first, but her body quickly adapted, her nipple throbbing in time with the machine's rhythm. The cups alternating their pull moment to moment, first one nipple was tugged by the suction cups, then the other, and on and on.
Jean's breasts swayed and bounced with the machine's motion, her large, round mounds jiggling with each pull. The sensation was indescribable, a mix of pleasure and pain that had her moaning into her bit, her eyes watering from the intensity of it all.
Robert watched, his eyes gleaming with lust as he took in the sight of her. "Look at those beautiful tits, bouncing and swaying like that," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.
Jean could only moan senselessly into her bit, the rhythmic noises of the machine filling the room. She swung gently from her harness, attached to the ceiling as it was, her feet lifted slightly in her euphoria so that they no longer fully touched the floor.
Robert stepped to her form, petting her encouragingly. Her milk had not yet begun to flow, a fact on which he remarked aloud to his new pony girl.
"You're a bit dry, aren't you, pony?" he said, flicking the nipple of her left breast with his finger. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, and she moaned, her body arching slightly in response. Robert chuckled, a low, satisfied sound. "That's it, girl. Feel my touch. Time to produce." He leaned in closer, his breath hot on her ear. "Your body is so responsive. It's like you were made for this." He moved his hand to her abundant tit flesh. "I'm going to help you express your milk, pony."
Jean had never been pregnant, had never lactated in her life. Even through her abundant stimulation, she couldn't understand his expectation; it didn't make sense. "H-how?" she tried to ask around the bit in her mouth.
Robert just laughed, a low, cruel sound that sent shivers down her spine.
"Well, pony, it seems you've underestimated the lab work we do here at my estate," he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "But don't worry, I'm here to teach you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, glass vial filled with a thick white liquid. "This should help Mother Nature along."
Before Jean could react, Robert grabbed her red hair and yanked her head backwards, forcing her jaw open. Carefully navigating the bit in her mouth, he poured the contents of the vial down her throat, carefully massaging her throat with one hand to coax her to swallow.
Jean gagged, choking on the thick liquid, but Robert held her firmly in place, his grip on her hair unyielding. "Swallow it, pony," he growled, his voice laced with dominance. "It's good for you."
Jean tried to spit it out, struggling against his hold, but his hand stroked her esophagus until he was sure it was down, that she had swallowed the strange concoction. She could taste the faint bitterness of it, feel it coating her throat as it slid down.
She wanted to gag, but Robert's grip on her hair was firm, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic pleasure as he watched her struggle. "Good girl," he murmured, once she had swallowed the last of it. "That's a good pony."
Jean glared at him, her eyes filled with hatred and humiliation. But Robert just smiled, his hand still cupping her breast, his thumb still moving in slow circles around her nipple cup. "We'll just give that a moment to work, shall we?" he said, his voice calm and steady. Robert switched the machine to a lower setting, clearly waiting for whatever he gave Jean to take effect. Though the intensity of the sensation on her breasts was reduced, Jean was far from comfortable.
Bent over as she was, her thighs were supporting such of her weight as was not braced by the ropes and harnesses, and they were horribly sore. Placing the soles of her shoes on the floor again, she shifted her weight from one high-heeled foot to the other, making small, girl-ish noises through her bit gag as she did so.
Her calves and thighs trembled, trying to support her weight while also trying to maintain a modicum of dignity. But she was failing miserably, her stockinged legs wobbling, her ass jiggling with each tiny movement. Robert stood behind her, watching her struggle with a smug smile on his face.
He stepped behind her again, and Jean could hear him rummaging. When he came back, it was -to her surprise- with a brush. "Shhh..." he said to her as he approached. "Stop prancing, girl. You're just going to wear yourself out." His hand began to rub her, first her back, then her hip, much as he had rubbed Susan in the larger stable. "Shh..." Robert whispered, his voice low and soothing. His hand moved from her hip, trailing down her thigh, his fingers brushing against the edge of her stockings. Jean flinched at his touch, but she couldn't move away, not with her hands bound above her and her body bent over in that humiliating L-shape. She could only stand there, her body trembling with a mix of humiliation, and something else, a strange...sense of comfort? Complacency?
