Peter stood behind Lucinda and, holding her by the hips, carefully lined her up with the front camera. He then placed the rear camera, tripod and lights to her side so that they showed a profile view of her whole body on the screen. The visual disorientation coupled with the bright lights was even stranger than before and she swayed slightly on her shoes. A sharp blow with the crop revitalised her attention to her posture. After a couple of zooms into her face and breasts then back out again Peter was satisfied. 'Still got the ball?' he asked. Lucinda nodded and held out her hand for him to see. 'OK, hold tight. I'm going to try and find your limit.' Her mouth went dry. 'To help you keep quiet, I have this!' he went to the table and held up a child's plastic ball with holes in. Threaded through two opposing holes was a length of cord. 'Open your mouth.' Lucinda did so and he pushed the ball in. It felt huge and she had a terrible desire to gag. 'Relax,' he chided, 'The feeling will pass and you'll welcome it.' Lucinda had serious doubts about that but, when Peter knotted the cord tightly behind her head and she bit down on the horrible thing, it did feel easier. 'Better?' Lucinda nodded. The next item Peter produced looked like a long tapered leather tube with laces along the seam and a thick looped 'handle' at the narrow end. It was similar to the glove she'd seen them use at the club the previous week. 'Put your arms behind you and cross your wrists.' He lifted her arms a little and slid the tube up over her hands until the wide top reached her upper arms and the loop hung below her hands. He twisted her arms such that her elbows faced backwards. Then, with a tug, Peter tightened the lower laces and, feeding the slack up as he went, Peter used the glove to compress her arms together until they were forced back and up. As the constriction neared the top her shoulders were pulled back further she would have thought possible. To her delight, when she looked at the profile view, Lucinda understood what he was getting at about her breasts. They now stood up proudly out from her chest and the additional enforced arch of her back gave her head a dignified air, even when relaxing the restraint still helped her maintain almost the same posture. Despite the initial discomfort she thought, 'This is getting good,' and moved her feet apart to stabilise herself and further enhance the effect. 'Enjoying it?' Peter asked. Lucinda nodded three times. 'In that case, time for this.' He grinned, brandishing a long bar. It was just under a metre in length and had a wide Velcro cuffs at each end. It looked like a pair of handcuffs for an Orang-Utan. When Peter knelt behind her and placed it on the floor behind her feet, its use was obvious. 'Spread 'em babe' he mimicked in New Yoik cop-ese. He patted her on the inside of her knees and she willingly obliged, no mystery in that command she thought as she grinned from behind her gag and clomped her feet further apart. With a loud tearing sound, Peter unhitched one of the straps and carefully wrapped it around her left ankle. He moved to the right and Lucinda noticed that, as he attached the right cuff, the bar telescoped to give an adjustable length and he twisted the locking wheel. As he started to rise he paused and, to Lucinda's delight, ran his fingertips lightly over the now vulnerable downy mat between her legs and pressed gently. Lucinda went light-headed and felt herself open for him, desperate for more attention down there. Annoyingly he removed his hand and sniffed his fingertips as he walked to the table again. Lucinda gazed at her image in the screen. The paradoxical combination of the aloofness of her profile and the wanton availability of her breasts and vagina seemed to sum up what she'd felt watching the ponies at play the previous weekend. Any doubts she had had were being wonderfully dispelled. He returned carrying a velvet bag that rattled mysteriously. Lucinda found herself trying to part her thighs further in anticipation of this new toy. Instead, his attention went to her breasts. He tweaked her nipples a few times and lightly flipped her breasts with the back of his fingers. Her aroused state and vulnerable posture made her nipples and aureolae positively spring upwards. 'OK' she thought, 'Pussy later, this is not bad.' On a couple of occasions, but not yet with Peter, Lucinda had climaxed by just having her breasts and nipples played with, an experience that blew her mind each time but one she found hard to repeat. She began to suspect, and hope, that the third time was imminent and would be with Peter. As she salivated with anticipation, she found the ball and her dry mouth made it increasingly hard to swallow and gagged a few times until she worked out a simple rhythm but saliva still dribbled down her chin giving her yet another annoyance she was helpless to address.