Robert soothed her further, then brought the brush to her red hair, the bristles catching in her tangled mane, then gently pulling those tangles out. It went on like that for several minutes: Robert letting one hand wander over her hips, bottom, and thighs, petting each part of her unreservedly, while the other brushed out her hair. All the while he would shush her, speaking soft words like, "Let the medicine do its work, filly." And all the while, the hum of the milking machine steadily stimulated Jean's body, not the intense, sucking sensation of before, but a steady vibration.
Robert continued to brush her, his strokes firm yet gentle, as if he were grooming a horse. Jean knew he wanted her to relax, but her body was still humming with tension and humiliation.
After a few minutes, Robert paused, his hand resting on her ass. "I think it's time to check your progress, pony," he said, his voice low and husky.
Jean felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of fear and anticipation. Robert stepped around to her front, his eyes gleaming with lust as he looked at her. He reached out, his hand again cupping her left breast, his thumb thumping against the cup that still covered her trapped nipple. This time, the touch was not soothing, but utterly utilitarian.
Jean gasped at the contact, her body arching slightly in response. "Seems that my little potion has done its job," he murmured, his voice amused. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. "I do hope we will both be quite pleased by what comes next."
Without further warning, he switched the milking machine back to its original intensity. Jean groaned through her gag, her body jerking as the suction increased. She could feel the machine's rhythmic pulsating, again mimicking the sensation of a mouth suckling her breast, but this time, it was different. This time, there was a warmth spreading through her, a sensation she had never felt before. She tried to squirm away, but Robert's hands on her back and hips held her firmly in place.
"Stay still, filly," he commanded, his voice firm. "You'll only make it worse for yourself if you struggle." Jean groaned through her gag, her body tensing as she braced herself for the inevitable. And then, it happened. She felt a strange, warm sensation in her breasts, a pressure building, and then, to her utter shock, she felt milk begin to dribble from her nipples. She gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief as she felt the liquid flowing from her. Robert chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched her reaction. "There we go, pony," he said, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Your body is responding beautifully." Jean could only groan in humiliation as she felt the milk begin to squirt from her nipples, the sensation both humiliating and pleasurable. She could feel her body growing warmer, her heart pounding in her chest as the pleasure coursed through her.
"That's it, pony," he encouraged, his voice thick with lust. "Feel it. Embrace it." Jean was humiliation personified, bound and milked like an animal, yet her body betrayed her, responding to the pleasure with a fervor she couldn't control. After a moment, the dribble turned into a forceful squirt, the milk shooting from her nipples in rhythmic pulses, matching the cadence of the machine. The sensation was overwhelming, pleasure and humiliation intertwining in a dance that left her breathless. Tears streamed down her face, her body convulsing with each spurt of milk, her cries of shame and ecstasy muffled by the gag.
"Mmph! Mmph!" she grunted, her body writhing in the harness, her heels clicking against the floor as she vainly tried to find purchase. "Ngghh!" she cried out, her moans of pleasure turning into desperate pleas for release. "OHmmph! Stommpph! Ummmph!" she wailed, her body bucking against the machine, her large breasts bouncing and swaying with each pulsating suck. The room filled with the symphony of her grunts and moans, the rhythmic hum of the machine, and the wet, slurping sounds of her milk being extracted.
Jean's body arched and twisted, her legs kicking out wildly, trying to find some release from the intense sensations coursing through her. As she thrashed, her stocking-clad legs caught Robert's attention once more. The black nylon glistened with sweat, clinging to her calves and thighs like a second skin. The garters, a delicate lace trimmed with black ribbon, strained against the pressure, threatening to snap. The sight of her, bound and writhing, her legs encased in the sheer, damp stockings, was almost too much for Robert to bear. The contrast of the innocent lace against the vulgarity of her situation was enough to make his cock throb painfully in his pants.
Jean's body was no longer her own, it belonged to the machine, to the pleasure coursing through her veins. She was mindless, her thoughts consumed by the need for release, her body moving of its own accord. She began to hump the air, her hips bucking forward, her body craving clitoral stimulation. The harness creaked and groaned under her movements, but she was beyond caring. All that mattered was the pleasure, the need for release.
With the gentlest of movements, Robert placed his fingertip against the folds of Jean's pussy: the slightest of touches, but enough to generate friction...if Jean so desired.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her body going limp in the harness as she savored the
sensation. It was as if a spark ignited within her, a flame that began to
spread, consuming her with a hunger she had never known. She could feel her
pussy throbbing, her clit aching for more contact, more friction. She needed to
cum, needed it more than she needed air to breathe. But pride and fear held her
back, made her hesitate, made her struggle against the urge to grind against his
hand.
"No," she moaned, her voice muffled by the gag. But even as she spoke the words,
her body betrayed her, her hips beginning to move, to rock against his hand,
seeking more of that delicious friction. She could feel the heat spreading, her
pussy growing wetter, her clit swelling with need.
"Yes, my sweet pony, yes," Robert urged, pushing into her sopping folds with his middle finger. "You deserve this. You've been so good, time to get your reward."
Robert's voice was husky, his eyes gleaming with lust as he watched Jean's body writhe in the harness. Her restraints held, her large breasts swaying and bouncing as the milking machine continued to work its magic. Her thighs showed signs of her dribbling pussy, slick moisture beginning to the wet the lace tops of her ebony stockings. She could feel the heat spreading, her body aching for release.
Robert tested her, taking a small step back. He refused to piston his finger into her, or even move it. He wanted to see if she was so lost to her sexuality now that she would do all the work, humping and positioning herself instinctively to get the right motion. He wanted to see her debase herself, to give up control completely.
She whimpered, her hips moving in tiny undulations, trying to find his finger again. He watched, his eyes locked onto the back of that beautiful mane of red hair that swung wildly as she writhed. If she was like the other women he had broken, her eyes would be closed now, her mouth open in a silent 'O' of pleasure. Her hips moved, her body undulating, trying to find the right angle, the right pressure. She was close, he could tell, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her body tensing with each thrust of her hips.
He could see the muscles in her legs straining, her stocking-covered calves flexing as she pushed herself closer to the edge. He wanted to taunt her, to whip her again, to take overt control. But looking at her...it was unnecessary. She had already surrendered to him, and when she came on his finger -through her own gyrations- he knew she would have the potential to be his pony girl forever.
"Uh, unh, ungh," she grunted, her voice muffled by the gag, her eyes screwed shut, her body moving with a mind of its own. She was lost in her pleasure, her humiliation forgotten, her pride shattered.
He watched as Jean continued to buck and grind against his finger, her body consumed by the need for release. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open in a silent scream, her body writhing in the harness. In the course of her writhing, she had lost both of her black heels, but she neither noticed nor cared.
Her stockinged feet remained planted, toes digging into the straw-covered ground, as she continued to hump the air, chasing her orgasm. The sight of her, bound and helpless, her large breasts swaying and bouncing in the milking machine, her legs straining as she bucked and humped, was -there was no other word- delightful for Robert. He could see the cups on her tits, the harness binding her, the ropes keeping her captive, and yet, she was beyond caring.
He took a deep breath, fighting the urge to unzip his pants and fuck her right then and there.
No, he told himself, not yet. Not until she's truly broken.
"Ohhhmph...oOOHHHmph!" Her noises suddenly grew more intense. Robert could see it in her body tension, the look of a woman on the edge. He knew she was close, could feel it in the way her pussy contracted around his finger, the way her hips moved, seeking more friction, more pressure.