Hooking the loop of the drawstring at the top of the bag over his left thumb, Peter squeezed her right breast in a firm grip. He then rummaged in the bag and, to her surprise and horror, produced a simple plastic clothes peg. His intent was obvious. Lucinda squirmed and mumble-dribbled from behind the gag. 'Remember the red ball' Peter reminded her. 'No! I can do this' she thought, and gripped both gag and red balls tightly.

The pain was more imagined than real. Although the thought of what he was doing was a shock the feeling was much more subtle. After the initial sharp pinching it soon spread as a warm discomfort from the point of pressure backwards through her breast. She checked her image on the screen. The peg jutted directly out from her nipple, its jaws clamped firmly at the base with the teat suffused and bloated like a dark red berry. With a practiced flurry, Peter clamped her left nipple in the same fashion. Lucinda closed her eyes and took deep breaths through the holey ball. Working outwards from the starting centre pegs, he alternately pinched up folds in each breast and rapidly clamped them in place. After some minutes a dull, throbbing ache suffused her entire upper chest. She opened her eyes and saw, on the twin views, her breasts looking like a child's coloured plastic porcupine toy. They looked and felt some four inches bigger. 'Oh well, that's one adolescent fantasy fulfilled at least' she pondered and rolled her shoulders to counterbalance the weight. The mass of pegs wobbled and new waves of pain washed over her. To heighten the feeling, Peter spread his hands and ran his fingertips over the 'shell' of pegs and was rewarded with hissing gasps of pain from Lucinda's filled mouth as he played her twin instruments. It was as though her nerves had extended to the very ends of the pegs and even the slightest movement was amplified tenfold. Bizarre thoughts of some old time music hall act ran through her mind... 'Ladies and Gentlemen! Tonight on the double mammary, we have the prestidigitously, precise Peter accompanied by the wickedly, wanton wheezing of the most lusciously, lovely Lucky Lady!' Thank goodness copywriting had improved in the past century she considered. He nodded, pleased with his work but looked up at the ceiling and sighed. 'I would have liked to have tied your nipples up as well but, sadly, there was no time to fix suitable hooks.' He shrugged, 'Maybe next weekend?' Lucinda recalled Richard Harris's torture in 'A Man Called Horse' little realising at the time that pony-play had, in fact, already been well developed by the Sioux. Peter was certainly demonstrating his American heritage to her.

He put the bag down and moved the front camera nearer until it was just in front of the spreader bar. With a twist of his wrist, the tripod legs shortened and the camera ended up looking like a single-eyed inquisitive insect crouched between her legs. The view on the screen showed the room behind her, but he angled the camera up and adjusted the lens until a close up of her sex, thighs and belly filled the screen. She recalled her earlier musings, 'Eat your hearts out sisters!' she thought as she examined herself. Her inner lips peeked invitingly from their furry haven in blissful ignorance of what might be in store for them. She also made a mental note to pay more attention to her bikini line when next being sugared, God it was sloppy. Peter upended the bag of pegs and tipped its contents onto the floor between her legs. He then knelt to one side of the phallic camera and, carefully prising her open a little, peered at his next target. Lucinda braced herself, waiting for the pain. But instead, he cursed softly and shuffled over to the table before returning with two pieces of thin cord. Sitting cross-legged like a tailor, he threaded one end of each through the centre hole of two pegs and placed them next to him.