Suddenly, he gave her what she needed, curled his finger slightly, and pressed against her G-spot. And as he did so, he implemented the last part of his plan: Pressing a button on the console behind her with his free hand, he opened the chamber's shutters, exposing what was happening in this chamber to everyone in the rest of the stable...including Wanda and Susan.
The two heroines were still tied down, bent over their the wooden table -like Jean- stripped to their hose, gagged, and bridled. But their eyes were unhindered, and the noise of the Jean's grunts drew their attention to the section of the stable -and Jean's torment- immediately.
Their eyes widened in shock as they took in the sight of Jean, bound and milked, her body writhing in pleasure. Jean, lost in her own sensation, didn't notice their presence. She was too consumed by the sensations coursing through her body, too focused on the pleasure building inside her.
Wanda and Susan at first struggled against their bonds and gags, seeking to come to their friend's rescue...but Robert watched them slow their efforts as they saw that it was Jean -not him- who was providing all of the momentum, all of the pleasurable noises and moans that suggested she was close, so close to ecstasy. Wanda and Susan were transfixed, then, utterly uncomprehending of what they should (or could) do, in such a situation.
Their eyes flicked from Jean's writhing form to Robert's impassive face, then back again.
Robert, meanwhile, was focused solely on Jean. He could feel her body tensing, her pussy pulsing around his finger. She was right on the edge, and he wanted to push her over. He wanted to make her come undone, to watch her body convulse with pleasure, to hear her scream through her gag.
"So close, pony," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Cum for me."
Then it happened.
"UUUUMMMMMpppph!" she screamed, her voice muffled by the gag, her body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through her. Her pussy clamped down on his finger, pulsing with each wave of pleasure, her body writhing in the harness.
And then, to Robert's utter surprise, a cup of womanly cream burst forth from her pussy, soaking his hand, her stockings, and the floor beneath her. "Fuck!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock and delight. He had never seen anything like it, had never known a woman could squirt like that. He watched, mesmerized, as Jean's body continued to convulse, her pussy pulsing out more and more emissions, until she was drenched, her stockings soaked, her thighs glistening with her juices.
As Jean's body finally stopped convulsing, she hung limply in the harness, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Robert stood behind her, his hand still buried in her pussy, his cock throbbing painfully in his pants. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed, couldn't believe how far he had pushed her, how completely she had submitted to him. He could still feel her pussy pulsing around his finger, could still see the evidence of her pleasure soaking his hand, her stockings, the floor.
It was fucking incredible.
Jean hung limply in the harness, her body spent, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her large breasts heaved with each breath, the milking machine still humming softly, still stimulating her nipples. She was a mess, her face flushed, her hair a wild tangle, her stockings soaked with her juices.
Her body was drenched in sweat, her large breasts heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. Robert, still smiling, nodded to his henchmen. "Lower her down," he ordered, his voice calm and steady.
They did as they were told, lowering Jean's limp body until her stocking feet fully touched the ground. She swayed, her legs barely able to support her weight, her eyes closed with a look of utter exhaustion and shame. The men each grabbed an arm, leading Jean away, to where, she did not know.
She was too exhausted, too humiliated, to care. She stumbled along, her stockinged feet dragging through the straw, her body still humming with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She could feel the milk in her newly replaced bra, cold and sticky now, and she could smell her own scent, the scent of her pleasure, mingling with the scent of the barn.
Now registering -if only barely- their presence, she could feel the gazes of Wanda and Susan on her, could feel their shock and disbelief, but she couldn't meet their eyes. She was too ashamed, too humiliated by what had just happened.
"Well, well, well," Robert said, turning to face Wanda and Susan. "It seems our little filly has set a high standard. I do hope you two can live up to it." He smiled, his eyes gleaming with lust and amusement.
"Tomorrow morning," he said, eyeing them with relish, "we will see who's next."