'Bend your knees and squat' He commanded. Lucinda sank down like a Sumo wrestler and tried to control her bobbing protuberances. She failed miserably but finally reached the position he sought with the muscles in her thighs and calves protesting horribly and her heavy pegged breasts wallowing in front of her. She saw and felt him reach up and pinch a good chunk of her fleshy right outer lip with his left hand and firmly attach one of the threaded pegs to the centre. This time it did hurt. Lots! So did the other lip. She panted and stared at the screen. The twin chords dangled between her legs like the strings of huge tampons, her squatting stance heightening the effect of apparently having four stuffed up her. Peter reached behind her knees and took hold of the ends. He loosely looped them around her thighs and threaded the ends back through the knots he'd tied hence forming a sort of noose. Holding the very ends of the cords in his fingertips he slowly and simultaneously tightened the nooses. Lucinda felt herself being unpeeled like the skin of an exotic fruit. Her screen image revealed the glistening flushed redness and her inner lips vulnerable and delicate like the fronds of a sea anemone. 'Wonderful' murmured Peter as he turned and gazed at the image. 'For whom?' she mentally added, her stretched muscles starting to cramp. Lucinda shut her eyes to concentrate on her Yogic breathing, pranayama. This should be no worse than learning a new posture she thought and arched her back further until she was better balanced. As Peter busied himself between her legs with his washerwoman pegging chores she ran a simple mantra through her mind. 'Shit! Shit! Fuck, fuck! Shit!' Unorthodox but effective as the initial twin sources of pain were added to and grow until they merged into one massive ball of fire in her loins and running down her inner thighs. Again the effect was like having her the nerves of her sex extended into the space in front of her. She supposed men must be used to this as they seem to go on constantly about the size and versatility of their external dangly bits. Frankly, she preferred to keep her gonads tucked safely away inside. Mercifully she felt him gently tap her knees. 'Straighten up now but don't close your legs' he said softly. She un-flexed her complaining knees and felt the relief wash over her but was still acutely aware of the massive ball of pegs suckling on her sex like some monstrous feeding limpet. She opened her eyes to inspect the creature. Pegs ran up her inner thighs and split into four serried ranks with the outer pair merging just under her pubis. Even the fold of her clitoral hood was not spared and sported three of the little buggers. Amazingly, although he'd managed to make the pegs butt up to each other and all but obscured any sight of her tortured flesh, he'd left her clitoris standing free like a tiny delicate pink flower in a forest of garish plastic. Her brain seemed to interpret and amplify the messages from the surrounding nerves and enhance her awareness of this, her most sensitive sexual organ, to the extent that she felt even the lightest of touches would send her over the brink. Admittedly you'd probably need a machete to reach it. She was reminded of how painful it was at times to be touched there after orgasm, this felt like that before. Lucinda had to admit that Peter knew his stuff. If the situation were reversed she'd have had no idea of what clamp to where on a man. But, if experience was much to go by, she'd probably only have time to place half a dozen pegs before getting a face full of semen. Despite her discomfort, she giggled at the thought of the splattered image running down the screen like driving into a shower of jellyfish. 'Shit! Shit! Fuck, fuck! Shit!' She winced. Lesson... Don't giggle!

Peter scooped the remaining pegs - there were still lots - back into the bag. The shop he'd bought them from must have suspected some secret laundry fetish, in days gone by he'd have subsidised half the local gypsy population. 'Pegs for the missus, ducky? Go orn luv, give 'er a real treat.' In the side view Lucinda saw Peter move to stand behind her and stretch then roll his neck and shoulders. Lucinda was appalled. 'He's got problems?' she thought, disgusted.

Peter firmly held the 'handle' of her long glove device and hooked the loop of the bag over his thumb as before. 'Bend forwards, I'll support you.' Lucinda tried to and, finding it impossible to move her feet, wobbled horribly. It was like leaning over a holly bush. Thankfully Peter did take most of her weight and she eased forwards until the hemispheres of her peg bra rattled as they hung below her chest. This new position re- triggered myriad nerve endings and she felt waves of faintness and nausea wash over her until the whole experience seemed slightly unreal. Peter worked rapidly and attached more rows of pegs to the flesh of her buttocks and the rear of her thighs. With only one free hand he was unable to pinch much flesh to act as a cushion so he'd been forced to attach them to the very surface of her skin. The realisation grew in her that this was by intent rather than circumstance as the fiery pain was far worse than her more obviously sensitive areas. Whereas her breasts and sex throbbed dully like a devouring toothache, her buttocks felt like thousands of red-hot needles were piercing them. Peter gently hauled her upright and made sure she was steady. He whispered in her ear. 'You are doing very well my darling. Other ponies I've trained have given up long before we've reached this stage.' Other ponies? Of course there must be others but she felt a pang of jealousy all the same. 'I'm going out of the room for a few moments. You have the ball still?' She moaned. 'And will keep it?' She moaned again clenching the ball in her sweaty hand. Thoughtfully, Peter turned off the hot camera lights and dimmed the main lights as he left her to her contemplation.

The contrast of the two types of sensation and the numerous sites made it impossible to focus and cancel any one part and before very long she felt her conscious mind slip into a similar trance like state she had sometimes achieved at Yoga. Slowly the waves of pain started to gang up to attack her she was brought back with a jolt as she attempted to counter them. At last attrition won and she found it easier to let go and drown in their dark warm embrace and allow herself to float on the surface of the sea of sensations they created for her. Her consciousness bobbed like a tiny piece of insignificant froth and she found herself swaying gently almost encouraging the pain to wash her away.

Suddenly the room was filled with harsh light and her mind returned with a jolt. She wobbled desperately trying not to fall and blinked to clear her vision. Peter was also naked, a gratifying sight at the best of times but, given the size of the quivering erection he sported, even more so.

'Still with us?' he enquired casually stroking his shaft. 'No, I've had my hair done, been out with my mates and settled down with a box of choccies to watch a soap on TV,' she thought sarcastically and added in her mind, 'it's about a poor wannabe pony girl who went to sleep and woke up as a washing line!' Instead, she slowly nodded. 'Time to remove the pegs then' he said. Lucinda nodded harder. 'Sure?' She was grateful she couldn't speak and merely looked back at him with a 'I'm sure I'm fucking sure!' look. He laughed. 'For that you should be punished, but first let me sort these pegs out.' Lucinda sighed with relief. To her absolute horror he simply pushed them off her tortured flesh and let them nip their vicious jaws at empty space as they cascaded to the floor. The pain was excruciating but she felt - hoped - it was like having a plaster removed, quick and cruel to be kind. Thankfully at last the final peg was gone and he undid her gag. She sucked a lungful of air and was about to voice her thanks when he put a finger to his lips as though waiting for something. Without warning, from thousands of abused nerve ending numbed and suddenly revitalised with blood, her torment returned tenfold. She held back a scream and felt her eyes fill with tears. Peter merely shrugged and walked from her to the table. He was no longer controlling her pain and it was dire. 'Oh shit love it's agony, help me! Make it stop!' she squealed He turned holding a short stick with twenty or so floppy suede ribbons on the end. 'Manners?' he asked. 'Please, anything, please.' He nodded and stood feet akimbo behind her. She saw him raise his arm and, as though in slow motion, watched the whip swipe around her side and the ribbons smite her aching breast as he followed through his forehand stroke. She screamed. 'Silence or the gag returns!' he shouted. A back hand to her other breast and two more blows on each until the ache seemed to emanate from the very marrow in her ribs. She bit her tongue and her tears stung her eyes. Through the blur, on the screen she saw him take a step back and start the assault on her buttocks. These seared and filled with fire as he casually flicked from side to side like a pasha shooing away flies. Suddenly her hyper sensitised labia and inner thighs received a blow that felt like she'd been kicked. Then another. And another. She moaned continuously and he settled into a rhythm. Breast, breast, cheek, cheek, sex. Breast, breast, cheek, cheek, sex. It was relentless and impossible to resist and she felt the sweat trickle from her armpits to match the tears on her cheeks. When she felt she could take no more she again entered that dream-like space and her body and all its suffering fluttered away like a discarded tissue. She went limp and P caught her by the wrist strap. He simultaneously entered her and drove up so hard she was jerked momentarily off the floor. With one arm wrapped around her waist he massaged her breasts until, seconds later, she came as she had hoped.

From deep in her breasts to her nipples she came.

From the depths of her belly to her fingers and toes she came.

From her vagina to the core of her womb she came. In shuddering, spastic ripples the sensation filled her. He grunted through gritted teeth, hugged her to him, arched his back and also filled her. In his climax his fingers sought her clitoris and every nerve in her body joined the chorus as she bathed in the waves of pleasure that replaced and far exceeded her pain. Then a rushing noise filled her ears and everything went black.